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tampered2008-03-24 05:06 am
markedbyname.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2008-03-24 05:06 am
[complete] Naoto vs. Giovanni || Playground: Forest
When; Saturday 22nd, 2008
Rating; R for violence
Characters; Naoto Fuyumine (![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
markedbyname)& Giovanni (buggyglasses)
Summary; Privacy is invaded too much. Giovanni issues the challenge, and Naoto fits straight into the play.
Log;
Naoto; The memories were still fresh in her head, and they hurt like a staccato of stabs in her chest, but she pushed that all away. She had ten minutes to get out of the apartment and as far away as possible from where she lived with Nill and the Bishop. Luckily, they didn't see her leave, and hopefully, they still thought she was in her room, going through her past again. And it would stay that way.
Now she was certain Giovanni was Heine's enemy, and contrary to popular belief, the enemy of her enemy—was Heine really an enemy anymore as much as a bother?—was not her friend. He was dangerous, she knew, and this was foolish, rash, and completely personal, she knew; but she couldn't allow that person to continue invading her privacy, her past, like that. Some of those memories were private. No-one deserved to see them, no-one should have. She'd been on the edge the whole day, almost snapping at Heine in this way, but containing herself because they were, allegedly, allies. Though Giovanni was nothing to her, nothing but a nuisance, a pest that had for some reason gotten obsessed with playing with her--she'd been alive and travelled enough to know what that meant in this case—and if with this, he'd leave her alone, if this would stop him from prying into her past, or at the very least, change his focus away, as far away as possible from Nill, then she'd do it.
She saw the forest approaching, not nine minutes had passed, and as the trees came closer and closer, she reached behind her and pulled Fuyumine's katana out. There would be no short talk.
Giovanni;It wasn't that he was bored, exactly. Now that he'd found something to focus his energy on--there would always be Heine, and that lovely little chew toy of his--he felt invigorated. He'd been itching for this. Needing to sink his teeth into something. To tear and bite and claw and bleed, bleed, bleed…
He would bleed, of that he had no doubt. Kitten has a sword. A sharp sword. A pointy, sharp sword. What would it feel like, between his ribs~~?
But she'll bleed, too. He wanted to see her blood up close, smell it, taste it. He would, he would. Shoot her up, BANG, and she'll bleed from that pretty scar.
He leaned up against a tree, arms hanging loosely by his sides. He hadn't reached for the guns yet; they were safe in their holsters, his darlings, he'd bring them out soon enough. He would engage her hand-to-hand (hand-to-sword, sword-to-skin) first. She said ten minutes, and he'd been here seven. He hoped she was punctual, the itch was so intense and if she didn't hurry he would scratch it--
Naoto; There. It didn't take a moron to know who he was, where he was, the guy exuded some sort of ready-for-battle aura. She hoped that no-one was around, because liabilities would only get in the way, and she didn't come here looking to cause collateral damage. The only damage that would be cause, would be to him.
Of course she was aware of what Heine had told her about him. Same healing ability. He'd be a challenge, but crush the head and tear out the spine—and she planned to. Even if she got hurt in the process. For some reason, she knew she would, but she'd taught herself to not mind the injuries—of course she didn't pain, she still was human—and to focus solely on the fight. Pain was a distraction, and with this guy she needed to be focused.
The katana was out, firmly in her hands, and she walked calmly, but enough speed and strength in her step, towards him. No hellos, just getting this over with. Right. Not stopping, she walked-ran towards him, starting the battle by drawing an arc with her sword, down-to-up, diagonally and aimed at his chest.
Giovanni; Ah, there she was. And she didn't waste any time, either. He liked that. He liked that she came at him fully intending to kill him—if there was one thing he despised, it was an unmotivated, lazy, spoiled opponent.
"You look even better up close, kitten~"
Or maybe it was just the sword, the way it blurred as it sliced through the air, fluid and smooth even when it snagged his shirt—a new shirt, too. Pity.
He managed to dodge the worst of it, circling around the tree while she was still recovering from her first attack. (The shallow gash she'd opened up in his chest was already healing, ha ha~) He kicked the tree trunk once, twice, three times, until the wood began to splinter and crack. May as well take advantage of their surroundings, yes? Another savage kick and the tree started to fall—he made sure to aim in her direction, though he doubted it would connect. Her reflexes were impressive.
At the very least, she would know what he was capable of.
Naoto; Dodging the falling tree was easy business, just a graceful jump to the side and then she was at his neck again, not deigning him with a response to what could have only been another attempt to rile her up. Useless. She was already sufficiently riled up on this day alone, she had been on the edge even before he’d started to tease, and while unnecessary violence was something she disapproved of, she did not back down from a fight if her opponent pricked and picked at her weaknesses.
No weaknesses, she reminded herself, jumping over the fallen tree and drawing another diagonal line, from his top to his bottom this time. He was like Heine had warned her he’d be, a fast healer. But even fast healers grew tired, and she had tricks up her sleeves aplenty.
Giovanni;The guns were in his hands before he realized he’d reached for them, their weight comforting and familiar, so delightfully familiar. It was like he was born holding guns (he supposed he was, to a certain extent—his adoring “mother” conditioned him young).
“So quiet, kitten~won’t you at least purr for me?”
She tore another hole in his shirt (he’d never salvage it, now), and he jumped back, firing off shots at her feet, her knees. Ah, to see her kneel in front of him, to see her look up at him with malice in her eyes, raw and unguarded…
It would be beautiful~
Naoto; The only noise she allowed him to hear was the one of his gun being fired; with practiced ease, she flipped in the air—this almost reminded her of the scuffle in the church, with the only difference being that it was only one man, but he was good at what he did—flying for one moment, light, so light, and then she was seeing the top of his head, almost, just when gravity kicked in.
Without pause, the brought her sword down on his outstretched arm, with a slash intended to go deep enough to render that hand useless for some time.
Giovanni;The pain in his arm was quite exquisite (it burned), and he nearly dropped his gun, though he forced himself to concentrate and hold on. This time, the injury took a bit longer to heal, and he couldn’t afford to wait for it. Instead, he spun so that he was facing her and aimed at her shoulder with his good arm. He got three shots in before he backed up, seeking another tree to uproot. Perhaps she could dodge them, but he figured he would make the terrain as hard to manage as possible. He would level the entire forest, if need be.
And besides. Some of the shards of wood might serve as adequate weapons, should he require more than just his guns.
Naoto; No sooner had she slashed his arm she’d been on the move, fleeting sideways as soon as she saw him spin, and shoot—the last bullet nearly caught her shoulder, she had to be more careful, keep emotions at bay and focus on killing him—away from him, taking distance. When he stopped shooting her and started to back up towards a tree, her survival instinct kicked in. It wouldn’t be hard to fight with obstacles, but she would prefer having none. His self-healing abilities were already enough, and his arm was healing fast.
Not skipping a beat, but not at all rash—her movements in battle tended to be coldly calculated so that she didn’t get injured at all (after all, she had no idea how to sew her clothes)—she ran at him, alert enough to dodge the bullets, and when she was near him, practically side-by-side, she spun, her sword piercing his side, at an angle aimed for his ribs—bones took longer to heal—and was gone in another second, pulling her katana out and diving behind the tree in front of her.
Giovanni;He let her hide while he assessed the extent of his injury. One rib was broken for sure, another badly bruised. He had a decent-sized hole in his side (there went the jacket as well as the shirt~honestly), and he estimated he had at least a fifteen to twenty minutes before his body was completely whole again.
No matter.
He had gone into this fight knowing he would hurt him. He’d anticipated it, welcomed it. If only Heine would take this much initiative...
“Very good, kitten, very good.”
He peered over his shoulder at the tree she used as a temporary shelter, the mad dog within the Cerberus spine practically salivating at the thought of tearing her apart. Yes, Giovanni had the spine, too. He was a DOG. And unlike Heine, he didn’t spend his life trying to deny that.
Giovanni laughed, long and loud.
Gripping both guns tightly (his arm had healed), he walked leisurely toward the tree, prepared to either kick it down or shoot, depending on what the kitten decided to do.
One thing was certain. He didn’t itch any longer.
Naoto; The adrenaline rushing through her veins was unlike any she’d experienced before. Except maybe when she’d fought Magato. This was what fighting an expert was like, nothing fast and clean like her usual fights—thugs that got too confident in their big guns often fell faster than leaves in autumn—but drawn out, strenuous and tense. It had her on the edge. It had her breathing hard, her blood rushing in her ear, and realising, with a slight retching sensation, that she was enjoying it. She’d always dedicated herself to every fight she began, given it 100% and made sure her opponents were aware of it. Once her anger was triggered, only death could follow. And she was not afraid of dying, but she would not die in this place. Not while she had to find the original Naoto.
So this would be training.
It took her a second or two to formulate a plan: vicious attacks without pause, cause him the most bleeding possible, have him practically dizzy with it, and then kill him.
And without further ado, she emerged from behind the tree, the grip on her katana firm. Any other person—Heine, for example—would’ve said a smart remark to further annoy Giovanni, but she wasn’t like that; no, she just move quickly again, another slash towards his chest and arms.
Giovanni; He could see it in her eyes, how badly she wanted to hurt him. She had the most expressive eyes. Perhaps the rest of her face was like stone (hard granite, uncrackable), but her eyes spoke volumes. She was looking at him as if she were seeing someone else.
Someone he knew.
She came at him, slicing open his arms, his chest. He fired a few shots and went down fast (she was quick, but he was too), hooking his foot behind her ankle to throw her off-balance, all the while shooting upward, aiming at any part of her that was exposed.
“Come on, kitten~you have to be better than this if you expect to play with Fu-sama and win.”
Naoto; She fell backwards, hands immediately hitting the ground as she did a back-flip, one of the bullets grazing the back of her left calf. She paid no attention to the pain, busy dodging his bullets and simultaneously sliding up between his parted arms, mercilessly driving her sword through his chest—one lung—before slipping out of his grasp quickly.
Her eyes were cold fury. “What do you know about that name?” she asked, speaking for the first time since they’d begun fighting.
Giovanni; It felt as if the wind were knocked out of him, only ten times worse. He coughed up blood, and the taste (salty and metallic) filled his mouth. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose control, completely lose it.
Breathing shallowly, he got his hands (still gripping the guns) under him and pushed himself up into a sitting position. May as well use this opportunity to reload.
“More than you,” he replied nonchalantly, drawing two spare magazines from the holsters strapped by his sides—luckily, she missed them when she stabbed him. “I know the person it belongs to~”
Naoto; No. No fury yet, he was doing this on purpose, riling her up on purpose. The bastard got off on pain, the adrenaline of the fight. She vaguely wondered if Heine was the same—then discarded the doubt, of course he was. She didn’t doubt at all that he knew who she was looking for personally, but she’d only die quicker if she acted rash this time.
Seeing her opening, she moved until she was behind him, taking advantage of his slower-than-his-average recharging of his magazines, and bringing her sword down. This time it pierced the other lung, clean through, out the other side. “How do I get to her?” she asked, because she’d only hate herself later for not asking. She wasn’t expecting an honest answer, but her pride and determination demanded it. Two second passed during which she was poised over his back, her katana poking him like a shishkebab, two seconds and she decided that twisting the blade would only be vicious. But he’d asked for it, and once she got into the heart of a battle, she could be as vicious as any. She pulled the sword out, only twisting it when it was half way out of his body, then completely out. Not much longer now.
Giovanni; He’d experienced pain worse than this before; the time Heine completely decimated him came to mind, though he’d barely been conscious when that began. This was something entirely different...sweeter, almost.
He dug his fingers into the earth, to ease the trembling—he wanted, he wanted, he wanted (let it out let it go let it feed).
He breathed. Tasted more blood. Breathed in, breathed out.
“I won’t tell~”
Breathed.
“You’ll have to rip it out of me, kitten~”
Breathed.
“Rip it out of my corpse~”
For a moment, a long moment, everything was still.
And then he struck.
Naoto; It was too quick, too quick even for her tastes; she’d been frowning at his back and ready to attack again when his mood shifted and then he swirled around, tackling her to the ground. In the momentum, she did the one thing that was unthinkable in any type of fight—especially those against madmen—; she lost her hold on her katana, felt it slip through her fingers only when it was too late. When her back hit the ground with a sharp thud, and she found herself looking up at a—for the lack of a better description—dog.
Giovanni; He grinned a bloodstained grin at her, pressing down on her arms with his knees as he leaned forward, his hands on either side of her head. Tiny droplets of his blood dripped off his chin, onto her face—her cheeks, her nose, a drop on the edge of her mouth. He considered licking it clean, but instead he left it there, because she couldn’t wipe it away.
“That fucking hurt,” he whispered, his mouth near her ear. “How shall I pay you back, kitten, hm?” He shifted his weight to his left side, and tore open the collar of her dress with his right hand, exposing the column of her neck. He nuzzled it with his nose, scraping his teeth along the taut skin until he neared her collarbone, and bit hard.
Her blood was incredible—it made his own seem bland in comparison, and now that he’d tasted it, he knew he’d want more of it, always want more—
Naoto; A choked, strangled noise of surprise wound up in her throat, and the struggle she’d began even before he bended, now turned into trashing wildly to get him off. She was vaguely aware that he’d bitten so hard to draw blood, but damned would she be if she offered him any noise that showed that yes, it fucking hurt. Her disgust now grew tenfold, and she clenched her eyes for a sharp moment, before rasping out, “That’s how I play.”
A flick of her wrist was all she needed, the knife hidden on a holster up her sleeve fell down into her hand, and without doubt, though at an awkward position, she jabbed him at him, managing to embed it in his thigh. Hopefully it would make him pull away from biting her like she was lunch, and she’d be able to throw him off easily. Then again, there was the matter of his guns—but that she’d face when the time came.
Giovanni; His first thought is “wantwantwant,” followed by “shit,” because he wasn’t paying attention and she fucking stabbed him again (not that he was complaining). She was one of the fiestiest opponents he’d ever faced, ever played with, and he would remember this the way he remembered waking up in Einstellsehn’s wonderland, the way he remembered every single encounter with Heine.
She had spirit, this one, but he couldn’t let her get away clean, so he clubbed her upside the head with the butt of his gun (he’d put them back in their holsters before he lunged at her), a bit harder than necessary, perhaps, but it felt good, it felt really good.
Naoto; Okay, that got a grimace and a groan of pain, the impact against her temples hard enough to make her lose consciousness. Or start to. Stubbornly, she hung onto the last thread of consciousness like hanging onto a safety net—which was, essentially, what it was—although her grip on the knife slackened, and a soft, angered, slurred “Fuck” escaped her lips.
This was possible the worst place and time to lose consciousness, and she refused to do it. It kept her up.
Giovanni; He leaned in again, their noses practically touching, and smiled amiably. His chest burned and his suit was a mess but life was pretty fucking amazing.
“Remember, when you come to, that you owe me one, kitten,” he said, and hit her again, in the same spot
Naoto; She snarled at him. And then, poetically, there was only black.
Giovanni; He laughed once more. “I do love it when you snarl like that~”
Rating; R for violence
Characters; Naoto Fuyumine (
markedbyname)& Giovanni (buggyglasses)Summary; Privacy is invaded too much. Giovanni issues the challenge, and Naoto fits straight into the play.
Log;
Naoto; The memories were still fresh in her head, and they hurt like a staccato of stabs in her chest, but she pushed that all away. She had ten minutes to get out of the apartment and as far away as possible from where she lived with Nill and the Bishop. Luckily, they didn't see her leave, and hopefully, they still thought she was in her room, going through her past again. And it would stay that way.
Now she was certain Giovanni was Heine's enemy, and contrary to popular belief, the enemy of her enemy—was Heine really an enemy anymore as much as a bother?—was not her friend. He was dangerous, she knew, and this was foolish, rash, and completely personal, she knew; but she couldn't allow that person to continue invading her privacy, her past, like that. Some of those memories were private. No-one deserved to see them, no-one should have. She'd been on the edge the whole day, almost snapping at Heine in this way, but containing herself because they were, allegedly, allies. Though Giovanni was nothing to her, nothing but a nuisance, a pest that had for some reason gotten obsessed with playing with her--she'd been alive and travelled enough to know what that meant in this case—and if with this, he'd leave her alone, if this would stop him from prying into her past, or at the very least, change his focus away, as far away as possible from Nill, then she'd do it.
She saw the forest approaching, not nine minutes had passed, and as the trees came closer and closer, she reached behind her and pulled Fuyumine's katana out. There would be no short talk.
Giovanni;It wasn't that he was bored, exactly. Now that he'd found something to focus his energy on--there would always be Heine, and that lovely little chew toy of his--he felt invigorated. He'd been itching for this. Needing to sink his teeth into something. To tear and bite and claw and bleed, bleed, bleed…
He would bleed, of that he had no doubt. Kitten has a sword. A sharp sword. A pointy, sharp sword. What would it feel like, between his ribs~~?
But she'll bleed, too. He wanted to see her blood up close, smell it, taste it. He would, he would. Shoot her up, BANG, and she'll bleed from that pretty scar.
He leaned up against a tree, arms hanging loosely by his sides. He hadn't reached for the guns yet; they were safe in their holsters, his darlings, he'd bring them out soon enough. He would engage her hand-to-hand (hand-to-sword, sword-to-skin) first. She said ten minutes, and he'd been here seven. He hoped she was punctual, the itch was so intense and if she didn't hurry he would scratch it--
Naoto; There. It didn't take a moron to know who he was, where he was, the guy exuded some sort of ready-for-battle aura. She hoped that no-one was around, because liabilities would only get in the way, and she didn't come here looking to cause collateral damage. The only damage that would be cause, would be to him.
Of course she was aware of what Heine had told her about him. Same healing ability. He'd be a challenge, but crush the head and tear out the spine—and she planned to. Even if she got hurt in the process. For some reason, she knew she would, but she'd taught herself to not mind the injuries—of course she didn't pain, she still was human—and to focus solely on the fight. Pain was a distraction, and with this guy she needed to be focused.
The katana was out, firmly in her hands, and she walked calmly, but enough speed and strength in her step, towards him. No hellos, just getting this over with. Right. Not stopping, she walked-ran towards him, starting the battle by drawing an arc with her sword, down-to-up, diagonally and aimed at his chest.
Giovanni; Ah, there she was. And she didn't waste any time, either. He liked that. He liked that she came at him fully intending to kill him—if there was one thing he despised, it was an unmotivated, lazy, spoiled opponent.
"You look even better up close, kitten~"
Or maybe it was just the sword, the way it blurred as it sliced through the air, fluid and smooth even when it snagged his shirt—a new shirt, too. Pity.
He managed to dodge the worst of it, circling around the tree while she was still recovering from her first attack. (The shallow gash she'd opened up in his chest was already healing, ha ha~) He kicked the tree trunk once, twice, three times, until the wood began to splinter and crack. May as well take advantage of their surroundings, yes? Another savage kick and the tree started to fall—he made sure to aim in her direction, though he doubted it would connect. Her reflexes were impressive.
At the very least, she would know what he was capable of.
Naoto; Dodging the falling tree was easy business, just a graceful jump to the side and then she was at his neck again, not deigning him with a response to what could have only been another attempt to rile her up. Useless. She was already sufficiently riled up on this day alone, she had been on the edge even before he’d started to tease, and while unnecessary violence was something she disapproved of, she did not back down from a fight if her opponent pricked and picked at her weaknesses.
No weaknesses, she reminded herself, jumping over the fallen tree and drawing another diagonal line, from his top to his bottom this time. He was like Heine had warned her he’d be, a fast healer. But even fast healers grew tired, and she had tricks up her sleeves aplenty.
Giovanni;The guns were in his hands before he realized he’d reached for them, their weight comforting and familiar, so delightfully familiar. It was like he was born holding guns (he supposed he was, to a certain extent—his adoring “mother” conditioned him young).
“So quiet, kitten~won’t you at least purr for me?”
She tore another hole in his shirt (he’d never salvage it, now), and he jumped back, firing off shots at her feet, her knees. Ah, to see her kneel in front of him, to see her look up at him with malice in her eyes, raw and unguarded…
It would be beautiful~
Naoto; The only noise she allowed him to hear was the one of his gun being fired; with practiced ease, she flipped in the air—this almost reminded her of the scuffle in the church, with the only difference being that it was only one man, but he was good at what he did—flying for one moment, light, so light, and then she was seeing the top of his head, almost, just when gravity kicked in.
Without pause, the brought her sword down on his outstretched arm, with a slash intended to go deep enough to render that hand useless for some time.
Giovanni;The pain in his arm was quite exquisite (it burned), and he nearly dropped his gun, though he forced himself to concentrate and hold on. This time, the injury took a bit longer to heal, and he couldn’t afford to wait for it. Instead, he spun so that he was facing her and aimed at her shoulder with his good arm. He got three shots in before he backed up, seeking another tree to uproot. Perhaps she could dodge them, but he figured he would make the terrain as hard to manage as possible. He would level the entire forest, if need be.
And besides. Some of the shards of wood might serve as adequate weapons, should he require more than just his guns.
Naoto; No sooner had she slashed his arm she’d been on the move, fleeting sideways as soon as she saw him spin, and shoot—the last bullet nearly caught her shoulder, she had to be more careful, keep emotions at bay and focus on killing him—away from him, taking distance. When he stopped shooting her and started to back up towards a tree, her survival instinct kicked in. It wouldn’t be hard to fight with obstacles, but she would prefer having none. His self-healing abilities were already enough, and his arm was healing fast.
Not skipping a beat, but not at all rash—her movements in battle tended to be coldly calculated so that she didn’t get injured at all (after all, she had no idea how to sew her clothes)—she ran at him, alert enough to dodge the bullets, and when she was near him, practically side-by-side, she spun, her sword piercing his side, at an angle aimed for his ribs—bones took longer to heal—and was gone in another second, pulling her katana out and diving behind the tree in front of her.
Giovanni;He let her hide while he assessed the extent of his injury. One rib was broken for sure, another badly bruised. He had a decent-sized hole in his side (there went the jacket as well as the shirt~honestly), and he estimated he had at least a fifteen to twenty minutes before his body was completely whole again.
No matter.
He had gone into this fight knowing he would hurt him. He’d anticipated it, welcomed it. If only Heine would take this much initiative...
“Very good, kitten, very good.”
He peered over his shoulder at the tree she used as a temporary shelter, the mad dog within the Cerberus spine practically salivating at the thought of tearing her apart. Yes, Giovanni had the spine, too. He was a DOG. And unlike Heine, he didn’t spend his life trying to deny that.
Giovanni laughed, long and loud.
Gripping both guns tightly (his arm had healed), he walked leisurely toward the tree, prepared to either kick it down or shoot, depending on what the kitten decided to do.
One thing was certain. He didn’t itch any longer.
Naoto; The adrenaline rushing through her veins was unlike any she’d experienced before. Except maybe when she’d fought Magato. This was what fighting an expert was like, nothing fast and clean like her usual fights—thugs that got too confident in their big guns often fell faster than leaves in autumn—but drawn out, strenuous and tense. It had her on the edge. It had her breathing hard, her blood rushing in her ear, and realising, with a slight retching sensation, that she was enjoying it. She’d always dedicated herself to every fight she began, given it 100% and made sure her opponents were aware of it. Once her anger was triggered, only death could follow. And she was not afraid of dying, but she would not die in this place. Not while she had to find the original Naoto.
So this would be training.
It took her a second or two to formulate a plan: vicious attacks without pause, cause him the most bleeding possible, have him practically dizzy with it, and then kill him.
And without further ado, she emerged from behind the tree, the grip on her katana firm. Any other person—Heine, for example—would’ve said a smart remark to further annoy Giovanni, but she wasn’t like that; no, she just move quickly again, another slash towards his chest and arms.
Giovanni; He could see it in her eyes, how badly she wanted to hurt him. She had the most expressive eyes. Perhaps the rest of her face was like stone (hard granite, uncrackable), but her eyes spoke volumes. She was looking at him as if she were seeing someone else.
Someone he knew.
She came at him, slicing open his arms, his chest. He fired a few shots and went down fast (she was quick, but he was too), hooking his foot behind her ankle to throw her off-balance, all the while shooting upward, aiming at any part of her that was exposed.
“Come on, kitten~you have to be better than this if you expect to play with Fu-sama and win.”
Naoto; She fell backwards, hands immediately hitting the ground as she did a back-flip, one of the bullets grazing the back of her left calf. She paid no attention to the pain, busy dodging his bullets and simultaneously sliding up between his parted arms, mercilessly driving her sword through his chest—one lung—before slipping out of his grasp quickly.
Her eyes were cold fury. “What do you know about that name?” she asked, speaking for the first time since they’d begun fighting.
Giovanni; It felt as if the wind were knocked out of him, only ten times worse. He coughed up blood, and the taste (salty and metallic) filled his mouth. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose control, completely lose it.
Breathing shallowly, he got his hands (still gripping the guns) under him and pushed himself up into a sitting position. May as well use this opportunity to reload.
“More than you,” he replied nonchalantly, drawing two spare magazines from the holsters strapped by his sides—luckily, she missed them when she stabbed him. “I know the person it belongs to~”
Naoto; No. No fury yet, he was doing this on purpose, riling her up on purpose. The bastard got off on pain, the adrenaline of the fight. She vaguely wondered if Heine was the same—then discarded the doubt, of course he was. She didn’t doubt at all that he knew who she was looking for personally, but she’d only die quicker if she acted rash this time.
Seeing her opening, she moved until she was behind him, taking advantage of his slower-than-his-average recharging of his magazines, and bringing her sword down. This time it pierced the other lung, clean through, out the other side. “How do I get to her?” she asked, because she’d only hate herself later for not asking. She wasn’t expecting an honest answer, but her pride and determination demanded it. Two second passed during which she was poised over his back, her katana poking him like a shishkebab, two seconds and she decided that twisting the blade would only be vicious. But he’d asked for it, and once she got into the heart of a battle, she could be as vicious as any. She pulled the sword out, only twisting it when it was half way out of his body, then completely out. Not much longer now.
Giovanni; He’d experienced pain worse than this before; the time Heine completely decimated him came to mind, though he’d barely been conscious when that began. This was something entirely different...sweeter, almost.
He dug his fingers into the earth, to ease the trembling—he wanted, he wanted, he wanted (let it out let it go let it feed).
He breathed. Tasted more blood. Breathed in, breathed out.
“I won’t tell~”
Breathed.
“You’ll have to rip it out of me, kitten~”
Breathed.
“Rip it out of my corpse~”
For a moment, a long moment, everything was still.
And then he struck.
Naoto; It was too quick, too quick even for her tastes; she’d been frowning at his back and ready to attack again when his mood shifted and then he swirled around, tackling her to the ground. In the momentum, she did the one thing that was unthinkable in any type of fight—especially those against madmen—; she lost her hold on her katana, felt it slip through her fingers only when it was too late. When her back hit the ground with a sharp thud, and she found herself looking up at a—for the lack of a better description—dog.
Giovanni; He grinned a bloodstained grin at her, pressing down on her arms with his knees as he leaned forward, his hands on either side of her head. Tiny droplets of his blood dripped off his chin, onto her face—her cheeks, her nose, a drop on the edge of her mouth. He considered licking it clean, but instead he left it there, because she couldn’t wipe it away.
“That fucking hurt,” he whispered, his mouth near her ear. “How shall I pay you back, kitten, hm?” He shifted his weight to his left side, and tore open the collar of her dress with his right hand, exposing the column of her neck. He nuzzled it with his nose, scraping his teeth along the taut skin until he neared her collarbone, and bit hard.
Her blood was incredible—it made his own seem bland in comparison, and now that he’d tasted it, he knew he’d want more of it, always want more—
Naoto; A choked, strangled noise of surprise wound up in her throat, and the struggle she’d began even before he bended, now turned into trashing wildly to get him off. She was vaguely aware that he’d bitten so hard to draw blood, but damned would she be if she offered him any noise that showed that yes, it fucking hurt. Her disgust now grew tenfold, and she clenched her eyes for a sharp moment, before rasping out, “That’s how I play.”
A flick of her wrist was all she needed, the knife hidden on a holster up her sleeve fell down into her hand, and without doubt, though at an awkward position, she jabbed him at him, managing to embed it in his thigh. Hopefully it would make him pull away from biting her like she was lunch, and she’d be able to throw him off easily. Then again, there was the matter of his guns—but that she’d face when the time came.
Giovanni; His first thought is “wantwantwant,” followed by “shit,” because he wasn’t paying attention and she fucking stabbed him again (not that he was complaining). She was one of the fiestiest opponents he’d ever faced, ever played with, and he would remember this the way he remembered waking up in Einstellsehn’s wonderland, the way he remembered every single encounter with Heine.
She had spirit, this one, but he couldn’t let her get away clean, so he clubbed her upside the head with the butt of his gun (he’d put them back in their holsters before he lunged at her), a bit harder than necessary, perhaps, but it felt good, it felt really good.
Naoto; Okay, that got a grimace and a groan of pain, the impact against her temples hard enough to make her lose consciousness. Or start to. Stubbornly, she hung onto the last thread of consciousness like hanging onto a safety net—which was, essentially, what it was—although her grip on the knife slackened, and a soft, angered, slurred “Fuck” escaped her lips.
This was possible the worst place and time to lose consciousness, and she refused to do it. It kept her up.
Giovanni; He leaned in again, their noses practically touching, and smiled amiably. His chest burned and his suit was a mess but life was pretty fucking amazing.
“Remember, when you come to, that you owe me one, kitten,” he said, and hit her again, in the same spot
Naoto; She snarled at him. And then, poetically, there was only black.
Giovanni; He laughed once more. “I do love it when you snarl like that~”