Who: ANYONE AND EVERYONE Where: ANYWHERE AND EVERYWHERE When: May 29 - 31 Summary: GET IN HERE AND MINGLE Rating: BUT PLEASE MARK YOUR THREAD CONTENT ACCORDINGLY Log:
Your favorite color is blue. You like keeping your hair long, and you love it when someone you like touches it. But you can't stand it when something you've decided is yours gets hurt or damaged, and you hate it even more when you or your team loses.
Is that enough, or should I resort to the kind of things even I wouldn't usually say openly?
[It's probably not surprising that the one that unsettles him the most is the one about his hair, because most of the others are just sort of...intuitive, but how in the hell —]
Depends. Am I the only one who'd find 'em mortifying? Because I'm betting they're pretty mortifying.
[Well, he did ask for it. Kirei paused for a moment, thinking--how to say this without coming out and saying it clearly? Even he wasn't quite so cruel as that. After some careful consideration, he spoke again with a smirk. Despite the relaxed posture, he was fully prepared to actually end up being shot at for this.]
'The devil strains every nerve to secure the souls which belong to Christ. We should not grudge our toil in wresting them from Satan and giving them back to God.'
They say that those are the words of a famous saint, did you know? One who was so difficult to get rid of that he ended up martyred twice.
[The blatant reference would either prove Kirei's point or nearly get him killed. Frankly, he was interested to see which would be the result.]
[It doesn't quite click for him at first; it's a Catholic priest reciting holy words, how is that supposed to be some sort of dark secret about him? It can't be the reference to the devil, he's too smug for that — that pet name is something that only his friends should know, of course, but it's also not something worthy of being shot for it.
...The words of a famous saint...
Farfarello would know this, of course. Who was the one — no, wait, he'd...that's right, there'd been some stupid joke, Farfarello had been carrying on and blathering in a frenzy and he'd said, "Yeah, yeah, the saint so nice they killed him twice." What was his name?]
That's supposed to mean something to me?
[What the hell are the words of some saint supposed to mean to him, anyway? You'd practically have to be a priest to know anything about the guys, assuming you could even remember their n—
...
......
He goes very still, and something strange and cold seems to flush through his veins like a rising flood of ice.
Maybe he's wrong, and maybe he's being mindgamed, but...
Shake it off. Shake it off, it's nothing, he's fucking with you. He's got to just be fucking with you.
[He definitely knew that look. Schuldig had clearly been thrown off, and for damn good reason. That subject was something even Kirei didn't dare talk about, and it occurred to him a normal person might have felt guilt for bringing it up at all.]
If I was going to go about shouting it like a lunatic, I wouldn't have bothered with the roundabout way of saying it at all.
Now, you can go ahead and try to kill me for that if you want, but I warn you it won't work.
That's smart, Schuldig. Very cautious of you, I'm impressed.
[With what sounded like a genuine compliment (although edged with the odd condescending note Kirei had just about every time he spoke), the priest calmly accepted both the pen and paper.]
...I should apologize, I think I just scared a few years off your life.
[And he was going to scare off a few more, writing down Schuldig's original name in too-perfect handwriting and giving it back to him.]
[It takes all of one glance at the scrap of paper, and then abruptly the pen is back in his pocket and replaced by a cigarette lighter, and with one flick and a click later the receipt is on fire between his fingers.
Which, in combination with the faintly white pallor of his face, probably says all that really needs to be said, about the accuracy of the word rendered in ink on that receipt.]
...When did I tell you. Why.
[He keeps his eyes fixed on the flame, less concerned for his fingers and more for making sure the scrap of paper is ash by the time he's done with it.]
...It was some time ago. Late last year, if I'm remembering correctly.
[Satisfied this wouldn't turn into a fight just yet, Kirei folded his arms behind his back.]
We've spoken about names quite a bit, actually--you like mine, and I can't stand it. And to be a little disgustingly sentimental, I envy the conviction you have in the name you chose. Not everyone can so clearly display their willingness to be a terrible person.
[Frowning, Kirei considered the second half of Schuldig's question for a minute.]
As for your reasoning...it's something I have difficulty comprehending. You told me because...you trust me, stupid as such a decision usually is. Because of that, you gave me something you found worthless--that's what friends do, apparently. I wouldn't know, I don't have any others.
[As the flame gets too close to his fingers to continue holding it comfortably, he lets it drop to the ground and continue to burn out before grinding the ashes out with the heel of his shoe.
To say he doesn't like this at all is a grievous understatement, and yet this is the one thing, the one thing out of literally any other thing that the guy could've brought up, that he's certain he couldn't have gotten without being given it. Telepaths couldn't get at it. Torture couldn't get it out of him. Crawford had a hard time with it unless he was in a particularly pliant mood, because there was no reason for a direct order forcing him to give it up.
...And this guy has it. Somehow.
That's unsettling, but it says a lot about the other him, doesn't it.]
Don't say that so loud, will you? I haven't been properly introduced to a lot of people around here.
[But anyway.]
Is this as creepy as hell for you as it is for me? With me looking just like the guy you know but not...being him?
...My name isn't written exactly the same, but 'kirei' is the same word used for 'beautiful'. It's a painfully ill-suited name for someone like me, for a myriad of reasons, and I have to admit I've never cared for it.
[The wanton murder is second on the list, just below his massive self-loathing.]
You--the other you, that is--seem to disagree with my evaluation. A flawed existence best suited for murder seems to be your definition of the word, in fact.
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Your favorite color is blue. You like keeping your hair long, and you love it when someone you like touches it. But you can't stand it when something you've decided is yours gets hurt or damaged, and you hate it even more when you or your team loses.
Is that enough, or should I resort to the kind of things even I wouldn't usually say openly?
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Depends. Am I the only one who'd find 'em mortifying? Because I'm betting they're pretty mortifying.
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...Luckily, I have a fair track record against gunfire.
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Shoot.
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'The devil strains every nerve to secure the souls which belong to Christ. We should not grudge our toil in wresting them from Satan and giving them back to God.'
They say that those are the words of a famous saint, did you know? One who was so difficult to get rid of that he ended up martyred twice.
[The blatant reference would either prove Kirei's point or nearly get him killed. Frankly, he was interested to see which would be the result.]
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...The words of a famous saint...
Farfarello would know this, of course. Who was the one — no, wait, he'd...that's right, there'd been some stupid joke, Farfarello had been carrying on and blathering in a frenzy and he'd said, "Yeah, yeah, the saint so nice they killed him twice." What was his name?]
That's supposed to mean something to me?
[What the hell are the words of some saint supposed to mean to him, anyway? You'd practically have to be a priest to know anything about the guys, assuming you could even remember their n—
...
......
He goes very still, and something strange and cold seems to flush through his veins like a rising flood of ice.
Maybe he's wrong, and maybe he's being mindgamed, but...
Shake it off. Shake it off, it's nothing, he's fucking with you. He's got to just be fucking with you.
Right?]
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[He definitely knew that look. Schuldig had clearly been thrown off, and for damn good reason. That subject was something even Kirei didn't dare talk about, and it occurred to him a normal person might have felt guilt for bringing it up at all.]
If I was going to go about shouting it like a lunatic, I wouldn't have bothered with the roundabout way of saying it at all.
Now, you can go ahead and try to kill me for that if you want, but I warn you it won't work.
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[He digs in his pocket, finding an old receipt and blue pen, and fairly shoves them at Kirei for his trouble.]
'Cause if you're getting at what I think you're getting at, torture couldn't have gotten it out of me and I want to see proof.
...it's good enough for Saint Thomas, it's good enough for me.
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[With what sounded like a genuine compliment (although edged with the odd condescending note Kirei had just about every time he spoke), the priest calmly accepted both the pen and paper.]
...I should apologize, I think I just scared a few years off your life.
[And he was going to scare off a few more, writing down Schuldig's original name in too-perfect handwriting and giving it back to him.]
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Which, in combination with the faintly white pallor of his face, probably says all that really needs to be said, about the accuracy of the word rendered in ink on that receipt.]
...When did I tell you. Why.
[He keeps his eyes fixed on the flame, less concerned for his fingers and more for making sure the scrap of paper is ash by the time he's done with it.]
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[Satisfied this wouldn't turn into a fight just yet, Kirei folded his arms behind his back.]
We've spoken about names quite a bit, actually--you like mine, and I can't stand it. And to be a little disgustingly sentimental, I envy the conviction you have in the name you chose. Not everyone can so clearly display their willingness to be a terrible person.
[Frowning, Kirei considered the second half of Schuldig's question for a minute.]
As for your reasoning...it's something I have difficulty comprehending. You told me because...you trust me, stupid as such a decision usually is. Because of that, you gave me something you found worthless--that's what friends do, apparently. I wouldn't know, I don't have any others.
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To say he doesn't like this at all is a grievous understatement, and yet this is the one thing, the one thing out of literally any other thing that the guy could've brought up, that he's certain he couldn't have gotten without being given it. Telepaths couldn't get at it. Torture couldn't get it out of him. Crawford had a hard time with it unless he was in a particularly pliant mood, because there was no reason for a direct order forcing him to give it up.
...And this guy has it. Somehow.
That's unsettling, but it says a lot about the other him, doesn't it.]
Don't say that so loud, will you? I haven't been properly introduced to a lot of people around here.
[But anyway.]
Is this as creepy as hell for you as it is for me? With me looking just like the guy you know but not...being him?
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[...]
I have a high threshold for 'creepy', to say the least.
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[IT'S BECAUSE HE IS VERY TALL, GET IT]
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[The wanton murder is second on the list, just below his massive self-loathing.]
You--the other you, that is--seem to disagree with my evaluation. A flawed existence best suited for murder seems to be your definition of the word, in fact.
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[schuldig no]
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I mean, since he likes you and all.
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[In theory.]
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