doin things ur not supposed to do is hot someone told u u werent allowed n that it aint " right " who to fuck, what to wear, how to behave, who gets to be violent & how but why sometimes bein " wrong " just feels good or at least sayin fuck u to all that does
[It sounds enough like Guanshan that, again, he's thrown for an immediate reply. Itachi watches the dark-paned windows of the apartment in front of him and wonders how to approach this.]
Then it is sincere. You would want to see me wearing this.
[Being wrong feels good—he doesn't know if he can comprehend that. He needs time with the idea.]
The other two gifts are more logical to me. They're relevant to conversations and experiences I've shared with Guanshan. So you must be some part of him, or at least have access to his thoughts and memories, if you are not him. Does he know you're speaking to me? And others, too, I suspect.
[ true enough, hours later he's gone through his phone and witnessed the havoc his shadow has wrought. he doesn't know what it says about the quality of his relationships that his inner circle has... well. behaved themselves, even when "he" was incapable of it. ]
[ in some ways, it would've been easier if they hadn't — but he finds himself grateful all the same. unsure of what to say but wanting to follow up all the same, he sends a (shy) little: ]
I assumed as much. Thank you for them. [Because he'd figured out that while that other version of Guanshan might have orchestrated the hunt across Sumarlok, he couldn't have found all of those items in a day. The perfume and weapon were too intimate and premeditated.] ... Excluding that last one.
[ success!! between a knife and a perfume, the one he was more anxious about was certainly the latter. now he just wants to... smell it on him... is he a creep ]
i figured u wouldnt want somethin too strong everything about u is kinda.....
[ wait he needs to think is the right word ]
quiet
oh yea its the last character in my name shan
[ read the same in both of their languages: mountain. ]
[Almost stiffly formal in comparison, the conversation drops off there. He sends no other message for nearly two full days—and when word does finally come, it is strategically timed on an evening Guanshan is alone at home, off work. Like a phantom materializing from thin air, he appears on his balcony identical to that past encounter, except he is far more composed, and the sky is dry of rain.
There was no right time to discuss this. Yet those gifts had reminded him that, unless he did this soon, Guanshan would only be continually disillusioned about him.]
I'm here.
[His stony, set expression reveals nothing—yet he will be still betrayed by the faintest trace of sweet, smoky perfume.]
[ leave it to Uchiha Itachi to know how to give a man anxiety. he's never before experienced the "we need to talk" ploy despite wielding it himself on more than one occasion — a sentence he suddenly considers removing from his lexicon entirely. ]
[ days pass and he self-medicates with a mix of alcohol and marijuana like a nail house occupant who refuses to join the modern world as it goes brilliantly flying by. when Itachi announces himself, Guanshan emerges from his bedroom in joggers and a shorn-open tank top barely looped around his neck and hips, red-eyed and still wreathed in the cloying, herbaceous scent from his freshly stubbed-out joint. his hair is getting scruffy on the buzz, fringe bleeding down towards his hard brows. ]
Hey. [ forcefully casual, his hands tuck into his pockets after he's opened the balcony door. ] Tea?
[ something with honey to mortar the oncoming break. ]
[By record of past experiences, this situation is as best it could be: it is under his control, and he is initiating the conversation as planned. Better than Jonas, better even than Stiles—although in comparison to those two situations, he does not recall the same dread now. Perhaps testament of how much he's changed; it sits heavy as stone in his gut, turning over with each moment that passes, knowing and accepting it could very well be his last time here.
Only black eyes turn onto Guanshan at the greeting. He doesn't move, remaining still as displaced shadow on the balcony.
Uncharacteristic in the refusal:] No, that's all right. [... but this discussion is better indoors. As if a man walking to the noose, he enters the apartment to the strong scent of smoke. Guanshan's bloodshot gaze tells him the rest.]
If this isn't a good time in your current state, I can return later.
Waitin's worse, [ his voice his a croak of something — burn-raw throat or emotion or even some kind of callow determination, he can't quite discern. there are a lot of bad things Itachi could have loaded in the chamber; a flavor less caustic than gunpowder on his tongue is the least of his concerns. it only makes him slower, smooths his usually anxious, slatted movements, muffles the familiar chalkboard scratch of suspicious paranoia to which Itachi is not usually privy. ]
[ feet tucked up under him on the first corner of his couch, there's enough room for Itachi to claim the other with the comfortable distance he usually requires. Guanshan only looks at him expectantly with those glassy eyes, offering him no further conversational lubricant; he isn't good at it, and it wouldn't help. ]
[ never one to be gently enticed to the slaughter, he'd rather see the barrel against his brow. ]
[The delivery of difficult news is no new phenomenon to him. In some tucked-away, cobwebbed corner of his mind it is the same as surrendering a report of mission failure to a superior—or mission success at the cost of lives—which is everyday life of someone like him. Yet never has he been forced to put this exact confession into his own words. Always, before, there were holes filled in the person's mind, assumptions drawn, a sort of knowing that already existed. Jonas saw. Stiles hunted the information, then dragged it out of him the rest of the way. Everyone else had his reputation, infamous enough to carry over country border.
Itachi lowers dark eyes onto the other end of the couch, but he doesn't move to claim it. He is more comfortable standing as a dark pillar close to the wall, close to the window he came through, as though there is some invisible comfort in having an easy path back out.]
... I've told you before that you should not wish to know me. That was never an idle warning. [He looks over Guanshan in a cold, piercing survey; if nothing else, he deserves to see the effect this has on him. Already he can feel a defensive crystallization of detachment begin to form in his gut.] You're aware of what I am, and what sort of abilities I possess. I have killed many others before on condition of that.
Including my own family. [Sharp, precise as a knife between the slit of ribs.] My parents, cousins, and friends. My entire clan.
[Guanshan, if he is aware enough of it, may notice that brother is not on the list. Itachi moves on either way. This dark and slippery truth that will weigh him down forever, permanently, every waking moment that he is forced to remain alive. Saying it here freshens the wound; he feels unreachable, suspended somewhere deep below in a void of thought, unfeeling.]
That is what I am capable of, what I've done, and it will never change. You cannot trust me. Don't try.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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someone told u u werent allowed n that it aint " right "
who to fuck, what to wear, how to behave, who gets to be violent & how
but why
sometimes bein " wrong " just feels good
or at least sayin fuck u to all that does
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Then it is sincere. You would want to see me wearing this.
[Being wrong feels good—he doesn't know if he can comprehend that. He needs time with the idea.]
The other two gifts are more logical to me. They're relevant to conversations and experiences I've shared with Guanshan. So you must be some part of him, or at least have access to his thoughts and memories, if you are not him. Does he know you're speaking to me? And others, too, I suspect.
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nah hes busy
im sure hell be pissed later but thats his problem, he shouldna left me locked up for so long
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Perhaps it's best if we end this here.
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well that i didnt expect
[ weirdly... touched... ]
u dont even wanna ask me any invasive questions ?
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well awright then
u probly gonna hear from him later tonight
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Don't cause him too much trouble.
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[ in some ways, it would've been easier if they hadn't — but he finds himself grateful all the same. unsure of what to say but wanting to follow up all the same, he sends a (shy) little: ]
uhh
hi
oops 2/2
[ you know. that one. ]
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I assumed as much. Thank you for them. [Because he'd figured out that while that other version of Guanshan might have orchestrated the hunt across Sumarlok, he couldn't have found all of those items in a day. The perfume and weapon were too intimate and premeditated.] ... Excluding that last one.
Are you all right?
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yea im fine
got a headache n im not finishin my shift but
coulda been worse
[ ... ]
did u like how it smelled
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You surprised me. I expected something... stronger. Is the signature on the card your name?
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i figured u wouldnt want somethin too strong
everything about u is kinda.....
[ wait he needs to think is the right word ]
quiet
oh yea its the last character in my name
shan
[ read the same in both of their languages: mountain. ]
1/2
[Mountain... immovably stubborn and dumb as rocks. Meant fondly.]
I'm not certain I will have the occasion to wear it often, but perhaps someday soon.
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Guanshan. There is something I need to discuss with you in person the next time you are available.
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yea ok
late morning or early night works best
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[Almost stiffly formal in comparison, the conversation drops off there. He sends no other message for nearly two full days—and when word does finally come, it is strategically timed on an evening Guanshan is alone at home, off work. Like a phantom materializing from thin air, he appears on his balcony identical to that past encounter, except he is far more composed, and the sky is dry of rain.
There was no right time to discuss this. Yet those gifts had reminded him that, unless he did this soon, Guanshan would only be continually disillusioned about him.]
I'm here.
[His stony, set expression reveals nothing—yet he will be still betrayed by the faintest trace of sweet, smoky perfume.]
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[ days pass and he self-medicates with a mix of alcohol and marijuana like a nail house occupant who refuses to join the modern world as it goes brilliantly flying by. when Itachi announces himself, Guanshan emerges from his bedroom in joggers and a shorn-open tank top barely looped around his neck and hips, red-eyed and still wreathed in the cloying, herbaceous scent from his freshly stubbed-out joint. his hair is getting scruffy on the buzz, fringe bleeding down towards his hard brows. ]
Hey. [ forcefully casual, his hands tuck into his pockets after he's opened the balcony door. ] Tea?
[ something with honey to mortar the oncoming break. ]
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Only black eyes turn onto Guanshan at the greeting. He doesn't move, remaining still as displaced shadow on the balcony.
Uncharacteristic in the refusal:] No, that's all right. [... but this discussion is better indoors. As if a man walking to the noose, he enters the apartment to the strong scent of smoke. Guanshan's bloodshot gaze tells him the rest.]
If this isn't a good time in your current state, I can return later.
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[ feet tucked up under him on the first corner of his couch, there's enough room for Itachi to claim the other with the comfortable distance he usually requires. Guanshan only looks at him expectantly with those glassy eyes, offering him no further conversational lubricant; he isn't good at it, and it wouldn't help. ]
[ never one to be gently enticed to the slaughter, he'd rather see the barrel against his brow. ]
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Itachi lowers dark eyes onto the other end of the couch, but he doesn't move to claim it. He is more comfortable standing as a dark pillar close to the wall, close to the window he came through, as though there is some invisible comfort in having an easy path back out.]
... I've told you before that you should not wish to know me. That was never an idle warning. [He looks over Guanshan in a cold, piercing survey; if nothing else, he deserves to see the effect this has on him. Already he can feel a defensive crystallization of detachment begin to form in his gut.] You're aware of what I am, and what sort of abilities I possess. I have killed many others before on condition of that.
Including my own family. [Sharp, precise as a knife between the slit of ribs.] My parents, cousins, and friends. My entire clan.
[Guanshan, if he is aware enough of it, may notice that brother is not on the list. Itachi moves on either way. This dark and slippery truth that will weigh him down forever, permanently, every waking moment that he is forced to remain alive. Saying it here freshens the wound; he feels unreachable, suspended somewhere deep below in a void of thought, unfeeling.]
That is what I am capable of, what I've done, and it will never change. You cannot trust me. Don't try.
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