(open) o another deluge of wind and rain / how furious these four elements of nature

[wordcarvings]

WHO: Koutarou and open
WHERE: Apprassage
WHEN: 17th to 20th
WHAT: Koutarou got stabbed a little bit, and drinking ink is pretty disgusting.
WARNINGS: Some ink gore and some mental instability, and minor mentions of thoughts of self-harm



17th | Ink Trails | CW: Some ink gore and some future mental instability

[ The door to the atelier at the edge of Enprise and Tisse stands open. It’s not a particularly unusual sight, he can keep the door open to let the air circulate as he works. It’s almost eerily silent.

Spatters of ink, reminiscent of a blood trail, has dripped along the sidewalk and up the stairs and indoors. If anyone were to follow it back, away from the atelier, they would find a place where the ink spatter has fallen more heavily, and a handprint on the wall. If they were to go inside, Koutarou isn’t that far from the door. He’s just not directly in sight if one were to simply peek inside.

For some time he was mumbling to himself, his hand pressed to a wound cut deep in his side, with ink seeping up between his fingers. Then he ends up falling asleep, because he was tired even before he was attacked, and the loss of ink in his veins makes nothing better. Through the folds of his clothes, the gash in the fabric stained black, dark letters, Japanese symbols, mar his skin and have slowly spread from the wound. ]

18th | Shopping | CM: Minor mention of self-harm

[ He’s been away from his apartment in Birch Hills for many days, which is nothing uncommon. He spends so much time in his atelier. But he figured he should go home, and rest in an actual bed instead of the mattress tucked away in a corner among paintings and tools.

But he’s got nothing at home and he can’t survive on only ink. At least he doesn’t think he can survive on only ink. Maybe he can, now. But he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to drink ink more than he has to and even now when he does need to drink a lot of ink to heal the wound in his side, he doesn’t want to drink it all at once. So he’s got nothing at home and he goes to shop, though he’s wandering around lost in thought inside the shop, stopping to stare right into space or right through some food or other.

Maybe— maybe if he got hurt enough, then—

If he accidentally walks into someone (or something and causes a mess), sorry about that. Hopefully the only problem he causes is standing in the way. ]

19th | Paint everywhere

[ He needed to clean up after bleeding out ink on the floor and dripping all over the stairs and the sidewalk, and though his movements are stiff, because drinking all the ink necessary to fully heal in one go is disgusting and he’s not yet fully healed, he is determined to at least clean up the stairs. It’s one thing to leave stains on the floor inside - he already has so many paint stains there that it doesn’t really make much of a difference - but he tries to keep the outside clean.

He could just paint the stairs instead of washing it off with a mop. It’s much more fun. Which is why he’s turning the stairs into a rainbow to fit the new style of the city. As a result, he’s also looking like a rainbow, not that he minds. ]

20th | Some works regained

[ He has been at home to allow the stairs to dry properly. He was going to spend the day resting so that he could get rid of the last traces of his wound, he was going to wash the clothes he had worn and patch them up. But he found a mail ticket in his mailbox and he wanted to check that out first.

It’s three works. He has not remembered them before, though he’s remembered part of something that’s described in one of them. He remembers the pressure of the earth as the train traveled through the tunnel, he remembers seeing the snow fall when he finally emerged from it, he remembers the beauty of the sky and the rippling fields and the mountains.

He sinks down on the front steps of the building in Birch Hills where he lives, to read the old, yellowing papers with the frayed edges and words in his own handwriting jump out at him, and he sighs and murmurs the words (untranslated, but with a few foreign words mixed in), and he wonders what the other him felt when he wrote these words, both full sentences and cut-off thoughts. ]

Comments

17th of course

[standalonehuman]

And things had looked like they were going so well.

A missing persons case, then a sudden rash of assaults. This would be disturbing enough, if it could be anyone. But only the people on the app can interact with each other right now. Limits the suspect pool a lot. Even the CSI guys are out looking, and Togusa is back on patrol.

It’s when Togusa spots the first stain of ink that his entire world narrows to a complete stop. Thoughts, breathing, even heartbeat all freeze at once. Koutarou!

He runs, moving on instinct, not cognizant of the fact that he is flying towards the atelier at top speed. Mentally, he can start messaging ahead.

Koutarou! KOUTAROU! Please please have your phone answer your phone!

At the doorway to the atelier, training kicks in, and he skids to a stop. More ink. His back slams against the wall, gun is out, and he tries to calm his breathing. Koutarou. Visions of how bad it could be flood his mind.

I’m coming to get you.

Togusa minimizes his profile as he slides through the doorway. One step, another, and the sight only gets worse. He finally dares a whisper.

“...Koutarou?”

[wordcarvings]

Koutarou should mention to Togusa that he's not the only person with ink in his veins...not that that is any thought he's currently having.

He doesn't notice any messages that gets dropped into his phone, he's busy sleeping. He would have been better if he had at least had some ink before falling asleep, but he's not in that kind of state of mind at the moment.

There's a table covered in paint bottles and some dirty towels, Koutarou has curled up against the wall beside (and, incidentally, behind) it. He didn't really remember where he put the ink bottles (even though they're a little bit of everywhere) and he has not heard Togusa yet.

[standalonehuman]

The last shred of Togusa’s training has him clearing the room. No movement, no sound. There’s no one here. Until he sees the shape behind the table. Not. Moving.

“Koutarou!”

The name screams out of him, the gun drops carelessly to the floor, before Togusa flies to his friend’s side. His mind instantly panics, thoughts rushing like a flood, tumbling over each other. Call an ambulance. What the fuck can an ambulance do, Hitori!? He needs ink. Maybe even magic wouldn’t work on him!

Focus. You talked to Lucian about this very thing. Find the wound. Pressure. Act like he’s a haemophiliac. Keep. The blood. In. Togusa’s hands suddenly find some firmness as he reaches to roll Koutarou, searching for the stab wound and pressing two palms over it, mindless of the somewhat slick ink seeping onto his skin.

“Koutarou!” Still panicked. English gets forgotten. “Koutarou, I need you to wake up. It’s Hitori, please, wake up for me?”

[wordcarvings]

Koutarou wrinkles his nose. It's so noisy all of a sudden. Noisy is annoying- no? Noisy is good? He wanted noisy--or was that quiet? Both?

"'st let old men sleep," he mutters in Japanese. English? That's a language he knows better written than spoken. Koutarou blinks and he feels like things are fuzzy- wasn't Chie-san just now- "Huh?"

[standalonehuman]

Any noise out of Koutarou spreads more relief through Togusa than he thought he could ever feel. He's okay. Not okay, but okay. "You're no older than I am!" comes the retort. Sorry, still loud. Now that he's got Koutarou's attention, he isn't letting it go again.

Breathe, focus, stop panicking, you need to focus for Koutarou right now. "Koutarou. You're hurt. I'm going to try to find some ink for you. I need you to hold on and stay awake for me. Tell me what happened. Something." He has to keep him engaged, keep him awake, even if it comes out in slurs and whispers.

His eyes keep darting away from Koutarou, looking for the nearest ink bottle, hoping there is something in reach, because at least one hand is staying on him.

[wordcarvings]

"'m over seventy," he points out. He's over seventy right? He thinks he's over seventy. Wait no, wait, then Chieko wouldn't be next to him.. "Maybe just fifty.

Oh, he knows where she is. "Chie-san is, need to visit her at the hospital, she'll be lonely if I'm not there, ah, no she doesn't remember- maybe I can make her a bird, she usually likes the birds I carve. I could paint it too, something bright, what blue birds are there, Haruo-kun."

It does not register that he's not talking to an art-friend and fellow resident of the National Library. Actually, he only thought of Haruo because he was trying to think of a good color to use.

Togusa may have tried to turn Koutarou toward a specific topic but he also said 'something' and Koutarou thinks he's answering the question properly.

[standalonehuman]

How short-lived that relief is. Togusa finally locates one of the glass bottles, but he slowly turns back to Koutarou in horror as the words are sinking in. These words that are coming so naturally out of his friend, as if they are coming from a completely different person. Like someone else is sitting there under Koutarou's skin.

One hand leaves Koutarou's wound, reaches, fumbles, fingers clasp around the smooth glass. His shocked face can't look away from Koutarou fully anymore. What can he even say? He has to keep him talking, awake?

"...Kingfisher." The first thing that pops into his head, to reluctantly answer the question, even as buying into the situation breaks his heart. "Cranes if she wants something elegant. Or some mountain bluebirds. They're cuter. Which one would she like best?" He unstoppers the bottle, and he has to will his hand to not shake.

"Koutarou, you have to take this." He carefully slides a hand behind Koutarou's shoulder, then up behind his head, trying to help prop him up. He brings the bottle to Koutarou's lips. "You'll feel better, I promise."

[wordcarvings]

"I'm sure she would like any option, the kingfisher can have funny hair and mountain bluebirds have such lovely colors, cranes have such a nice arch to their neck. It's hard to decide. I guess I'll have to ask the wood." Sometimes the wood was the determining factor, after all. It might tell him what it wanted to be shaped into, just like his hands might tell him what they wanted to craft when he held a piece of good carving wood in his hands. (Be it painting or wood carving, his craft has always made him passionate, and his passion was brought out even more if it was for the sake of Chieko. Because Chieko is his World.)

He wrinkles his nose at the bottle, and shakes his head. "It taste so bad."

[standalonehuman]

"Koutarou, please," it only hurts more, but Togusa has to be firm and chase him with the bottle. "It'll make the pain go away, and then we can have some tea, something that tastes better. But you have to take it," some of the fear is creeping into his voice, he can't stay calm.

"We can make something for Chieko and have a very good day, once you're up and around again, I promise." Whispered, like he's half-praying to Koutarou in the same way he is silently praying to the ancestors to spare Koutarou, to let him help.

[wordcarvings]

"Have you ever drank ink? It's not for eating." There is food where ink is an ingredient, but it's not exactly the same as writing ink. He raises a hand to rub at his face and as a result he smears his own internal ink against his skin.

"I want to make something now, I need to get some wood, do you have an ax I can borrow?" What are shops selling wood, whatever they're called, those don't exist, you cut down your own branch to work with off a tree.

[standalonehuman]

"It's for medicine, it will help." Togusa truly does not want to be forceful with this, but he tries to cradle Koutarou's head and puts the bottle straight up to his lips. "Drink first."

Maybe he can call Koutarou back to the present. It might be confusing and startling, but Togusa tries. "Who did this to you? Somebody has to have hurt you." He can't bombard him with all of the questions that he would like to. But one at a time, reminding Koutarou of what is actually happening around him might help.

[wordcarvings]

Koutarou makes a disgruntled sound. Medicines are terrible. But fine, he'll have a little bit. But just a little bit, not a lot. After drinking a little of it, he makes another even more disgruntled noise. Ink really does taste bad. Y'can have the rest."

Who did..? It was, um, what was it? "A... Uh, person.." His mind quickly spiraled when he started bleeding.....inking.. "Heh." That's funny. Inking. So weird.

[standalonehuman]

Togusa gives a sigh of relief when he gets even that much past Koutarou's lips. He has to admit that he doesn't know how this quite works. Is it replacing in his system like blood? Does he need to drink as much as he has lost? Or is it like those (still really really strange) healing potions that Togusa can get at that store with the sea salt ice cream? Will a little go a long way? He cautiously puts the ink bottle on the floor, and checks for Koutarou's wound again, to see if it's made any progress.

"A person. A man or a woman? Do you know them?" It brings up the disturbing thought in the back of Togusa's mind. There are only about 200 suspects right now. Literally, no one could have done this to Koutarou that isn't on Retrospec.

[wordcarvings]

Look, when the ink started dripping, Koutarou's mind started slipping. He had been warned by Shuji that losing ink might have a negative effect on their mental state, but he had not known that he had gotten that bit of being paper and ink back. Corrosion is not a pleasant experience, and was very effective to make it difficult for him to identify the culprit. "Nnnh, I don't know..."

Replacing some of the ink that he had lost was good though, it wasn't much, but the spreading black and purple letters were retracting toward the wound, and Koutarou was stabilizing a little and won't mistake Togusa for anyone else again for now, even for a person whose name also starts on H and has a similar hair color, and an interest in art. Haruo returns to the background memories.

[standalonehuman]

Togusa's eyes widen as he watches the process of Koutarou's healing, literal letters retreating into the wound to heal it. He'd started to get used to the slight darkening of Koutarou's veins, just treat it like a pigmentation that was normal for him. This? This is new. It's a sign that it's all working, just not the sign Togusa was expecting.

"That's all right." Someone else might have seen, and there's only so many people to check for ink stains.

Togusa tries to help Koutarou sit up more. "Do you think you can make it up? Can we get you to the bed?" The name he said...Togusa will have to ask about it later, this still isn't the time.

[wordcarvings]

Koutarou himself shows no reaction to the healing process starting. He can't really see it properly, for one, but he also doesn't think it's too strange. He's not in top form, exactly, but he's not rambling, or feeling like what he's reaching for it just beyond his reach.

"Mmmh," Bed? That sounds nice. "Y'gonna nag me about proper sleep? You should talk to Mori-sensei about that." Except he's forgetting that Mori isn't here. Mmh, I think I can." It's not super far, he's got his mattress made up and most likely unoccupied beyond the clutter in the back.

[standalonehuman]

Ever so patiently, "You are my best friend, Koutarou, I am allowed to nag. It's in the contract." But he very gently slides an arm under Koutarou's armpit, tries to help heft him up.

It's a little awkward to maneuver Koutarou while walking beside him, but one slow step at a time, they can get to Koutarou's bed. "Watch out for the-" Togusa accidentally jostles Koutarou and, whoops, a stack of papers slides off the top of a table and scatters on the floor. Togusa grimaces, he'll have to clean that up later.

Focus on the bed. "There we go." He can get Koutarou down without knocking him around again.