there's something about four that reminded lu bixing of something familiar. maybe it's the students he's worked with across the starry sea academy - children of gangsters or gangsters themselves, rambunctious, ill-behaved, often violent for no reason or another. children of the eighth galaxy. children who were cast out of paradise and told to crawl, to figure out their way forward without the same rails that every member of society got.
or maybe it's something else. maybe it's what he saw yesterday - the hatred and misery buried under the surface, teeming like a pressure cooker, locked down by the circumstances of a life of cruelty. maybe there's a version of himself in another life that could've been this way. if it wasn't -
you said you cared about me, didn't you-?
the question comes with the second kick. he manages to push backwards again, missing the abilities to fight that so many of their hellish little cadre have. he brings his forearms up to stop her kick from connecting, but his body is not nearly strong enough to take the entirety of the force - the hit connects with his arm and the reverberation of the strength of it sends him reeling backwards, making a cut off kch- noise as he stumbles. he doesn't fall, to his credit, instead stumbling backwards, even if he tastes blood in the back of his mouth with the hit.
the shadows roil across the stage, under the lights. ] Of course I - [ care, he starts, but behind them and around, a voice echoes, reverberating, rough. i picked you up from the trash, it says, gruffly, huffy, and it's a voice that lu bixing hasn't heard in so long that he doesn't even have time to process it.
his shadows coalesce behind him, and it's the shape of a hand. just one, at first, a single hand reaching directly upwards, but it grabs onto four's ankle. then, another - another, behind lu bixing, grabbing onto his foot. another. onto his pant leg. another, another, pressing against the back of four's calves, starting to claw for purchase and leaving no marks. just hands, trembling shadowy hands that are more startling than they are strong.
he tries to shake it off, mind calculating only a few feet to the edge of the stage running out of room how can i catch her how do i stop this quickly why would this place do this to her how do i how do i how do i-- ]
no subject
there's something about four that reminded lu bixing of something familiar. maybe it's the students he's worked with across the starry sea academy - children of gangsters or gangsters themselves, rambunctious, ill-behaved, often violent for no reason or another. children of the eighth galaxy. children who were cast out of paradise and told to crawl, to figure out their way forward without the same rails that every member of society got.
or maybe it's something else. maybe it's what he saw yesterday - the hatred and misery buried under the surface, teeming like a pressure cooker, locked down by the circumstances of a life of cruelty. maybe there's a version of himself in another life that could've been this way. if it wasn't -
you said you cared about me, didn't you-?
the question comes with the second kick. he manages to push backwards again, missing the abilities to fight that so many of their hellish little cadre have. he brings his forearms up to stop her kick from connecting, but his body is not nearly strong enough to take the entirety of the force - the hit connects with his arm and the reverberation of the strength of it sends him reeling backwards, making a cut off kch- noise as he stumbles. he doesn't fall, to his credit, instead stumbling backwards, even if he tastes blood in the back of his mouth with the hit.
the shadows roil across the stage, under the lights. ] Of course I - [ care, he starts, but behind them and around, a voice echoes, reverberating, rough. i picked you up from the trash, it says, gruffly, huffy, and it's a voice that lu bixing hasn't heard in so long that he doesn't even have time to process it.
his shadows coalesce behind him, and it's the shape of a hand. just one, at first, a single hand reaching directly upwards, but it grabs onto four's ankle. then, another - another, behind lu bixing, grabbing onto his foot. another. onto his pant leg. another, another, pressing against the back of four's calves, starting to claw for purchase and leaving no marks. just hands, trembling shadowy hands that are more startling than they are strong.
he tries to shake it off, mind calculating only a few feet to the edge of the stage running out of room how can i catch her how do i stop this quickly why would this place do this to her how do i how do i how do i-- ]