[ Khun notices the beat but doesn't think much of it due to how everyone has reacted to the reality of his world. He's fairly talkative as Mikaela might be keying onto, but there's a whole lot he's not saying even in quiet moments.
There's not really a point in explaining what Irregulars, those from outside the Tower are. Not that I know much about them anyway beyond what Baam's told me firsthand—that he spent his life in a pit of darkness until Rachel found him. It's still peculiar that she left him behind after teaching him everything, and it's not like she ever made an effort to save him from that cave despite offering her companionship, but he refused to see anything but good in her. But she's the only lead I have, the only one who was with him during the last stage of the exam, so I need to keep her alive for now and win her trust. ]
Not many, if the stories are to be believed. No one from outside the Tower is allowed to enter, though there are rare exceptions. And once you enter the Tower, you can't leave.
( As curious as what Khun says is, what he - thinks? are these his thoughts...? - are even more so, and suggest a broader picture than what Khun says. It does not offend him, if so; there's plenty he doesn't say that he thinks himself.
But... are these really his thoughts? Or is this something else? Khun hasn't reacted to it, so he presumes it's only him who hears this - though there's a chance that Khun himself has set up this mischief.
As Khun's final words leave his lips (his true, spoken words), Mika is quiet. He's quiet for a little longer than one might expect for someone just pondering over what was just said - it's not as if Khun said anything too complicated, strange as his world was.
Perhaps the best way to understand is to probe.
Slowly, and with a vague air of suspicion, he says: )
[ Khun freezes. His thoughts, his body, it might even seem like the night around him has paused. And then slowly, crystal clear even if his voice is lower than it was moment's ago, he asks. ]
How do you know that name? [ there's no anger in his voice, no fear, just a complete lack of anything. ]
( Mika studies Khun for a moment, and the nothing that there is. It's enough for him to determine that Khun probably isn't the culprit of this - and that this information was probably authentic to Khun's experience.
Strange.
Should he be honest? )
... I heard it from you.
( He watches Khun. )
While you were speaking. Rachel, Baam, and the Irregulars. I was wondering why.
( If those were truly Khun's thoughts, he doesn't need to hear every word mirrored back; he should know the rest. For better or worse, Mika leaves it vague. )
[ Throughout his time here, Baam has been on Khun's mind constantly. It doesn't matter that Khun's been spirited away to another world, though it's also true that Baam had been on his mind just as feverishly back home. Baam's death, Rachel's part in it, how he had been blindsided when there wasn't supposed to be anything to be blindsided by, because they had won. It's not guilt, but an obsession.
But Khun hadn't spoken his name to anyone here. For as freely as he talks, there are some things he keeps close to his chest. A habit, that's been drilled into him as long as he can remember.
[ So the fact that his name was being uttered aloud could really only mean one thing.
His thoughts. This person was reading his thoughts? What an extreme and utter violation. What a complete loss of control.
For Khun Aguero Agnis, who was born to be the perfect tactician, raised to use people, their hearts, their emotions, their family against them—it's unthinkable. He who's magic words mean to control, can never bear his heart like this. It is a failure, and Aguero does not do failures, unless they're of his own accord. He doesn't care how and he doesn't care why.
[ His course of action was decided the moment he realized what exactly had transpired. Is there thought in it? Yes and no. He's killed people for less and he's killed people for worse and though normally he might take a second to think, stripped down bare like this?
This is who he is.
A horrible person without a shred of morality, who claws for control in any way he can. And if he can't control it? Then it needs to be destroyed. It's just that simple.
The first of two movements is quick, holding out his hand to the quiet night air. It's certainly not an aggressive movement and it might not look a little ridiculous actually. His second is quicker, as fast as lightning. The distance between him and Mikaela is crossed in less than the time it takes to blink and the knife now in his hand, glinting in the moonlight, is drawn against the bare skin without hesitation. The blade, a gift from his father, cuts easily against skin, muscle, tendon, and even bone with all the power that simmers in his blood. ]
( Mika is quick. Quicker than any human; quicker than the harbingers that roam the earth since the world's end - but quicker than something so akin to lightning? Would God really grant His whipping boys capacity to trump nature?
So it seems not. Mika is instead blessed by the privilege of his enhanced sight: seeing the twitch, the shift, the whip in the air - the scent of strange iron, familiar as it comes around him; a moment to twist his head in reflex; some darkened edge of Khun's expression, in the corner of his eye.
That he pulled his head back might be what stops him short of a full beheading.
It doesn't hurt very much. His senses are generally dulled. He feels instead how the knife slices through each layer of skin, the meat and the slick insides, with acute awareness of each sensation. Blood sprays; a lot of it; even more than a jugular should. It's all gelid, as cold as his heatless body, chilled by the night air.
A split second lasts quite long when you can see every detail.
But at this point his speed catches up, and as he feels the knife sink dangerously near the nerves - something that would make him lose consciousness, dangerous right now even if it didn't kill him, if things worked like they do at home - he brings up his leg to kick into Khun's stomach— hard, hard enough to knock him further back than he was before, ideally into a wall or a tree to make him waste a few seconds on recovery.
His lips split to cast as he reaches for his rapier. He doesn't care what set Khun off or why; only that he intended to kill him, and that he would kill him first, if he had to; restrain him, if he could.
Wind whips through his wound, gasping up through his throat - fuck. No vocal chords - no spells. His head feels unstable on his neck - his wound is too deep. It's not healing - it stings familiar, with a tinge of a permanent wound.
And this bitch is fast. He might not have the luxury of restraint.
His eyes narrow with savage necessity. Fine, then. He'll send you to Baam. )
[ Moving on instinct like this, Aguero had no time to even properly formulate a plan on how to kill Mikaela. He knows how to kill a human of course, and he knows how to kill the common species in the Tower, but a vampire? Vampires are less than folklore where he's from. But he had made the call that what works against most living things would work here, very few things can survive being beheaded. Not that it would be that easy, but usually his speed can trump most other things.
Except the speed and perception of vampires, apparently. The kick connects and he hisses as he's thrown back, into the bench opposite them. It should hurt and it definitely will hurt later, but for now he's numb to it, riding on adrenaline and the lessons that were taught to him since he was old enough to walk. He certainly wouldn't have registered the blood spray that follows both their actions, if not for how cold it is. Unpleasant, but he has bigger issues at the moment. He shakes the blood off his knife, still pristine in form but not color, dyed scarlet.
No matter where, no matter who, no matter when, his biggest weakness has always been his tendency to overthink. Seconds seem like minutes here, but he has a feeling that whoever loses this next action, loses entirely. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tower of god part 1 spoilers continue
There's not really a point in explaining what Irregulars, those from outside the Tower are. Not that I know much about them anyway beyond what Baam's told me firsthand—that he spent his life in a pit of darkness until Rachel found him. It's still peculiar that she left him behind after teaching him everything, and it's not like she ever made an effort to save him from that cave despite offering her companionship, but he refused to see anything but good in her. But she's the only lead I have, the only one who was with him during the last stage of the exam, so I need to keep her alive for now and win her trust. ]
Not many, if the stories are to be believed. No one from outside the Tower is allowed to enter, though there are rare exceptions. And once you enter the Tower, you can't leave.
no subject
But... are these really his thoughts? Or is this something else? Khun hasn't reacted to it, so he presumes it's only him who hears this - though there's a chance that Khun himself has set up this mischief.
As Khun's final words leave his lips (his true, spoken words), Mika is quiet. He's quiet for a little longer than one might expect for someone just pondering over what was just said - it's not as if Khun said anything too complicated, strange as his world was.
Perhaps the best way to understand is to probe.
Slowly, and with a vague air of suspicion, he says: )
... Who's Baam?
no subject
How do you know that name? [ there's no anger in his voice, no fear, just a complete lack of anything. ]
no subject
Strange.
Should he be honest? )
... I heard it from you.
( He watches Khun. )
While you were speaking. Rachel, Baam, and the Irregulars. I was wondering why.
( If those were truly Khun's thoughts, he doesn't need to hear every word mirrored back; he should know the rest. For better or worse, Mika leaves it vague. )
/3 (cont tower of god pt 1 spoilers)
But Khun hadn't spoken his name to anyone here. For as freely as he talks, there are some things he keeps close to his chest. A habit, that's been drilled into him as long as he can remember.
"You musn't trust anyone."
And Khun knows a thing or two about trust. ]
no subject
His thoughts. This person was reading his thoughts? What an extreme and utter violation. What a complete loss of control.
For Khun Aguero Agnis, who was born to be the perfect tactician, raised to use people, their hearts, their emotions, their family against them—it's unthinkable. He who's magic words mean to control, can never bear his heart like this. It is a failure, and Aguero does not do failures, unless they're of his own accord. He doesn't care how and he doesn't care why.
His fingers twitch slightly. ]
no subject
This is who he is.
A horrible person without a shred of morality, who claws for control in any way he can. And if he can't control it? Then it needs to be destroyed. It's just that simple.
The first of two movements is quick, holding out his hand to the quiet night air. It's certainly not an aggressive movement and it might not look a little ridiculous actually. His second is quicker, as fast as lightning. The distance between him and Mikaela is crossed in less than the time it takes to blink and the knife now in his hand, glinting in the moonlight, is drawn against the bare skin without hesitation. The blade, a gift from his father, cuts easily against skin, muscle, tendon, and even bone with all the power that simmers in his blood. ]
Shut up.
no subject
So it seems not. Mika is instead blessed by the privilege of his enhanced sight: seeing the twitch, the shift, the whip in the air - the scent of strange iron, familiar as it comes around him; a moment to twist his head in reflex; some darkened edge of Khun's expression, in the corner of his eye.
That he pulled his head back might be what stops him short of a full beheading.
It doesn't hurt very much. His senses are generally dulled. He feels instead how the knife slices through each layer of skin, the meat and the slick insides, with acute awareness of each sensation. Blood sprays; a lot of it; even more than a jugular should. It's all gelid, as cold as his heatless body, chilled by the night air.
A split second lasts quite long when you can see every detail.
But at this point his speed catches up, and as he feels the knife sink dangerously near the nerves - something that would make him lose consciousness, dangerous right now even if it didn't kill him, if things worked like they do at home - he brings up his leg to kick into Khun's stomach— hard, hard enough to knock him further back than he was before, ideally into a wall or a tree to make him waste a few seconds on recovery.
His lips split to cast as he reaches for his rapier. He doesn't care what set Khun off or why; only that he intended to kill him, and that he would kill him first, if he had to; restrain him, if he could.
Wind whips through his wound, gasping up through his throat - fuck. No vocal chords - no spells. His head feels unstable on his neck - his wound is too deep. It's not healing - it stings familiar, with a tinge of a permanent wound.
And this bitch is fast. He might not have the luxury of restraint.
His eyes narrow with savage necessity. Fine, then. He'll send you to Baam. )
no subject
Except the speed and perception of vampires, apparently. The kick connects and he hisses as he's thrown back, into the bench opposite them. It should hurt and it definitely will hurt later, but for now he's numb to it, riding on adrenaline and the lessons that were taught to him since he was old enough to walk. He certainly wouldn't have registered the blood spray that follows both their actions, if not for how cold it is. Unpleasant, but he has bigger issues at the moment. He shakes the blood off his knife, still pristine in form but not color, dyed scarlet.
No matter where, no matter who, no matter when, his biggest weakness has always been his tendency to overthink. Seconds seem like minutes here, but he has a feeling that whoever loses this next action, loses entirely. ]
no subject