IC INBOX / BUSINESS CARD ( ARCHIVE AS OF 12/13 )

[manuscripture]

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[ Somewhere around town-- at the bookstore, the Tomoe-Kaname Bakery, attached to posts and notice boards --you find a small white notecard. On it is printed a little message and some numbers in ornate lettering. If you look closely, it reads the following: ]

Rohan Kishibe, Mangaka & Visual Artist
Owner Pro Tempore of Ebony Threads Tailor Shop
Highly Experienced.
Commissions & Advertising For Hire
Pay Negotiable.
Contact At: 512.66.730.91 for inquiries
Castle Lüvchaque - Directly North of Bavan per appointment ONLY.

(( feel free to use this as an action-based prompt too. any random interactions will MOST LIKELY take place in the form of walk-ins at the tailor shop unless it's pre-planned. just drop a starter in here! ))

Comments

[starmark]

[Luckily, Jotaro's too out of it right now to really register much of anything; this is a state of mind not altogether like the one he was in when he'd just finished the most harrowing fight of his life, with the key difference that there he'd remained vigilant and hovering on the edge of anxiety because he'd felt as though it was vital to, and tonight that feeling of edginess is missing. It's because Rohan's here, he thinks vaguely. Because he's safe somewhere, and Rohan is here, so he doesn't need to be vigilant. He relaxes when Rohan is around. So he's relaxing now, which means there's no humming tension to fill in the void left behind in him, which means that most of what he feels is a whole lot of nothing.

The rag feels so strange on his face. It's so cool, so...sweet. He used to hate it when his mom would do the same thing, when he'd come home from fights with blood on his face and she'd worry, she'd want to clean him up and he'd growl and try to knock her caretaking hands away. For what must be the millionth time now, he wonders if she's all right, and alive. He hopes he managed to get that much right, at least.

This time, his hand makes contact without flinching away. He curls his fingers around Rohan's wrist like a baby testing its motor skills on a parent's thumb; he knows it's going to hinder the progress at washing his face, but hopefully he can make it short, and only momentary.

(He's so full. He doesn't have to focus on being starving anymore.)

He sinks down into a sitting position, carefully, in the hopes of making it easier on both of them, so Rohan doesn't have to reach and he doesn't have to try to stay upright.]

You don't have to...do this. For me.

[It's unsettling how deeply he sounds like he's pleading for it to keep happening, even as he tries to deflect it.]

I didn't...think it would be so easy. To just...pull someone...apart...

[manuscripture]

[ His touch does not hinder Rohan for long. He is trying to get the layers of blood that will be caked to Jotaro's blazing skin off as quickly as possible without making it look like he's washing a car. ]

I know I don't have to.

[ He pulls back only when he sinks to the floor. Relief is gained by not having to keep himself propped up. He can relax on the scales of his belly meant for staying at an average height. Acknowledgement of the responsibility he can just stop is there and then it's gone. He isn't going to stop. His reach with his tail finds the bucket and pulls it closer. The cloth is back in the water and wrung back out again. All the sizzling is not deterring Rohan from getting the job done. Picking spaces which look darker and gently rubbing them away until he can find his normal skin again. His hair sticks to his forehead when he washes it through his hair. ]

Humans are more delicate than they look. [ He doesn't want to keep revisiting it. ] They break. The rip right open. They turn to jelly... [ He keeps his voice low and only between the two of them. ]

Hush now. Let me... [ 'Kind' has been a trait of him he doesn't know a THING about that has popped up within the last two weeks. It's the girl at the shop chipping away at the wall he keeps up. Now it's Jotaro needing something and appearing fragile and messy.

His forehead to the space between his eyes... His nose and the right corner of his lips. He's finding Jotaro under there slowly but surely. ]

[starmark]

[A soft noise escapes his throat when Rohan's methodical work makes its way to his hair; it's never really occurred to him that he might be sensitive there, particularly around the places where his horns have grown in. And yet it's such a departure from the violence, such a contrast to the kind of recoveries he's used to. The aftermath is supposed to ache and burn with the sting of injured skin; it's supposed to linger and cling like a haze. Rohan's cloth is the same as his movements: gentle and careful. Jotaro knows he ought to be tougher than this, bear up stronger than this, but just this one time he doesn't want to. Just this one time all he wants to do is sit and try to memorize the feeling of being taken care of, how different it is from the norm.]

If it's...in the way, you can. My hat...take it off.

[The man was single. That was a single home, he had a dog. Maybe he didn't have a family. Maybe there isn't anyone who will miss him. Does that make it better or worse, that he's dead?

He thinks of Josuke and the bone graveyard, and his throat closes up; just once, for one moment, his whole body lurches with a wet strangled sob that rattles in his chest and interrupts Rohan's steady movements.]

[manuscripture]

[ Taking off Jotaro's hat is sacrilegious. Permission to do so doesn't make it right. It's like Rohan doing away with his doofy headband (which he doesn't sleep with, contrary to popular belief). He'll try for it anyway. His long fingers gently tip up the bill... He swore that Jotaro's horns had just fused the thing to his head but that isn't the case when he pulls it away. Like an artifact that needs to be handled with care, he sets it on the floor and washes out the cloth again. The water is growing dark, glowing orange whenever he looks at it. Now he is able to set it over the top of Jotaro's head and wash it the best he can. ]

Better--

[ He can't even get the word out of his mouth. The sob has caught him off-guard and he isn't sure what to do next. He's going to fumble this ball if it's in his hands for too long. His hands hover over their spot atop his head. Imagine what he would be like without somewhere to go. ]

Please. I know-- I know. [ Full disclosure, he might have had the same reaction once the afterglow of the fog has ceased. Not being home at the time dulled it. ] Shhh, I know, I know...

[starmark]

[He's going to ruin everything Rohan's doing if he picks his hand up and scrubs at his eyes. It's what he wants to do, desperately, but he doesn't let himself (and where was that iron control earlier, huh, so much for self-restraint, why couldn't you just not let yourself when it came to that guy, huh); he locks his arms and keeps them low and ducks his head instead, fanged teeth coming down hard on his lower lip while his chest wracks and his lungs strain from needing more air than he's letting himself take in.

It's stupid, he can't be doing this. It's stupid, this shouldn't be bothering him like this. He's killed people. He's seen the bodies. He's put the smoothies in his mouth and swallowed them, he's not innocent, he never has been. Why is it like this now, all of a sudden?

Did he really think, deep down, that he could hold off the inevitable forever? Or is it just that now he's one step closer to believing he's backsliding toward becoming something he's been so desperate to distance himself from since that night in Cairo?

If he can't call this justice, then doesn't that have to make it evil?

You're the only enemy you ever lose to, Rohan told him once, and it feels more than ever like he's losing to himself right now.]

M'fine. M'fine.

[But then he squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head roughly. Rohan told him not to lie, so he shouldn't.]

It doesn't...f-for the first time in, in weeks, it doesn't...hurt...

[He's full, he means. He's full, and the gargoyle is quiet. He doesn't have to fight anymore. He gets to be at peace, because someone else is dead.]

[manuscripture]

[ It occurs to him that he has never seen Jotaro have a crippling moment of weakness like this one. He pulls the cloth from his head and buries the gargoyle's face in it to heat and melt away the rest of the blood. When he pulls it back, he has made more leeway that he can make out. It's the REST of him that needs treatment. He can see his face, hair, and neck again without the sheen of whoever ended up on the wrong side of his teeth.

He wants to wash his hands... ]

The pain might be the worst part. [ He says as someone who no longer has to deal with the hunger-pangs due to the key around his neck that never goes anywhere anymore. He knows before it starts to hurt now. It's a blessing. ] It doesn't have to hurt. Not anymore. [ So long as he keeps tabs on it. If he follows Rohan's lead, he won't have to hurt. ]

Give me your hands. [ Rohan, who uses his hands to make his artwork, picks up one of Jotaro's. Razor-sharp claws and bloodied palms are scrubbed at-- Death Nails and all, each finger one by one. ] I can't shower you. This will have to do. I want you to rest here. [ He doesn't want him to be alone. Not like this. His eyes turn up and illuminate Jotaro's face with weird shadows falling this way and that. ]

Tell me what you want. I can't fix it. I can try.

[starmark]

[It's amazing what a difference having his face clean makes. It shouldn't, really; there's no reason why something as small as that should have such a dramatic impact on the way he's feeling, but maybe it's psychological or maybe it's just such a small thoughtless comfort that it resonates with him. Either way, it helps more than he's expecting it to. It makes his skin feel cool instead of thick and tacky.

It's only when Rohan reaches for his hands that it really seems to sink in that what he's doing with the rag isn't just means to some end — it is the end, in and of itself. It's odd and uncomfortable in its intimacy, that he's just sitting here being cleansed with no real effort on his own part. It's the kind of thing that shows up in religious stories, sacred tales. He's supposed to be feeling like the exact opposite of that, and yet here he is.

Is that what this is? Washing his sins away?

His heart seems to stutter in his chest, even as his breath catches. It overwhelms him, how desperately he wants to believe in that. It's nothing he's asked for, nothing he's sought out, and maybe that means he never has to stop and ask himself whether it's something he warrants or deserves. Maybe it's something he can just have, as inexplicably as he'd gained his Star Platinum. Maybe it doesn't have to make sense. Maybe it simply is.

Tell me what you want, Rohan says.

He closes his eyes, wanting so much, and wonders if any of it will even be able to make it out of his throat.]

Tell me...what you see. Again. When you l-look at me.

[He draws in a wobbly, shuddering breath.]

Tell me what I am, Rohan.

[manuscripture]

[ Tell me what you see.

Tell me what I am.

What does not register is what Jotaro wants to hear. Rohan has never been one for saying things to please others. He would rather hear himself talk about him and only him. He has a million things to say about himself. Compliments, fluff, pure vanity in every way. He does not hand these things out to other people-- Rohan is selfish. He is unkind. He is not the type of person you want to hear anything about yourself from because it is most likely an insult.

Washing hands or feet or following symbolism? That's just a laugh... The parallel now is something uncanny. ]

What do I see? [ A beat. ] What are you? [ I don't know what that means is not what he replies with. ]

I don't see anything I haven't seen before. I see--... [ The person he washed up with. The same guy he bickered with and skipped motels with for a week. The same guy who sat next to him when he turned into a lump of snake on the apartment floor. That's honest. Honest is what he wants, but he has to phrase it differently to not sound like a checklist. ]

I see someone who has been putting up with more than he has had to for too long. I see someone who could have walked away from a lot of things but never did. [ He draws the cloth down Jotaro's forearm-- with the scales, not against --back down to his wrist. ] Someone who has had many outs and never took them because he had something to take care of. Promises, obligations, whatever they were.

I see you, Jotaro. I don't see anything else. You're not what you think you are. [ A monster, what have you.

If I could omit that chapter...

Jotaro did not want any of his pages taken out when they had talked about it not that long ago. Nothing erased or taken from his memory though Rohan wanted the things that made him suffer gone. He had offered. Would THIS had fallen under that too? ]

Jotaro, I--... [ His chest hitches, the dirty key he keeps there thumping against how it drops on his exhale. He has frozen himself in place, holding Jotaro's hand between both of his. ]

You are you. You make me--...

[ He feels an itch... The REMINDER Jotaro needs. He forgets this: ]

You are a person who makes me happy.

[ Like the night in the store discussing how Jotaro's body had changed and flipping over the script to hear about himself. ]

What about me...?

[starmark]

[Rohan has his hand in both of his, caught fast so there's no mistaking it. He's not alone. There's no doubting that, not in the slightest, but there's something about tangible confirmation that's always more soothing and reassuring than words.

Equally important is this: Rohan doesn't hesitate to touch him, to hold on. He's not lost behind impenetrable walls. Cool hands can still find their way to him, to catch hold of his.]

...You're who I wanted to see, instead of being alone.

[Nowhere in what Rohan said, nowhere did he say monster, demon, bastard. Rohan never hesitates to tell him when he's being stupid, he reminds himself. Rohan wouldn't pull his punches.

Rohan wouldn't lie. Not if he were begging. Especially not if he were begging, because if he were then he'd be told to stop, have some dignity, attempt to possess some semblance of pride.

Rohan wouldn't let him forget the things he needs desperately to remember.]

Don't...don't leave me alone.

[He leans forward, slow and uncertain, and for a second it might almost look like he's being drawn like a magnet toward Rohan's mouth for a kiss, but somewhere in the middle it tapers off and he simply leans against him instead, just for a few seconds, with warmth radiating from beneath his skin.]

Don't let go.

[manuscripture]

[ An answer more suitable than stroking his ego.

He wouldn't lie. He might be a snake, but he doesn't bother with lying. Putting up pretty words for other people in order to save them or make them feel better is fake. Fake. Fake. Fake.

Jotaro wanted to be with him instead of by himself. Rohan had done the opposite. He isolated himself in their bathroom, cleaned himself, and then drew until he passed out. He never spoke of it.

His lips part as the other man leans forward, anticipating a kiss--... Rerouted to bearing his weight in fleeting regret. His hands climb up his arm, wrapping around it and holding it close to his chest and pushing his cheek to Jotaro's shoulder. Pale yellowish light dies out and he closes his eyes. ]

Shhh... I know, I know... [ He repeats from before. ] I would fix this. I wish I could. [ Erase the experience. Save Jotaro from all of it. All Rohan can do is hold him tighter-- even closer, just by the arm. ]

I know...

[ There's a theme. ]

[starmark]

Thanks. Thanks, Rohan.

[It's an echo of the day when this was reversed, when he'd had Rohan in his arms and the wreckage of the tailor shop behind them. This time he's the one leaning, the one seeking reassurance and comfort. The tight hold is a blessing, even with how awkward his wings might make it.

For a few solid minutes, he just breathes, vaguely aware that he's instinctively radiating a low level of warmth just from the proximity to Rohan. When he does find his voice again, it's steadier, less shot.]

I never...did this for you. Did I...?

[manuscripture]

For me?

[ It never came up. It never came up. Minutes pass of nothing but Rohan hugging his arm and listening to how the water as evaporated from his skin and not considering where else it has stuck.

It never came up. ]

No. I didn't ask for it.

[ For it to be handled like this... It was too soon. Never could this kind of closeness been alright for either of them. The fog didn't skip on Rohan's desire to eat people. He got it right out of the gate with no hesitation. Too soon. ]

I wouldn't have asked you to... I did it on my own.

[ Like he did EVERYTHING up until that point. ]

[starmark]

I'm sorry. I would've been there if I'd known. If I could've...

[He hesitates, though, lingering over whatever the theoretical ending of that statement might've been and ultimately deciding not to finish it. Could he really have offered support, way back then? He hadn't even thought he was changing yet. How could he ever have empathized with the level of thought and gravitas that Rohan possesses to extend to him now?

He couldn't have. There's no way he could have.

And yet he remembers sitting there hovering over Rohan's legless body while he'd slept on the floor — remembers finding him and immediately being struck with visions of his mother's collapse — remembers touching his scales, carrying him to bed, trying to console him with whatever he could offer through the gawkiness of his own fumbling awkwardness.

He wasn't able to do this, be this, for Rohan then. But it wasn't as though he'd done nothing either, was it?

If I could fix it for you, I would. It's the sentiment they've both extended to each other, by now.]

This is all so fucked up, huh...?

[manuscripture]

Uh...

[ That is one way of putting it. Slowly, slowly, Rohan loosens on his arm so that he may look up properly instead of having his face buried in Jotaro's upper arm. Not that he minds any of that.

... It's more appropriate. He does not pull away farther than he has to, only to turn his eyes up. There is still this hugging hold he has on his arm. ]

I think that's an understatement. [ He is not going to ask if Jotaro is feeling better. That's uncouth. ] Un-fucking it is wishful thinking. We try to make it less fucked. You make it less fucked for me.

[ The profanity is pretty damn appropriate at the moment, okay. ]

[starmark]

Yeah...yeah, me too.

[He ducks his head briefly, swallowing hard like he's trying to clear his throat, and ends up with his gaze drifting from the bucket to Rohan's coils to his own messy clothes to the floor. Low, always low, that's where his gaze stays.

But then — ]

Can you...um. W-With your coils. Like you do when I'm...carrying you, will you...

[Physical security. Tangible affection. These are the things he's going to ask for.]

[manuscripture]

[ Jotaro is very good at being direct. Unsure, stilted requests are not what Rohan is used to. He isn't in any shape to be carrying him, even less so where he would take him. His brow furrows-- He... ]

Like what?

[ Snakebutt gets it before Rohan himself does. His tail end is slipping across the ground and pushing his body forward. The thicker parts near where his hips would be shift and soon enough, he is wrapped (albeit awkwardly position-wise) about Jotaro's waist. It is sort of sitting in his lap, but sort of hugging him with enough of his body that he isn't pinning his wings or his arms.

It's a hug. That's what it is. A full-body hug. Wrapped around him like heavy, heavy piles of ribbon. Enough of him trails loosely to the side. He never used to be this long. ]

This? [ His hands find Jotaro's face again, without the rag or any water this time. His palms are already so warm from being everywhere else, they rest gently on his cheeks with one higher than the other. His lips find his forehead against his better judgment to press one kiss there. Two. Three.

This? How about this? ]

[starmark]

...That. Yeah. That.

[By all rights, he should be terrified of that. He's wrapped in coil after coil of an anaconda-like grip, caught and to some degree immobilized. The gargoyle certainly doesn't like it, the lack of freedom, the constriction. On some level even the human in him finds it unsettling, the combination of the loss of freedom and the potential for injury at the mercy of someone else.

But the predominant part of him, the one that matters right now, is the one that's so tired and sick and done, and that's the part that finds security in this. He's not going anywhere. He has nowhere to go. He doesn't have to do anything, and he's not alone.

Symbiotes, he thinks hazily as his eyes start to close, as Rohan holds his face and presses kisses to his forehead that never once bring with them the scrape of fangs — symbiotic relationships are interconnected ones, tangled up like the two of them are now. This one is mutualism, where everyone benefits.

That's not so bad, he muses sleepily. His mother's Stand was a parasite. The other way is...so much better.]

M'tired. S'good.

[manuscripture]

[ The human in him finds it unsettling too. This is how he kills people. He breaks all of their bones, turning them to ragdolls by the time he lets them go. This is a different animal, firm but gentle. Warm. He's safe. He keeps fluttering kisses all over Jotaro's forehead and to the bridge of his nose where he stops. ]

Get some sleep. [ On the floor. Sitting up. Sure...? ] Rest now. [ He doesn't speak like this to people. His voice is devoid of crassness, softly instructing him to recharge. If he hasn't noticed already, he will definitely notice in the morning that Rohan's pattern has indeed changed-- almost all place with uneven white diamond shapes up and down his arms to his tail. It's different from his jailbird stripes and might be a stress thing. He's not really proud of it. Being close has him more comfortable no matter what. ]

I'll stay awake for a little bit. You just sleep, okay? I--... [ He stops abruptly. Sighing: ] Goodnight.

[starmark]

Mmmn. Nnnwait.

[He hooks one arm free, half-blindly reaching up and seeking by touch until he finds the back of Rohan's neck; with light pressure, he moves him back down within reach and steals a kiss of his own — equally light and fluttering, but at the very least a proper one, pressed faintly against the mouth.

Then and only then does he relent, shifting around just enough to get comfortable before letting himself go lax, with a full stomach and a blank mind and the security of knowing that he's not alone wrapped all around him in thick sleek coils.]

'Night.

[manuscripture]

[ Boy, does he feel like he earned this. A kiss on the mouth he tried for days ago but didn't get until now after they both went through an Event. Thank God. He does no gloating and reciprocates with the faintest of leans.

They tried for it earlier and it had been too soon. This worked. This made him relax and after a little while shut his eyes. His new bed was nice but this was much, much better. Per usual, Rohan's chin finds one of the gargoyle's shoulder, settling there and puffing cool air against his neck for the rest of the night.

... They could scrape the rest of the blood off in the morning. ]