tampered | Log; Ongoing

When; Thursday, January 17
Rating; R
Characters; Matako Kijima (

twinpistols) and Bansai Kawakami (

writingurlyrics)
Summary; Fun and games with Ophelia ends in no fun for Matako.
Log;

Breathing was laborious. Each intake came with a sharp ache, jagged edge slicing against injured chest muscles. Matako's legs, ass and face were sticky with a mixture of strange fluid and blood from the wounds across her skin. Every brush against the wood flooring of her bedroom irritated her body causing her to hiss in pain and her to try to spit out the bitter aftertaste locked between her lips.

Fucking Ophelia.

The least she could do right now was die with honor. She was of no use to Shinsuke-sama in this condition. The man would kill her himself if Bansai didn't make it to where she laid on her back right now, staring at the ceiling, nude but for the red marks on the surface of her skin. Her vision was blurry and Matako was sure death would be coming soon. It just needed a kickstart.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Not here," he said, voice holding it's usual polite tonelessness, sword gripped in one palm in its sheathe as the free hand worked the zipper of his jacket down, removing the heavy thing and tossing it onto Matako's bed. Bansai moved to lean over her, actions rushed but careful, no jerking. He had absolutely no reason to cause Matako more pain than she had already experienced. He was cruel by nature, but still raised in a particular way. Comrades and women reserved a particular finesse.

She was both.

"In the bathroom. One told you he would help you get there; you obviously need the help."

They fought like cats and dogs sometimes, but Matako knew Bansai would have heeded her request. If anybody knew about dying with honor, it was him. She was weak now, but she would come back stronger, due to the City's weird actions, with revenge imprinted on her brain.

"Told you," she rasped out, "Can't move." It took all it had in her to breath; walking was out of the question. "Make it quick."

He frowned at her as he tucked the sword into his belt-loop and wrapped one arm around her shoulder, the other around her hips, taking in the disastrous state of her face with a small moue on his lips. Wounds opened as he lifted here, staining the white shirt he wore under the jacket. The smell of it was everywhere recently.

Luckily, the bathroom was only down the hallway. He carried her as quickly as possible.

"You would be in a better state if you could control yourself better. There was no need for you to do what you did, so perhaps you do deserve to be treated so coldly by Shinsuke. But it is also this man's humble opinion that he would like you less if you could."

"Fuuuck..." Matako hissed as Bansai lifted her up from the floor and rushed to the bathroom. She was quickly getting closer to her end, either here in his arms or in the bath. The bitter, salty taste in her mouth seemed to be getting stronger. Matako didn't want to even give thought to what cause it; she knew well enough what it was.

And now, Bansai felt the need to scold her with his backhanded compliment. It was so like him. It wasn't any of his business how she behaved and what actions she carried out. Shinsuke-sama didn't allow her to follow him because she had a different personality.

"Funny. I don't think you should speak when Shinsuke-sama isn't fond of you either right now."

"One is not like you, Miss Matako," he said, voice still even, low, more for his own benefit that her's, as per usual. The voice of someone who was only half-listening to the conversation at hand. He lowered her into the bathtub, wincing at the cold porcelain before drawing his hands away and unsheathing his sword immediately.

"One has no desire for Shinsuke's favor. He needs him to fulfill a purpose. Shinsuke needs this man to fulfill roles such as this one."

He pressed the sword lightly against her hands. It would be better if she could at least go through the motions of doing it herself. He was here to assist. This was how it was done.

"Unlike me, she replied softly. If he asked (which he wouldn't if she knew Bansai as well as she did), she would say the tone change was because she had lost an ample amount of blood. It was partly true. The other portion was because unlike him, Shinsuke-sama was her purpose. Everything she did was for him. She ate, breathed, slept and killed for him. Even died.

And now the moment was on her. The chilly metal of the sword practically burned against her sore skin. She would do it. She would end her life on top of the cold bathtub surface with honor and dignity and come back stronger, if not physically, mentally.

Matako grasped the sword's blade, placing the sharp tip on the center of her stomach and gathered up the reserve of her body's energy to use it to plunge the blade into her gut.

He refused to look away when she did it, plunged the sword into what was left of her gut. His hands wrapped around her smaller, softer ones, helping her keep her grip with shaking fingers. He helped her drag the blade upward when the shaking became worse-- she wouldn't have had the strength to finish it on her own. The blood and lymph were warm on his knuckles, burning after the cold touch of the porcelain.

He wondered how much longer she would live as he leaned down closer, fingers digging into the open wound as he took his sword back, shaking he gore off and re-sheathing it as he placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. She was a good follower of Shinsuke's ideals. Certainly better than himself.

"He'll be awaiting your return."

As the pain radiated through her stomach muscles, Matako's fading mind registered Bansai's calloused hands wrapping around her weak ones, dragging the blade off. She bit her lips, sinking her teeth deep in the tender flesh, trying to hold back the painful whimpers that threatened to bubble out. She couldn't, wouldn't, show any weakness. She was doing this not for her, but for Shinsuke-sama and the Kiheitai. He needed strong followers and an injured, half-dead Matako was anything but strong.

The last thing she was conscious enough to recognize as her life flowed out of her body was Bansai's lips upon her forehead. Warm and soft, completely the opposite of him.

She'd be back. The end was never really the end, after all.

Log; Ongoing

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