dec and jan catch all [closed]

[shikomizue]

Who: Takasugi Shinsuke (shikomizue) & various
What: Catch-all for December / January
When: Throughout December / January
Where: Thesa, will edit as necessary
Warning(s): Alcohol use, Drug use, probably some PTSD/vivid war flashbacks, graphic violence

[Individual starters in the comments!]

Comments

. mess

[yorozuya]

[When had the chrome lining the hallways grown brighter? Gintoki wasn't sure. He'd sauntered (read: stumbled) through the labyrinthine hallways for hours (read: minutes), but his red eyes finally grew tired after he'd rounded the corner of another corridor. His step slowed... and the samurai relented. He ducked into his room.

Or what he thought was his room in order to escape the brightness that was beginning to pound into his skull. (The room he'd been staying in was around here somewhere, he swore.)

His boots squeaked against the floor as he tripped over his feet - though he doesn't fall. Instead he managed to drag his descent into a lurching motion before passing out into the first bed he found. His knees were folded, his form bowed before the mattress god as if he begged for it to swallow him whole.

... Who was he kidding? Of course he begged for it to swallow him up. To suck him back into a vacuum to rest with the thousands of slumbering bodies that sit in the decks deep below.

His vision blurred, his eyes never truly adjusting before his consciousness tunneled around him and faded.]

. dont make fun of my edgy format

[shikomizue]

[No amount of alcohol in his blood could overtake the swell of adrenaline that crests when the door to the cabin opens. Takasugi's alone, he's intended to be alone, and the disruption of his surroundings is an alarm to his senses.

Even if his body can't keep up with his instincts.

Takasugi's eye opens, his breath a shuddered choke as he tries to sit up, only to drag his head against the metal wall at the head of his cot.

It's too damn bright, and what's entered is a gleam that makes his stomach churn.

A familiar ghost.

One he can't welcome with anything but a grimace, a distinctly acidic taste on his tongue and in his throat that reminds him the room is spinning and he needs to rest his head.

He collapses, view of the specter obscured by a crumpled limb.

The company keeps him awake, each breath a singed mark in his chest, regardless of whether he's been visited by the man himself or simply a walking memory. Dull, unfocused, he stares, vision dimming as his eye grows accustomed to the light.]

. clever criticism

[yorozuya]

[Time began to drag. Gintoki faded in and out of consciousness as a puddle of drool slowly soaked into the blankets below. After the wetness had spread to soak his cheek and nostril, the albino awoke to the smell of smoke.

Smoke...

He wasn't alone, and yet he couldn't will his body to move from its repose. His lungs heaved and his weight shifted as if to begin the process of movement....

His boots scrape against the floor once more before falling silent. The stirring of the specter falls into silence once more.

. die

[shikomizue]

[Takasugi sees the movement as the curling of spine, distorted through blurred vision and obstruction of fabric and the veil of so many other curled, crumpled bodies piled in his memory. A twitch, legs looking for escape, for that one final step to carry them to safety.

Only to smear in their own blood.

Or drool.

Dry lips brush, a prick of pain as skin catches forcing his eye wider.

All white, and no blood, no mud, no sand that he'd felt more than seen embedded into both of their skin.

How long has it been?

He doesn't care. He's not chasing this ghost - he'll let it slip from his grasp time and time again. There's no strength left in his grip on those things, they've long since ground his bones to dust.

Takasugi's jaw tightens, teeth gritting against each other.

With a strained groan he doesn't hear, he shifts to turn his back on the intruder.]

[yorozuya]

[And yet the groan does reach his ears. It crackles within his ear drums and his skin crawls. The flesh at the base of his neck tingles before erupting into a roll of pinpricks. The albino grimaces against the sensation before sitting up in a rather fluid motion.

A motion that also causes the fluid in his guts to stir and slosh... rising upward. He now sits on his haunches and his head slowly drifts backwards in an attempt to fight back the rising bile. His lips desperately press and meet, clinging on to every bit of strength he had.

Crimson eyes roll and lull before he wills himself to move further upward. His legs shift and he pushes himself back to stand...

Why?

To find that groan. Until he has to wonder if it was his own. That doesn't stop him from asking the void.]

Who's there?

[... Or so he thought he asked. Instead his voice is drowned in a murmur. Incoherent to all but himself. Any louder and he'd lose the contents of his stomach.]

[shikomizue]

[Fabric against fabric, a gentle friction, rustles all too loudly in the silence of the room. Takasugi braces against it, shoulders taut and breath thin as the sound of his own? someone else's?

What's the difference?

There's movement.

And then it's gone, silence reigning again but for the laborious breath in his chest. In their chests. The same stale air, the same noxious bite in their throat of alcohol and memories that choke tighter and tighter.

He's long since learned how to suck breaths without baring his teeth.

As close as they come to suffocation, there's still the need for air. To move and barrel forward with all the coordination of drunken stumbling. Vision blurry, but stare locked.

Even if they don't share the same view.]