nysalogs | . under starless skies . closed

[One could argue this two ways; the first, being that due to his advanced senses, of course he'd have a difficult time acclimating to complete blindness. The second: he has plenty of other venues at his disposal as far as figuring shit out goes (hearing, smell) -- addressing the lamp post should be the reddest of red flags.

Or, maybe the rusted post is what threw him off; it wouldn't be surprising for Takasugi to show up reeking of sulfur. In any case, he's 'righted', A hand lifts to haphazardly grip the side of his yukata in turn. A flimsy crutch, but it'll do son.]

Are you taking on a new career? It's never too late, they say.

[How about shut the fuck up because Takasugi's the first dude tryina help. His papermate doesn't count because he fucking sucks.]

I did call you here, didn't I.

[Not technically. Technically, he wanted to meet indoors, but now's not the time to mince words okay. He's not going to outright whine about it, but generally: he may need Takasugi. In this specific instance under these triflin ass conditions? Hard yes -- no homo. Give their closeness, the paltry contact and words exchanged, he can kind of ascertain whereabouts he should be looking if he's acknowledging his company. Still, the trajectory's off. He's aiming a little high.

C'mon dude Taka's not even that tall.]

Whether you can be of assistance or not remains to be seen.

[HA HA HA HA.]

Would you mind it if we were to continue this conversation indoors?

[The retort is as weak as Solomon's grip. Takasugi's briefly possessed by the impulse to slip away; draw attention both to how he won't accept lukewarm overtures and to the fool's state of need. It'd be satisfying, leaving him twisting in the wind.

But he stays.

Not out of kindness, but to return the grip - an arm wrapped around shoulders - with more firmness. He won't let go, even if Solomon wants to return to his aimless wandering. They're inexorably together now. Sadism in the moment, and obsession overall.] Oh?

But the night sky's beautiful tonight. [Dragging along Solomon's misplaced gaze, Takasugi looks upwards. The stars are bright, crisp despite how deep in the city they reside. All in all... it's what they always look like.

Still, while goading the man's - dampened, if not completely eradicated - vision, Takasugi proceeds. Along the street, towards the cottage they sometimes share.]

[With an arm stretched the length of his shoulders, his own move to rest at Takasugi's furthest hip. A lukewarm grip that overcompensates for itself as soon as they're on the move.

His fingers nearly pinch skin.]

I wouldn't know about that.

[Quietly, a belated admission in response to the canopy. It's murmured without explanation -- he's not even sure how to explain...

But for now, he'll trust that Takasugi isn't leading him off a cliff. The smells are familiar enough; it's all he has to go on, like an animal. Current circumstances don't call for it, but he will eventually angle his head against Takasugi's, lean against him with his eyes closed. Cutting off that useless sense for the time being.

What a pal.]

[The admission almost sounds ashamed. Coupled with the way Solomon's fingers find purchase hesitantly on his hip, Takasugi assumes the man is feeling... embarrassed. From too genial to too harsh, it seems the blonde can't find his footing.

Though, that's a difficult endeavor when one can't see at all.

Takasugi has led blind men before, though never such a calm one. Chattering about their lost futures, or shaking silently in despair, this walk is serene by comparison. Almost like a comfortable exchange between lovers.

Is this the sort of 'date night' Solomon would prefer?

Too bad he only gets nice things when he's suffering. Or, perhaps, it's the man's resignation to his state that stays Takasugi's urges to make things terrible.

They reach the cottage without any interruption, the head on Takasugi's shoulder a heavy weight he only slips away from once they're inside.] Will you be making tea for us?

[Haha. Asshole. Nice moment over.]

[Well, it isn't the worst situation he's found himself in alongside Takasugi. It's a concerning thing for sure, but his vision can't have simply shut off with no hope of returning. His body simply doesn't work like that -- though Diva was rendered barren....

He won't be over-thinking. For now, he's content to sink against his companion, allow himself to be lead until he's brought to that familiar cabin -- familiar only in the smell of timber. He's spent enough time here to learn it from the rest.]

You wouldn't want me to.

[He's nearly chasing that crutch, but stops midway, rights himself. He's not so pathetic.]

Something's gone awry. Contrarily I may need you to fashion me a pair of eyepatches.

[Plural.]

[As Solomon sways closer, Takasugi shifts aside. Side-stepping the man to lock the door behind them in what he assumes is the homeowner's routine. When he passes over the threshold, it's typically when the world has fallen still - night or early morning. He doesn't always remember to shut it, much less secure the bolt.

An audible consolation, given in tandem with Solomon's attempt at wry humor.

From the door back to the blind creature; Takasugi places his hands in the crooks of Solomon's neck. Warmth on warmth, he brings rough palms up soft skin until his thumbs brush cheekbone and his fingers anchor against the base of his skull.

The position one takes when succumbing to an overwhelming urge to crash lips into lips. Except when Takasugi pushes the other back into a wall - sudden and harsh - nothing follows but the heat of his breath.

There's no glossy quality to the man's eyes. They aren't clouded, simply unfocused, scanning endlessly over the blackness in front of them.

Takasugi's hands glide higher - any protest or questions ignored - until thumbs pass over eyeballs themselves. Gently, as much care taken as possible when touching someone's fucking eye, he feels the pressure behind them.

Normal.] What did you do?

[He relinquishes contact with Solomon's irises, but none of their proximity.]

[The lock clicks shut -- good. One less thing to gripe about. Takasugi's close and Solomon's trying to map everything out; how exactly his face is set, what his intentions are in having such knowledge...

And he would have absolutely busted his ass if not for the wall being there to catch him. He stumbles into it, prepared to lash out in response but the weight of his presence isn't supplemented by hostility. It does very little to quell his nerves--]

You'll do better to foster my trust in you, if-- [There's a jerk of the head, hands of his own lift and wrap around his wrists, acting as tentative anchors. Though he has the strength, he won't shatter the joint yet.

And then he's poked in the fucking eye. He's turning the heck out of that with enough force to actually slam the side of his head into the wall.

It's loud and hilarious.]

Enough! Enough of that. [He's keeping his eyes closed now, like a grown up infant extra upset in having blindly donked his head. An arm sits skewed between them, the other shields his face like Dracula denouncing the light. Weirdly vulnerable. At least Takasugi chose those words, rather than anything indicative of someone else doing this to him.] I won't tell you if you plan on treating me so poorly.

[Wah wah wah, little does he know.]

I was testing the capabilities of that training simulator. I wouldn't recommend experimenting with it.

[Takasugi neither assumed Solomon would relent, nor prepared to be fought. He was far too enraptured by the other's condition; the fragility in that unfocused pair of eyes riles him up.

Anger. Because everything comes back to rage.

Rather than worry about the possibility of his wrists being reduced to dust, or feeling sorry for the idiot who just craned his head into the wall, Takasugi considers vengeance.

He'd asked what happened. What he should have said is who did this.

Who scared something they have no right to touch?

Takasugi's no caretaker. He doesn't possess a soft touch, no whim to guide the man to bed and cook him a nice little meal. He won't lay at his side with reassuring touches or tell him to 'watch out for that step'.

But he can slice the eyes from the face of a perpetrator.

All while ignoring the strained cries of his injured companion. Solomon's raised voice, his recoiled form, are a sight that may be amusing had he committed the act that put him in such a position. But now, it's just annoying.

Takasugi wraps a hand, tender only because he knows it will garner a more complicit reaction, around Solomon's wrist and brings it down.] So.

You have no one to blame but yourself.

[How.

Disappointing.

~~Now who is he gonna stab about this?~~]

Edited 2018-11-06 23:42 (UTC)

[For what it's worth, initially contacting Takasugi wasn't done from an angle of desired tenderness. Solomon's not a creature that requires such consideration -- tenderness, maybe the latter in certain form, and while all of that may be a sweet sentiment, it's more of a hassle to contend with.

Even Diva would overreact. Takasugi? Not so much. There's a kneejerk pullback at that grip, it manifests as an unexpected twitch. He has no reason for such dramatics -- they've only really fought on mutual terms. His arm falls, he's left staring ahead, focused on the voice before himself.]

That's right.

[More or less; even cursing his place has become tedious. In any case:]

Thank you, for bringing me here. [Borderline dismissive.] It would have taken me twice the amount of time, if I were to do it alone.

[Fine and dandy, as though he hadn't just smashed his face into the wall and Takasugi hadn't just crammed his thumbs directly into his eyeballs.]

Do you know whether or not this has happened to anyone else?

[He'd google it but yeah.]

[For whatever reason - possessiveness? certainly not concern - Takasugi doesn't release Solomon's wrist when he lowers it. His grip remains, firmer now than when he'd initiated the contact. His thumb slips from its coiled position and runs over pale knuckles beneath.

He won't be acknowledging that little gesture - not even for himself.]

I'm not going to cook you dinner or prepare your bed. [The favors end here and now, especially with how much attention Solomon has brought to them. He's hardly being praised for his basic decency, if anything the gratitude is a pleasantry, but he still doesn't care for it to be recognized.]

And I'm not going to go looking for a solution, either. [That may or may not be a lie, depending on how long this lasts.]

If you want to know, send a message yourself. [He passes by, then, heading straight to the kitchen to prepare some tea. There's the distinct sound of two cups hitting the counter - apparently 'no dinner' doesn't mean 'no beverage'.

Semantics.]

[Note to self: Never. For Any Reason. Thank Takasugi for a kind gesture. If that consideration ends here, he doesn't mind it. It is his own fault -- rather, it's an embarrassing situation; he hasn't been so vulnerable in decades. Maybe he's reached his self-healing quota...

Asinine, especially where he hadn't done anything to outright damage his eyes.]

That's fine-

[Between I'm not going to go looking for a solution and If you want to know.]

I'd like not to advertise this anyway.

[Annnnnnd then those footfalls head elsewhere, grow distant. There's a clatter of somesort and he can only assume that Takasugi's preparing

'preparing'

sake for them. Or something similar. The most disappointing thing he's surmised all night. A sigh marks his opinion on that matter, but the sound of running water is promising.

Unless he's using milk, because that still sounds like shit.

Either way, standing about uselessly is a dumb thing to do, and so he'll head for Takasugi's designated couch for a sit where he can ponder in darkness like Edgar Allen Poe, whose house is a Bolocco's now.]

. under starless skies . closed

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takas fucking weird

LMFAO I REALLY THOUGHT I ANSWERED THIS

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dont call him out on behaving with basic human decency

what if solomon calls him tsun tsun dere dere~