undeific

[undeific]

Izaya is hovering nearby, watching the medic tend to Del. There is a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that he can’t place. It’s almost a lot of things, but not quite any of them—frustration, confusion, dread. He busies himself with the attempt to categorize the feeling, whatever it is, while he waits for her to be turned over to him again. 

And then she says she can’t see. 

Another feeling strikes. Izaya’s eyes fall shut. Softly:          “Fuck.”

Perhaps things got a little out of control. Maybe an apology wouldn’t be beneath him, just this once. 

Maybe. But sometimes blindness can be temporary, can’t it? His phone feels weighty in his pocket; he thinks of calling Shinra, asking him about this. Asking him what to do. But he won’t answer. He never answers, if he can help it.

Whatever. If it’s temporary, which it might be, there’s no need to apologize. Or to panic. Besides, she’s a witch. Surely there’s a magical fix, if nothing else. 

          “You need to fix that promptly,”          he tells the medic.

of course, the seizing girl does not hear him. for almost five minutes, she's blissfully unaware of herself and her surroundings. when it returns to her, the world is not as it once was. there's nothing but sound. the sound of her own heart hammering in her chest, the hum of the lights overhead, a stranger's voice attempting to orient her to time and place.

“what's your name?”

there's something soft against her cheek. it smells very faintly of sandalwood, black tea, and rosebuds. not a hospital pillow, then. not her own, either. aren't her eyes open? she reaches for them.

“do you know where you are?”

her head throbs. if izaya's presence was barely tolerated, why was she spared? by every calculation, she should've been carried out in one of those rugs.

“do you know today's date?”

she isn't bleeding or concussed. her oxygen is normal, her blood pressure only is slightly elevated. her pupils respond to light. she's certainly awake, but perhaps not yet able to comprehend the questions...

“i can't see anything.”

[undeific]

Izaya’s wrist has not moved. Nor has his gaze. He keeps watching him, eyes swirling with celestial fire. 

Friends. We’re the same. His heart pounds with exhilaration. He begins to laugh again, just as loud and shameless as before. What a wonderful day. 

Everything that has ever happened has accumulated to this moment now. All of life, all of history, creates every single tiny happenstance, the past informing the present, the present informing the future. And what are the odds? Really, what are they?

          “I think we are. I’ve been looking for you.”          He’s beaming.          “All my life. What did you say that was creepy?”

" -- Barista-chan," he breathes after her with a faint laugh, finally addressing the poor thing directly ; if he's confessing now, he might as well say this: "That's enough. I'm not drinking anything. Put them all in to-go cups, please, but don't worry about bringing any more~ Instead, please bring my friend here a slice of coffee cake."

'My friend'. No matter the true nature of this bizarre new relationship, he uses those words without any trace of irony - as if to him, it's a perfect descriptor.

What a dangerous thing to be. Friends!

-- Anyway, she'll be free to leave this absurdist table alone after that, and rest her poor feet. He settles back into his chair slowly, and drags an eager eye over Izaya -- His hand still sits in the middle of the table. Still touching the man's wrist, unless he'd pulled it away already ; in which case, its desire to rests plain as day.

He studies him. Waits. Then finally speaks again.

"I got carried away and said something creepy. And Ori-chan, you look so happy about it right now.

"... We're the same , right?"

[undeific]

[undeific]

Izaya appreciates Darius’ honesty, though it surprises him a little. There is so much secrecy surrounding this—whatever this is. He didn’t expect transparency. He didn’t expect answers to be given freely.

And perhaps they won’t be. Anything could happen in that breakroom. Izaya will be ready. He’s already been shot at once; he knows better than to trust blindly. He blinks hard, remembering the sensation of blood in his eyes, brain matter splattering his cheek. 

He takes note of everything. No detail is too insignificant. Even the amount of steps it takes to get to the breakroom could be important.

          “Lead the way.” 

Maybe he should have brought a gun. Just in case. The knives will have to do; they've never failed him before.

"I know," he replied, grabbing a large section of meat to pull over to his station. He was at work today in the meat packing plant - there wasn't an organ shipment this week. Something had spooked Atari. 

So this week, it was just normal work. Still, he wondered how Izaya figured out where his job was. 

Then again, he obviously had been able to dig into something, so maybe the fact he found this place wasn't so strange.

"I'm surprised you found pictures."

Didn't Beau have them buried? That's what he threw such a fuss over before Lloyd left for a few days. Having to pay police. Politicians. The streaming company Aimi worked at. Doing all this work behind the scenes to get rid of the evidence of any foul play. 

With precision, he sliced the cow's shank apart from the slab of meat that would later become the round. He slid it to the next station, then shouted something in Russian at them. 

Actual Russian. Not the sound-alike language that Izaya had overheard. 

"I'm taking my break. Wanna come with me to the break room? I can better answer your questions in private."

[undeific]

Izaya stares at her. His head slowly cocks to the side. A rush of breath, not quite a laugh, escapes him. He shakes his head, amused, perhaps a little baffled, and looks out the window. At least his simmering rage has been interrupted; its immensity was starting to unnerve him. 

Outside, the desert rushes by. It’s a bumpy ride; this car was crafted for slick city streets, not off-roading. The driver winces every time his passengers are jostled, glancing in the rearview apologetically. 

Izaya thinks nothing of it. Soon they’ll be on the highway that slices cleanly through the California wastes. It won’t be long now.

He’s still holding Tem’s hand. He looks back at her.

          “Don’t apologize,”          he finally says. His voice is as bright as ever.          “About anything. Ever. Especially to me.” 

Especially when it makes no sense. She’s better than that. He knows she is.

She’s in shock anyway. She barely knows what she’s saying. He won’t hold it against her, though he has a sneaking suspicion it may have been the same even if things went down differently. 

It’s a bad habit she needs to get out of. But that’s alright. He’s here.

　　THE DASH FOR THE DOOR sets off her adrenaline again, making her heart hammer in her ears once more, even though she can't even focus on a particular thing to be afraid of. Her legs feel unsteady, but once they get going, muscles memory puts in work. Even if those muscles are also fighting not turning into jello.

　　She hesitates outside the car, some primal fear of getting into an enclosed space hitting her. Finally unrestrained, even with the blazing heat, the openness of the outdoors is a relief. But with Izaya ushering her in, and the aching in her body, it only takes a few seconds for her to comply. It helps that he's immediately next to her, attempting to soothe her. She wishes she could relax; it would be nice to sink against him and simply blink out of existence for a while.

　　But she can't. Too much has gone on. The idea of losing even more control of herself keeps her rigid for now, and when Izaya looks at her, she's only able to hold his gaze for a moment before the energy to keep her eyes up becomes too much. They float down to stare at nothing, head swirling as she tries to get any parts of her mind back in order.

　　She's still too out of it for his words to register as uncanny as they are, so they do the work they're intended to, for the most part. The wounds themselves still aren't registering as a major concern; Tem has had similar, if not worse. Her and Damian very nearly killed each other once.

　　The movement of the car eventually soothes her, along with Izaya's hand rubbing hers (even if it is the ring). She finally begins to relax, slumping against him as exhaustion creeps in.　“I...”　She starts, voice having the break through a rough barrier in her throat, as if it's full of rust.　“I don't know what happened.”　Things had been fine. Stressful, a little scary, but fine. They were bickering, and then she'd suddenly been disconnected from reality. And then she'd been attacked. Had he been waiting for that? For her to let her guard down? That doesn't make sense, either, though.

　　As the adrenaline finally filters out of her system, her shoulder finally starts to sting. Tem lets out a hiss, which at least helps her fight to stay awake, but it also brings on a new round of thoughts.

　　“Sorry...”　She says.　“Sorry. Sorry for making you come... Sorry for getting caught. Sorry for...”　Her energy runs out, and her voice trails off. She continues to stare at their legs without really focusing on them.

　　Sorry for being pathetic. Sorry for being a disappointment. Sorry for being so inhuman in front of you.

[undeific]

Izaya may know some places where it might be sold. Import stores, European-owned butcher shops, underground markets. It would be very easy to make a few phone calls and find what Shinra’s looking for.

However.

          “Now, now! Let’s think first, Shinra. You have a doctorate; I know you can. How do you plan to feed her anything when she has no mouth? Just sounds like a waste of resources to me.”          A half-beat before he giggles out an addition:         “If you say anything about love finding a way I’ll slash your couch cushions.”

-- Tch! Well, it can't be denied that a little bit, a little bit, he's a little proud to stump him like that. In rare standing, Izaya's giggles aren't at all grating right now, either! Nonetheless, he's distressed for a different reason. His stiff body melts all at once, placing that on full display.

"Wrong! I'm lost! It's a dilemma !" He proclaims this with a few faulty steps, lifting hands in the air to drive home the point of it: "I've been looking for-! Nooo.... I can't find black pudding in any store I've gone to. I need it! It's for Celty!" Right, he didn't need to say that at all, but her name falls out so naturally from these whiny lips.

"I know this isn't normally your jurisdiction, but do you have any idea where a guy could find some? Or, could you find out? What with your... network thingies?"

[undeific]

          “Relax. I just want to clean up, too,”          Izaya laughs, breezing past her into the bathroom. He slips the rings from his fingers and drops them in a small porcelain tray beside the sink.          “It’ll be quicker if we do it together.”

They aren’t in a rush, but he wants to maximize the use of his time. Once they’re both clean and presentable, they can take a moment to breathe, to recover, before jumping right into work. Things got intense back there—so intense that it warrants that recovery, dramatic as the word sounds. 

Further reflection is warranted, too. Izaya will need some time alone to process it, but it can wait. That sort of thing can always wait. 

The coat comes off; the shirt is pulled from his shoulders. He hesitates for a moment, peering back at Tem. He wonders where in her body she feels that ache. Then he lets it go. He needs to let it go. These thoughts can be examined later.

          “We should have coffee or something before we go. He always wants to share a bottle of cognac. It’ll take me out if I don’t have some caffeine to combat it,”          he sighs, undressing the rest of the way.

　　SHE EXPECTS HIM TO ENJOY SOME TIME ALONE. There's not really any more reason to it than her own perceived shortcomings. The thing in the alley had been chaotic. Pleasant. He'd seemed very, very invested in her.

　　But now it's over. She's not sure why he let her cling to him all the way home, but she'll accept the gift and put it into her memories along with that desperate Izaya from earlier. Something to cherish in the future, when he really does get bored of her.

　　She does not expect him to bounce along after her, and she especially doesn't expect him to tag along. The tomboy stops dead, turns and stares at him in shock. Her expression crinkles into disgust.

　　“Haven't you had enough?”　She snaps, scooting back from him as if he's going to jump her.　“I take a little extra one time and you're suddenly insatiable? Get the fuck out of here.”

[undeific]

so obviously we know iza has the classic rider waite deck but i need to find out what other tarot/oracle sets iza has. definitely the silver thread edition........

[undeific]

[undeific]

my most extreme weirdest kink is being wanted. my tamest kink is knife play

[undeific]

you're also invited to the birthday party. by the way.

Yay! Nobody ever invites him to anything!

[undeific]

          “I see.”

Izaya has no reason to disbelieve him. He has no reason to believe him, either. Nothing about him, or any of his associates, lines up. Nothing at all.

          “Your hot date died, by the way. The photos of her body were like something out of a horror movie. I don’t suppose you’d have any idea what happened there? Oh, and by the way, can you teleport? Or do you know anyone who can?”

@undeific asked: izaya, pleasantly, to darius: did you try to get me killed.

For a moment, there was surprise on Darius's face. It didn't take long for him to even out to something more neutral, though. Ah, so he looked into it, did he? 

"No," he replied. "I answered your question. If you decided to look into it, any violence that you may have brought upon yourself is on you." 

In short: Your fault for being nosy!

"But no, I didn't ask anyone to attack you or anything. If i wanted you hurt, i would have done after you followed me the first time."

[undeific]

It’s so strange to be on the receiving end of this. Usually it’s the other way around. Izaya takes a moment to sit in it, processing how it feels. Relishing it. He finds it thrilling. He feels awake, alive, electric—elated.

You’re like me, he thinks, studying the strange look in Seth’s eye. I’ve found someone like me.

          “Now who’s ‘confessing’?”         Izaya sigh-laughs. He leans back in his chair suddenly, grinning.

The ever-puzzled barista arrives with another drink. They’re running out of room on the table; the space wasn’t designed for so much at once. She stands awkwardly, holding the caramel macchiato, trying to determine how best to do her job.

Izaya looks over at her as if snapped out of some sort of trance. 

          “Oh,”          he says, voice even more breathy than usual.          “Could you take some of these away, please?” 

She does, eager to leave the two strange men to… whatever it is they’re doing. The caramel macchiato is left in place of what’s been taken.

"Oh, oh, Ori-chaaan~!" The nickname pours out in a sing-song, dripping with pleasure, familiarity - the 'oh, you~' sort of tone reserved for old friends, already classically trained on each other's behavior. And this tone, this thrilled joy, this playful familiarity -- it should have been wholly incongruent with the words he said next, which oozed, despite his fondest, most childish expression, with complete seriousness:

"You seemed dangerous from the very start!"

"-- I mean, did you miss it somehow? You did go into crazy, maniacal laughter twice since I met you. And someone like that, who clearly has money to throw away on nothing--" a vague gesture to the untouched cups "-- That, or you don't, which makes your character even more reckless... Hah! Either way- A character like that is indulging me in this sort of conversation. Your eyes keep getting more intense. I'm trying to push my boundaries a little more each time I open my mouth, and it keeps working with you!

"I mean, demons are demons. Some headless rider-- gods, whatever else: All of that's way too far from our realm! And I can't blame them for being dangerous~ You, though. You.

"You're human. You're... Hah- You're just some guy I found on the street! And if you're really, really the same guy-- ... Haha-- Hah, I'm feeling so, so lucky right now~"

[undeific]

Izaya wraps an arm around her to support Tem, then quickly rushes back toward the door. He spares one last glance back at the creature choking on its own blood. 

He would have liked to kill Hawk, but it’s probably better this way. You can’t punish a dead man, and he certainly deserves more punishment than what he got. Later, later. 

A pristine white car, still running, waits for them outside. It’s parked right next to the Thunderbird, its sleek modernity a stark contrast to the vintage vehicle. The driver perks up at the sight of his cargo exiting the building.

          “Nebula’s Los Angeles offices,”          Izaya orders as he helps Tem into the backseat. He joins her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. Brushing blonde tangles away from her face, he peers into her eyes. When he speaks again, he speaks softly, though violence simmers beneath his voice.          “He won’t be getting away with this. Know that.”

The obvious wound on her shoulder is the most concerning, but her wrists and ankles look terrible, too. She looks so unlike herself, disoriented and victimized. Another surge of resentful, disgusted rage washes over him. He placates himself with one of his sunny smiles, taking her hand and running his thumb over her ring.

          “Everything’s okay now,”          he says cheerfully.          “I’m here, you're safe, and we're going to get you patched up.” 

　　THE SOUNDS ARE HORRIBLE. They don't just cut through the air, they cut through her head. He'd been about to kill herーboth of themーbut those awful, agonized sounds fill her with a terrible, awful feeling of sorrow. It hurts to hear. Especially in her current state, it almost overtakes her. If she weren't so cold, so detached from her own body, she might cry, too.

　　It stops abruptly. The idea hurts, but she thinks that Izaya's put him out of his misery. She's grateful for that. Right now, she's not equipped to enjoy any sort of suffering.

　　Him being right in front of her, looking directly at her, is distracting her from the thing on the ground behind him. She stares back at him, entranced. It's not like she shies away from eye contact with him all the time, but this is different. It makes her feel grounded. Safe. The ice around Hawk remains, but the frost that had overtaken her has been melting rapidly in the summer heat.

　　His urgency isn't quite matched, but it is starting to seep into her. Her processing is still slow, it takes a moment for all of the words to register, especially with the echo of those pitiful howls in her mind. But she blinks, still looking shell-shocked, but significantly less terrified than when he'd shown up.

　　“O-okay.”　She sounds uncertain, but knows that listening to him is right. Getting out of here is right. That's what she wanted to do. That's what she still wants to do. When she tries to get off the couch, her legs immediately buckle, sore and stiff from being restrained, rubbery from the adrenaline and minor(?) blood loss in her shoulder.

　　A determination fuels her, in the back of her mind. It may not be at the forefront as usual, but her need to sustain herself, to be anything other than useless weight still pushes her instincts forward. He's holding her hands, so she can grip them tightly, deathly tight in comparison to her pathetic legs, and pull herself back up, ready to follow him out of this place. To leave that person...that thing, behind.

[undeific]

Izaya stares. There is a pregnant pause, a weighty silence. 

Then he doubles over laughing.

          “—Alright,”          he giggles.          “You lost me.” 

So he doesn’t know everything. Fine. Of course Shinra would be the one to vex him. 

He tries to dig for context. He’s aware of the existence of the food, if that’s what Shinra means, but why it would come up is utterly beyond him. Something to do with Celty, perhaps? It always circles back around to Celty in the end. It’s an Irish food. She’s an Irish fae. Does he want to cook for her? Some stupid, dogged display of devotion by preparing her a meal from her homeland? No, that wouldn’t make sense—how would she eat it?

Even granted the remarkable kindness of asking one (one) free question, Shinra's face still sits flat, blank. Somewhere deep in his eyes sits a pending regret married to cautious hope, but that's something ' only someone like Izaya ' could probably notice - because, while his shoulders turn to properly face the other, yet his body retreats another step away, his expression doesn't change at all.

He looks Izaya up and down, considering carefully.

Then leans forward, into his space, with eyes suddenly narrowed into a challenge.

"Black pudding." Is all he says.

[undeific]

@mortau SAID:  The research would be long, grueling and - perhaps most importantly - expensive. Dead end after dead end after dead end would come to a halt the moment Izaya managed to get in touch with the only lead. An old man, once part of a disbanded brahtva group, who used to work in the KGB and was willing to give up some information for the right price. Belgirod 45, he would explain, is where the Soviet Union studies magical creatures and artifacts. Nothing ever came in or left without authorization. With the exception of one thing. A homunculus, a living doll, who had been taken by a man who didn't match Darius's description...But was fairly close. Unnatural green eyes, darker skin, curly hair. Tall, built like a soldier. Teleported in and out in less than three minutes. Before he could elaborate more, however...A single gunshot cut through the air, the man's head blowing into smithereens with the force of the ammunition used. It wasn't a drive by. There wasn't another shot - yet. Izaya may have gotten a glimpse, however, of the dark haired sniper that was watching him.   ✚   send a MESSAGE?

Everything Izaya learns leaves him with more questions than answers, but what the man tells him is another piece of the puzzle.

So, too, is his elimination.

It happens fast—so fast that he barely has time to process what’s happened. His instincts have his back, though. Izaya bolts from the scene, body propelled by pure shock. A shaking arm wipes the blood splatter from his face, his eyes, the best it can. Cornered, wild eyes scan his surroundings for threats.

He thinks he sees one. He doesn’t linger long enough to confirm.

At home, in the warm womb of the shower, he will meditate on what he was told. He will try to connect the dots and fail. There is still too much missing.

But it’s getting dangerous now. He’ll have to be careful if he wants to continue. Very careful.  

[undeific]

With the strange exhaustion that has settled over him, Izaya almost wants to bail, too—but only almost. Besides, he knows better than to break plans with the yakuza, especially last minute. He is beholden to them, whether he likes it or not.

And he does like it. Dealing with them is a special sort of thrill. It’ll be even more fun to parade Tem around in front of them after everything that’s happened tonight. An element of danger, a lingering secret on both their minds. 

He just needs to wake up a bit, that’s all.

When they get into the apartment, Tem releases his hand and marches away from him. He watches her back and takes note of the gnawing inside of him. 

More like an ache. But she does feel something. 

          “I’ll join you,”          he says, frolicking back up beside her.          “I could use one, too.”

　　TEM ROLLS HER EYES, but the affection on her face is clear. His arm around her fills her with a warmth that makes her feel like an idiot. When they re-emerge onto the street, the embarrassment really hits her. Unlike Izaya's excitement over the idea, she wishes they could become invisible for a bit. Is it obvious what they did back there? Does everyone know? Especially in Japan, she'll be viewed so disastrously over something like that. Does the shopping bag on her free arm help at all?

　　She feels like they should talk; it would help distract her, help make them appear more normal, she thinks. But she has no idea what to say. She can't believe they even have plans after this. She wishes they could just bail, but that surely wouldn't be any fun for Izaya. He's not really the type to want to sit at home.

　　His emotions are pleasant right now, though. He seems to be enjoying himself, and it puts Tem at ease. Eventually, she detangles herself from him, to make the walk a little easier (and the display isn't taken well by the older people around). She places a hand in the crook of his elbow, then, pushing her own luck, slides it down to his hand. Stupid. Lame. Ridiculous. She pinches her tongue in between her teeth, looking away from him, not wanting to see his expression, whatever reaction it may be. Mockery, humor, disgust. She knows she's being pathetic.

　　When they do eventually get home (well, to his home), she wants to collapse on the couch. Instead, she tosses the shopping bag onto there, and trudges towards the bathoom.

　　“I'm going to take a shower.”