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knifemonopoly) wrote2021-02-05 06:28 pm
knifemonopoly) wrote2021-02-05 06:28 pm
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WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, PLAYER1. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 10.11.0.0.01 *** PLAYER1 has joined 10.11.0.0.01 <PLAYER1> If you're looking for someone you knew as Yugi before June, you've found him! It's Atem, leave a message. | ||||
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[As soon as he even starts to see the shape of things down here, literally and figuratively, he stops stock-still in the doorway, Atem's deliberate invitation be damned. He was a caged animal too long to willingly walk into a trap as obvious as this one.]
[The more he sees, the more bewildered he is. It's wrong and backwards and distressing from the first unidentifiable shrouded shape his gaze lands on, but as soon as he sees the medical tools, minimal though they are, he realizes he's stumbled into an actual nightmare.]
[It just . . . isn't his nightmare. And that's why all thought of caution leaves him in an instant, and he speaks, staring still at the bone saw.]
Does Steve know about this?
[In the back of his mind is a set of scales. His hands clench tight in the hem of his coat as he waits, tries to wait, for the explanation that's coming. That needs to come.]
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[Why is Giorno asking about Steve, he wonders? What does Steve have to do with this?
What Atem uses these devices for -- things the humans he hunts walk into, lured into dangerous games by promises of money, power, consequence-free violence if they win -- is entirely divorced in his mind from what happened to Steve, at Fabius's hands.
It shouldn't, probably, if he thought about it for half a second. But Atem hasn't.
Giorno's disturbed, Atem can see that much. Is the guy gentler than Atem thought...? Or is it just shocking, to see a workshop like this, without any explanation?]
Which part?
He knows I hunt with games...
...but he's never been here.
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[That isn't even the part that bothers him, although it does seem unnecessarily euphemistic. He wants to ask if Steve understands what "games" means in this context — but he doesn't. Unless Atem actually showed him the plans, Steve would never in a million years imagine anything like this. He's not capable. And that's a good thing.]
[Slowly, Giorno shakes his head.]
Don't bring him here. Not unless it's an emergency.
[And it had better be a hell of an emergency, too. He crosses the room, lifts shaking fingers to hover above the bone saw. By the tiny, complex bones of his wrist, he sees a scalpel. His eyes fix on its pristinely-sanitized blade.]
[Fingers folding into a fist, he takes a step back. If he weren't already so off-kilter in this new shape, maybe he'd be able to say it more kindly. As it is, he just can't manage.]
Use your imagination. What these things would remind him of. He wakes up screaming enough as it is.
cw references to kidnapping, nonconsensual blood draws, murder, cannibalism, death traps, torture
The bone saw and the knives near it...on closer inspection, they look more culinary than medical, for efficient butchery of meat. The sins committed in this room are abduction, blood draws, murder, and postmortem preparation for consumption by meat-eaters, as well as construction of the dormant devices under the dust-covers, which Atem's referred to under the much broader category of games. No experimental surgeries. No trophy-taking, either, unless the newspaper records count.
Still...Giorno's right. Steve's not just gentler than the rest of them, he's also been through something too close to what's here. It had been good, to destroy Fabius Bile as completely as they had, ripping open his chest, exposing his heart like he'd done to Steve--
--but it's that precise fact that means Steve should never see the place where the thing that did it was made.]
Right.
I won't. You have my word.
[If Giorno's looking for it, there's a brief glow in Atem's red-on-black eyes, like they're embers someone's just blown on. For him as a demon, promises are contracts; he's bound to it now. Even without it, once the temporary change is over, Atem will never bring Steve here unless every other safe place in Bavan were compromised, and the physical danger somehow outweighed what would happen emotionally, if Steve were here.]
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Thank you.
[Mumbled quietly, his speech slurring slightly as his lips trip over unfamiliar fangs. He feels at one and the same time still incredibly uncomfortable and totally ridiculous. What is he so upset about? Besides the parts of this that remind him faintly of what happened to Steve, none of this is really worse than what any of them do. Just because Atem enjoys it on some level — is it enjoyment? Is it justice? Does he see it for what it is? But what is it? — that's not his business. And he's not capable in this moment of lying to himself and pretending he wouldn't do the same or similar.]
[Has done similar.]
[Some people deserve to die, and he knows how to do it.]
[So what is this? Why is he feeling inherently incompatible emotions right now? Should he just go? If he can't make sense of any of this, why is he still standing here in this uncomfortable place, waiting to do something that makes his stomach churn? He drags his feet over to the space by the mini-fridge, claws picking at the hem of his coat.]
[He almost asks Atem if he ever feels like this — like two different people. Because maybe that's the problem. There are two of him here right now: the one that heals and the one that harms. The one who remembers a dozen times he's taken Steve's face in his hands and wiped frightened tears away, and the one that would throw Diavolo back in hell in an instant. Most of the time it doesn't matter, it doesn't bother him, but right now, when he's trying so hard to stay himself?]
[Drawing his hands down his face, he shakes his head. Never mind, forget it.]
Sorry. The timing is bad. It's been a long . . . few hours.
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[The offer is immediate and sincere, and a touch of apology creeps into Atem's voice as he goes on, his tail curling and unfurling by his feet.]
This place...what I've built here is meant to be frightening. If I'm scary, then other monsters will think twice about hurting my friends! But, I've stopped hunting this way, until I'm my normal monster type again and can think clearly about it.
[He gestures around to the dust-covers. Closed for the holidays, so...]
...so, I didn't think about how uncomfortable it would be to come here without any warning. Just what would be most convenient for me, since the supplies are here.
[His demon changes have made him more relaxed but less considerate: anticipating other people's needs and responses is a lot of work, and the demon doesn't want to work at all, unless it's fun. Still...he's a touch shamefaced.]
Sorry for bringing you somewhere like this when you're already having a bad time.
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[Would he forget such things if he were in the form Atem has taken? Maybe. But then, maybe he'll forget them in this one. That's the problem. He just doesn't know yet. He wants to believe there are some things about him, core things, that won't change no matter what — but this is Ryslig, and the Fog controls even the most basic parts of him, no matter how he fights.]
[He closes his eyes and exhales slowly, just to remind himself that even if he doesn't need to, he can. When he looks up again, he offers Atem a faintly apologetic smile.]
I don't want to drink blood directly from someone . . . because my father was a vampire who killed dozens, if not hundreds, of people. For food. For fun. Because he was bored or angry. Nothing you do or don't do will change that. I appreciate your consideration, though.
[As braced against this as he clearly is, as upbeat as he's trying to be, his stare still catches on the state of the room. It's . . . not his father's style. That's easy to see. He can hang onto that. It's not his, either, but maybe that's for the best.]
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He doesn't know much about Giorno's family, does he? That's not unusual: he doesn't know much about Steve's family, or Lust's, or plenty of other people, but a mass-murdering vampire father...sounds like a real piece of work.
(Green eyes in a dark-haired, bowl-cut face look up at him in a memory, someone silent, even under beatings, because he believed nothing could be done. Are they...?)
Nope. No. That's none of Atem's business, unless Giorno chooses to talk about it. Instead, Atem takes hold of the blood-drawing supplies, and crosses to the sitting-area.]
Then, let's get started. Do you want to do the venipuncture, or should I? I've got practice, but I've never done it to myself before...
[Atem comes to the clinic, during the blood drives, to volunteer for an institution that's helped him and his friends and which he supports, and also to get good at blood draws. He really is practiced, but will doing it to himself be different?]
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[Rarely if ever is he jealous of others, because he has clawed his way out of the dead earth all on his own, and he deserves everything he’s gotten. But he is jealous of Atem right now.]
[And then he’s looking down at his hands, spread flat and wide palms-up on his lap. It might seem as though he’s hesitating until one notices that he’s not so much looking as watching. Waiting for a tremor. But there isn’t one. His emotions haven’t reached his hands, and they won’t. They very rarely do.]
[He lifts his head, and he nods.]
I can do it. I’d rather this not be both of our first times.
[This is a joke? Probably?]
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If he told someone about what his family had done, he wouldn't want them to recoil from him, or to hear sorry. He'd want the difficulty of the situation recognized, but not pity, or anything else that wouldn't change matters. He'd want to be understood...but not in a way where someone else told their comparable story, pulling the focus onto them instead of him. So he gives Giorno that same understanding, and respect.
....at least until Giorno cracks the joke -- it has to be? Put like that? At least, it makes the tension crack for Atem, whose mouth pulls up in a grin, and whose spike-lined shoulders twitch in a light laugh.]
Heh! All right, then...I'm in your hands!
[He kids back as he lays the hollow needle and its tube out on a tray-table and settles into a low, comfortable chair beside it. Leaving the needle and its attached tube to Giorno, Atem rolls up his sweater-sleeve, takes a strip of elastic, and, using his prehensile tail-tip to hold it in place like a second hand, ties it tight above his elbow. He rests his hand wrist-up on the arm of the chair, clenching and flexing his fingers, making the veins easier to spot. Giorno may or may not need the guidance, with a vampire's sense for blood...but it's a very normal bit of phlebotomy preparation, and not very vampire-y at all.
If Giorno starts to seem less controlled about the blood-draw, though, Atem hasn't forgotten his promise. He's got no intention of giving up a life, or even getting seriously injured, today...he'll keep an eye out for cracks in that composure, for anything that seems off. He's relaxed, but watchful.]
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[The point is: he knows how to do this well enough, and hums in appreciation at Atem's know-how, nodding at his clenched fist.]
Of all the aspects of my monster form, I appreciate the prehensile vines most of all.
[Something else he doesn't get to have as a vampire! Annoying. But Atem's got his back, apparently — and with the visual of the vein to focus on, he can do his best to ignore the smell. Inserting the needle is easy, removing the elastic is routine, and as the draw begins, he exhales slightly, relieved. It was the right thing to do, coming to Atem right away, as awful as it felt, and still feels. He'll be able to keep better control like this than if he'd waited.]
[Not perfect control, though. By the time the vial is full, his expression is pinched, brow furrowed, as though he's rapidly developing a migraine. Which is more or less correct. His body and mind are having very different feelings about what's happening here.]
Is one enough to start with, do you think? I should have asked before, sorry.
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Hard to say. Every monster's different! Drink it and see how you do.
[Atem folds the tube over one-handed and deftly clamps it in place, effectively pausing the bloodflow in a way that'll be easy to restart. He's braced, poised, ready to go...if Giorno gets a taste for blood and loses control, Atem's ready to teleport the hell out of here. It shows in the slight hunch of his shoulders, a watchfulness in his expression.]