nysalogs | dec and jan catch all [closed]

[ Takasugi standing over corpses isn't what Cain had expected to find upon coming to investigate the sounds of battle. Corpses, maybe. Takasugi, no. Cain pauses a moment at the edge of the clearing, staring. His eyes are wide as he takes in the grisly scene: the stopped cart, the nervous, snorting draft animals, the blood sinking into the damp road, and Takasugi. Takasugi, his hand near his sword, standing amidst the carnage.

Cain takes a deep breath. His gaze darts down to Takasugi's clothes, searching for any telltale signs, scuffs of dirt, rips and tears, spatters of blood. Anything that will tell him if Takasugi was involved in the fight, or is just coming upon the scene as he claims to be. ]

I heard it. [ No warmth in his voice. Even if Takasugi's telling the truth, Cain's still not pleased to see him. ] It seems like they didn't put up much of a fight.

[He doesn't stay standing for long. Takasugi crouches, plucking a battered and bloodied dagger from the hand of one of the dead men. If he'd been marked by blood before, it's obfuscated now by the deep dye of red that soaks into the hem of his yukata, and along his thigh - brushing the cart as he stands.]

Don't speak ill of the dead. [Turning the knife over in his hand only once, Takasugi steps over the pillaged corpse and lays a hand flat on the crate they'd been transporting.] I'm sure they clung to life with all they had.

[No warmth in his voice either - a callous reassurance devoid of any sympathy.

More like a joke, really.]

[ Is that coincidence or by plan that Takasugi's robes are now streaked red at the hems? Cain... before, he would have thought he could guess. Now, he doesn't know. Is that giving Takasugi more sinister purpose than he has, or is this just a feigned lack of care? Either way, it makes Cain's palms itch for his sword.

And Takasugi's remark— that certainly feigned mockery of respect for the dead. Cain grits his teeth and steps up to Takasugi's side to inspect the crates, struggling to rein in his temper. He can feel it bubbling beneath his skin, a pot about to bubble over, Takasugi joking about such a hideous loss of life—

Before he even realizes what he's doing, Cain's turned and thrown a punch, aiming to have his fist connect solidly with Takasugi's smirk. ]

[Even with darkness, few stars and a half moon's light obscured by the long, black shadows of trees, Takasugi can see Cain's seething. He turns away from it, as dismissive of his anger as he'd been the dead men at his feet.

In the heavy silence, he begins prying the first crate open. Nail after nail wrenched from it's hold. One at a time.

Closed distance doesn't stop him, and neither does how sure Cain's wind up is. Takasugi knows the hit is coming, and he lets it. He'll pry this one apart one piece at a time, as well.

The lid of the crate cracks louder than his jaw, knife scraping through splinters and swinging outward in recoil. His swipe reaches within an inch of Cain's face.

Not by coincidence at all.

Takasugi's foothold doesn't slip in the bloody muck beneath, but he does feel the cooling warmth spill over his sandal to lap at his heel.

With the knife angled, poised to lunge forward, Takasugi lets his jaw slack. If the fight dwindles here, it's for the better. But if Cain continues, he wouldn't mind making the puddles of blood at their feet just a little deeper.]

[ Cain stares at Takasugi, panting. He doesn't make a move to strike at Takasugi again — not yet. This was a dangerous show of emotion, far too much, far more than he usually allows himself in such a precarious setting. There's just something about Takasugi that gets beneath his skin, has him unsettled and on edge. He'd trusted Takasugi, and Takasugi had laughed at him as he revealed the betrayal.

Cain can't so easily get over that, no matter how much practice in stifling his emotions he has.

He wants to hit Takasugi again, but he'll give Takasugi a fair chance to explain himself first. He grits out: ]

Do you care about it at all? All these people, dead, for no reason—

[ Heat makes the words burn in his mouth. ]

[Was Cain's anger this deep at the gala? Or in the ship? Takasugi's memories of the later are bleary, obscured by his own frustration and quickly abandoned. He distinctly remembers the sparks of rage in Cain's eyes, dulled by the sweet scent of cinnamon and the aftertaste of alcohol on his lips.

There's nothing warm about the way Cain looks at him now - as if all protests as to their camaraderie have gone forgotten.

If only.

Takasugi's smile widens despite the ache in his jaw; he glances, disinterested, to the corpses around him.

So many people dead for no reason - Takasugi can see the faces of his comrades smeared in the mud as if they've gathered at his feet as well - and Cain thinks he should care about these men.

He shrugs.] Why would I waste my time with that?

[ No, Cain's anger wasn't this deep before, not that burning spark in his eyes. Cain can withstand a lot when it comes to himself; Takasugi's betrayal, messing with him, taunting him — all of that he can bear with gritted teeth. But for Takasugi to treat others' lives so cavalierly, to have so little regard for the men bled out at their feet, lost forever—

He can't hold down his anger, that sharp flare of red heat. ]

Because they're dead! They're gone, forever, and there was no need for it, no need for anyone to die here! [ There's never a need for anyone to die, but for something so petty, not even protecting anything, not even for ideals— ] How can you not care at all?!

[ What does it matter that these men are strangers? They still have people who'll miss them, people who their deaths will hurt.

It's too much; Cain swings at Takasugi again, wanting only to wipe that uncaring look off Takasugi's face. ]

[Smooth and slow, Takasugi inhales; he smells gunpowder smoke and the stench of rot. Cain's outrage suits a battlefield more than an isolated, worn carriage on a beaten road. His eyes are beyond betrayal, there's nothing in them now but rage. Hate. Desperation to reject a world where people die senselessly.

He relishes in the sight of it.

Even if the words are tedious. Dead, gone forever. There's no need for this! He's heard it enough. He's been engulfed in his own bitterness night after night until the cyclical anger became nothing more than a cog in the back of his mind.

Caring doesn't save anyone.

Takasugi's smile spreads, a shudder of a laugh wracking his chest.

Cain's swing is wilder than his first - Takasugi sidesteps, locking his arms around Cain's elbow and bicep. Following his momentum, he slams him chest first into the crate, the cart groaning in protest. His knife follows swiftly, plunged into Cain's shoulder - too low to graze bone, but buried to the hilt.]

You're swinging at the wrong person.

Nngh—

[ Surprise as much as practice at hiding when he's wounded has Cain stifling a yell. He bites down on his cry of pain, not wanting to give Takasugi the satisfaction, even if it's a vain, prideful sort of stubborness. What satisfaction is he denying Takasugi when Takasugi's knife is in his shoulder, blood running down his arm, staining his sleeve dark?

Through the haze of anger, he's at least got enough common sense left to go still instead of trying to renew his attack.

Cain glares at Takasugi, panting through his nose, biting his lip hard enough to bleed. But finally, he masters himself enough to snarl out: ]

Am I? Did you really have nothing to do with these men's deaths?

[ His fury at Takasugi's callousness hasn't diminished, but that at least is one question he wants answered. ]

[Heat blooms on Takasugi's palm, hilt of the knife flush between his hand and the wound. His wrist twists, slight - enough to ensure the pain continues, but too subtle to butcher more muscle than it already has.

Slackened but for the working of his jaw, teeth serrating through swollen lip, Cain makes something twist in Takasugi's gut. Satisfaction, he calls it, because anything else is too troublesome.

He considers, as his chest rises and falls flush against Cain's back, delving his knife into the swell of Cain's neck.

But he needs help carrying these crates.

Takasugi leans closer, his breath giving sway to what hair isn't clinging to Cain's skin with sweat.]

I didn't.

[He has no intention to twist logic - no devotion to avoiding calling it anything but a lie.

Takasugi utters the confirmation without a smile. Not through decency. This has grown tedious.

Like being parched, but letting water rush through the cracks of his fingers, he releases his capture. Takasugi plucks the knife from Cain, burying it immediately back into the crate he'd been loosening. With a wrench of his arm it cracks open, lid severed almost in half by a run in the wood.

Weapons, packed neatly - exactly what he'd been looking for. Takasugi's smile returns.]

[ He winces, lets out a sharp gasp as Takasugi pulls the knife out of him. But Cain doesn't go after him, doesn't try for a rebuttal in words or actions. Instead, he puts a hand to the wound on his shoulder, pressing down, trying to stem the bleeding a bit. It's not a life-threatening wound, but it's painful and going to hinder his movement a bit.

And even now, even with that unhesitating answer, Cain's still not sure that he believes Takasugi's word.

He sighs quietly. There's no way to tell, only his suspicions nagging at him. He'd thought, for a brief instant, that there had been something else in Takasugi's eyes. Something—

But he can't tell. Whatever it was, it's wiped away now.

He'll have to accept Takasugi's answer, at least for the moment. With that decided, he grudgingly asks: ]

What are you doing here, then? [ And spurred by that smile: ] Was this [ he gestures to the weapons with a tilt of his head ] what you were expecting?

[ No apology, and he has no intention of offering one. Even if Takasugi didn't kill the men, his lack of regard for them ensures that. ]

[Blood spills from Cain's shoulder, the most severe concern for a wound like that. Takasugi casts a glance to the injury; the white of the thin, yellowing linen spread between weapons reminds him of bandages.

He's not in the habit of patching up the holes he carves.]

I'm here to complete the delivery.

Though to a different buyer. [Honesty, even if its vague, twists Takasugi's lips into a sneer.]

What about you? [Moving on to the next crate, Takasugi cracks its lid off with one pry of the knife. He bunches fabric in his hands, protecting his fingers from sharpened blades as he moves several from one container to the other.

Lightening Cain's load - he won't nurse the wound, but he'll bear the burdens he's wrought for himself.]

[ Cain hesitates, considering his words. He watches Takasugi pry off the lid of a crate, watches the glint of moonlight off the sharp, shining blades as Takasugi sorts them. Should he tell Takasugi why he was here? That he was given a task for Cree, and came to see if he could warn the merchants instead, subtly divert them from Cree's intended theft?

Fat lot of good that's done when someone (Takasugi?) has found them first. When they've lost their lives to the city's machinations, and Cain, hoping for information, for a chance to dip his fingers into the city's pulsing lifeblood to present exactly this sort of thing, has only enabled it.

But if he doesn't complete this task, everything's been for nought. He can't save these men anymore, and he doesn't trust Takasugi. The best choice, as sickening as it is, is to play along, pretend he's truly one of Cree's dogs, seeking payment for his own self-satisfaction rather than any nobler cause.

(A nobler cause. Ha. As if he can make any such claim when he has men's blood staining his boots.)

Finally, Cain grimaces, taking a step to put himself at Takasugi's side. A version of the truth, but not the whole truth. No, Takasugi can't be trusted with the entirety of Cain's purpose. ]

The same as you. Though I intended to complete the transaction [ his lips twist as he glares at the weapons; so much death, just for greed, and he couldn't do anything to stop it ] with less bloodshed.

[People in the trade of making weapons shouldn't bemoan their use, even if it brings about their end. What lay in those crates are tools of murder, beautiful sometimes in craft, but still meant for killing nonetheless.

These men may not have intended to die here, tonight, but they've given the means for the slaughter of so many others. Each blade could take countless lives.

No one is innocent.

Takasugi spares Cain his logic - not for his throbbing jaw, nor to spare his companion another slice taken.

The night is moving on without them, and they'll need the cover of darkness to slip into the city.]

Aa.

We'll have to split the profit, then. [Almost disappointed, if he sounded at all genuine. He considers dividing their payout in the proportion of weapons, more for him than for Cain.

But this has never been about money.

And he doubts Cain has his sights on silver, either.]

Take this one, and follow me. [Takasugi drags his hand across the edge of the crate he'd been lightening, peeling his fingers from it to toss the lid back on top. He lifts the other, a swath of linen placed over the top to obscure the contents in lieu of the shattered cover.

He drops the blade in the mud. The crate is lifted without duress, but it's certainly a job that requires two hands, and careful footing in the muck and blood; he traverses the corpses with more regard than he'd paid for their lives.]

[ No, this has never been about money. Not since the moment they met, not since they started trading favors — since Cain started owing Takasugi, and thought, briefly, that for all Takasugi's acrid personality, he might be someone Cain would be glad to have at his back. As he hefts the crate, gritting his teeth against the pull of his shoulder, Cain wants to laugh. What foolish hopes. Takasugi is the last person he wants behind him, ready to put another dagger right between his shoulders.

Cain lags, purposefully keeping Takasugi in front of him, making no attempt to disguise what he's doing. ]

You can keep it all. [ The words spit out through his pain and the low burn of bitter anger. ] I don't want pay that came at the cost of someone else's life.

[ He's sure Takasugi will call him stupidly naive. Cain knows himself that it's not the right choice, that the deed is done, that he shouldn't turn his nose up now. But without someone else pushing him past that, he's not going to take the silver for the job, not when it's stained with blood. ]

[Leading suits Takasugi well enough; he's already scouted a route that weaves through the outskirts of the roadside forest up to a lesser fortified entrance to the city. The ground is as treacherous as the mud they leave behind, the first challenge a ditch that slopes sharply into trees and brush.

He doesn't look behind him to see how Cain fared with the endeavor.

Once in the bramble, making noise is unavoidable, but with dusk about to break - and with Cain's uneven gait - they'd sound more like scattered animals than anything else.

Apt.]

Mmn. [He could keep it all, but he won't.

Even when he'd cast his bet, back among the din of the fight club, money had been the furthest from both of their minds.]

I don't plan on using one of my favors here. If you don't want your cut, throw it in some beggar's hand.

They won't care where it came from. [Rebuttal given in hushed pitch, he bends at the knee to pass under a felled tree.]

dec and jan catch all [closed]

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