Juji Kabane (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
onlyhalfdead) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-12-04 08:05 am
onlyhalfdead) wrote in towerofanimus2012-12-04 08:05 am
Entry tags:
If there is a God, He must have a nasty sense of humour.
Characters: Jyuji and OPEN
Setting: Day 4, starting midmorning-ish in the dormitories (room 4-02 at first, moving to lower floors); other possible encounters include floor 38, floor 27, floor 14, floor 5 (which will be sometime in the afternoon due to time lapse). Feel free to hop floors after him if you want!
Format: Prose to start, but will match you.
Summary: Jyuji doesn't do cages with even a modicum of good grace.
Warnings: Language andpotential lots of violence; hostile demi-zombie with superpowers.
—Waking
A blood-curdling scream cuts through the air on the fourth floor of the dormitory. It's a sound of terror and fury – more the latter than the former.
Jyuji, throat aching from that involuntary howl, waits out the sleep paralysis with a steadily rising panic. He's still only half awake, immobile, and the strange air is like a slap in the face, a fist full of bizarre, alien scents. Nothing he expects is near enough to smell, but what bothers him most – not that he'll ever admit it – is the guitar that should still be on his back and isn't. He can't smell the weird ozone tang that always, always tells him RB is nearby. If he were still capable of sweating, he'd have drenched himself by now, soaked through with fear.
"WHOSE BRILLIANT IDEA WAS THIS?!" Jyuji bellows once he's recovered from the brief shock of finally coming fully awake. He heaves himself from the bed that isn't his, ignoring the letters on the nightstand that he can't see, too preoccupied to consciously recognise the dry papery smell about them, to start feeling his way around and upending the room instead. He doesn't have his coat, his guns, his mask. He flings the mattress off the frame, checks beneath it and finds nothing, repeats this process with the next bed before he trips over a storage trunk. "Dammit!" he snaps, hissing quietly with the throbbing pain in his shin. He kicks it deliberately for good measure. Then he rights it and tries prying it open. Judging by the sound alone, it certainly isn't anything of his; he doesn't hear the tell-tale clatter he expects of his weapons. Oh, he can probably manage without them for a while anyway.
It's the mask he needs. Before anyone sees his face.
"When I find whoever did this," he snarls with no attempt to muffle himself, "I'm gonna kill 'em." Unsteadily, he tracks back to the bed he woke in and tries that storage trunk; it rattles with a familiar, comfortable weight. Jyuji grins an almost manic grin, then rips off the lid in his desperation to get it open. He scoops out his mask with shaking hands and it's hardly half a moment – record time – before he has it strapped back on.
But he's not done yet. He still has to get out of this clingy monkey suit somebody stuffed him into while he was unconscious. The thought that anybody saw him like that sends disgusted ripples up and down his back. Rage steadily building, he throws his bedframe into the far wall before he starts changing into some real clothes.
—Dorms
Finally in his proper clothing – annoyed that the collar of his turtleneck stretches awkwardly around the device locked on his neck – Jyuji sets off on a rampage down the dormitory halls, swords in hand and Spirit Flame flaring brightly over his right shoulder. He wants answers – a lot of answers – and he doesn't particularly care who he has to hurt or kill to get them.
"WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON?" he shouts from a hallway intersection when he stops briefly to sniff out his bearings.
—Thirty-eighth
"This whole place stinks," Jyuji decides in an overly loud voice as he steps down into yet another floor. It feels large and mostly open, but at the same time, very lived-in; it reeks of unknown people and furniture upholstery. His lip curls into a sneer.
Maybe if he causes enough property damage, he'll get the attention of somebody qualified to answer his questions. He decides to test this, starting with throwing furniture at the walls – no, he realises when he hears a chair rebound, windows – when he doesn't just cut them down.
—Twenty-seventh
The stench of chemicals hits Jyuji long before he enters the next floor down. It's a sting in his nostrils that's far, far too familiar for his own good. He spent long enough strapped to a table in a lab that he'll never forget the way sterilised air and disinfectant make him burn. A little haggard already, he twitches at the realisation, scars starting to itch. He needs to get out of here.
He needs to ruin it.
In the space of a second, Jyuji goes from standing numbly in a fugue on the staircase to smashing as much of the lab as he can with frenzied attacks that lack any sort of form or discipline. He isn't paying the least bit of attention to which chemicals are too close to the flames rolling off him, either.
—Fourteenth
A weary-looking man in his tattered, patchwork coat bursts downstairs into the lounge. His body isn't quite so willing, but there's a rage in him as palpable as the flames licking across his back that drives him downward floor by floor. He's frustrated, too. Frustrated and upset. He's been caged up again, as surely as he was years ago. So far, all this has going for it is there's considerably less torture involved.
(If only he knew.)
"Who's running this dump?!" he demands, kicking aside a couple of beanbags and launching a chair at the nearest television. "Get the hell out here and answer my questions before I get really mad!"
—Fifth
It's an exhausted Jyuji that reaches the fifth floor, shaking faintly with his exertions on the way here. He doesn't even know where he is within the building, nor how many floors remain. All he's sure of is that he's somewhere that might yield results. He smells the metal, the acrid, dry whiff of warm plastics. He thinks they're computers, at least, guessing by the faint hum in the background.
"Your turn," he rasps to the people he smells here as he aims his guns at the nearest warm body. "And you've got ten seconds to answer me before I splatter you all over the walls. Where. Is. The asshole in charge?"
Setting: Day 4, starting midmorning-ish in the dormitories (room 4-02 at first, moving to lower floors); other possible encounters include floor 38, floor 27, floor 14, floor 5 (which will be sometime in the afternoon due to time lapse). Feel free to hop floors after him if you want!
Format: Prose to start, but will match you.
Summary: Jyuji doesn't do cages with even a modicum of good grace.
Warnings: Language and
—Waking
A blood-curdling scream cuts through the air on the fourth floor of the dormitory. It's a sound of terror and fury – more the latter than the former.
Jyuji, throat aching from that involuntary howl, waits out the sleep paralysis with a steadily rising panic. He's still only half awake, immobile, and the strange air is like a slap in the face, a fist full of bizarre, alien scents. Nothing he expects is near enough to smell, but what bothers him most – not that he'll ever admit it – is the guitar that should still be on his back and isn't. He can't smell the weird ozone tang that always, always tells him RB is nearby. If he were still capable of sweating, he'd have drenched himself by now, soaked through with fear.
"WHOSE BRILLIANT IDEA WAS THIS?!" Jyuji bellows once he's recovered from the brief shock of finally coming fully awake. He heaves himself from the bed that isn't his, ignoring the letters on the nightstand that he can't see, too preoccupied to consciously recognise the dry papery smell about them, to start feeling his way around and upending the room instead. He doesn't have his coat, his guns, his mask. He flings the mattress off the frame, checks beneath it and finds nothing, repeats this process with the next bed before he trips over a storage trunk. "Dammit!" he snaps, hissing quietly with the throbbing pain in his shin. He kicks it deliberately for good measure. Then he rights it and tries prying it open. Judging by the sound alone, it certainly isn't anything of his; he doesn't hear the tell-tale clatter he expects of his weapons. Oh, he can probably manage without them for a while anyway.
It's the mask he needs. Before anyone sees his face.
"When I find whoever did this," he snarls with no attempt to muffle himself, "I'm gonna kill 'em." Unsteadily, he tracks back to the bed he woke in and tries that storage trunk; it rattles with a familiar, comfortable weight. Jyuji grins an almost manic grin, then rips off the lid in his desperation to get it open. He scoops out his mask with shaking hands and it's hardly half a moment – record time – before he has it strapped back on.
But he's not done yet. He still has to get out of this clingy monkey suit somebody stuffed him into while he was unconscious. The thought that anybody saw him like that sends disgusted ripples up and down his back. Rage steadily building, he throws his bedframe into the far wall before he starts changing into some real clothes.
—Dorms
Finally in his proper clothing – annoyed that the collar of his turtleneck stretches awkwardly around the device locked on his neck – Jyuji sets off on a rampage down the dormitory halls, swords in hand and Spirit Flame flaring brightly over his right shoulder. He wants answers – a lot of answers – and he doesn't particularly care who he has to hurt or kill to get them.
"WHAT THE HELL'S GOING ON?" he shouts from a hallway intersection when he stops briefly to sniff out his bearings.
—Thirty-eighth
"This whole place stinks," Jyuji decides in an overly loud voice as he steps down into yet another floor. It feels large and mostly open, but at the same time, very lived-in; it reeks of unknown people and furniture upholstery. His lip curls into a sneer.
Maybe if he causes enough property damage, he'll get the attention of somebody qualified to answer his questions. He decides to test this, starting with throwing furniture at the walls – no, he realises when he hears a chair rebound, windows – when he doesn't just cut them down.
—Twenty-seventh
The stench of chemicals hits Jyuji long before he enters the next floor down. It's a sting in his nostrils that's far, far too familiar for his own good. He spent long enough strapped to a table in a lab that he'll never forget the way sterilised air and disinfectant make him burn. A little haggard already, he twitches at the realisation, scars starting to itch. He needs to get out of here.
He needs to ruin it.
In the space of a second, Jyuji goes from standing numbly in a fugue on the staircase to smashing as much of the lab as he can with frenzied attacks that lack any sort of form or discipline. He isn't paying the least bit of attention to which chemicals are too close to the flames rolling off him, either.
—Fourteenth
A weary-looking man in his tattered, patchwork coat bursts downstairs into the lounge. His body isn't quite so willing, but there's a rage in him as palpable as the flames licking across his back that drives him downward floor by floor. He's frustrated, too. Frustrated and upset. He's been caged up again, as surely as he was years ago. So far, all this has going for it is there's considerably less torture involved.
(If only he knew.)
"Who's running this dump?!" he demands, kicking aside a couple of beanbags and launching a chair at the nearest television. "Get the hell out here and answer my questions before I get really mad!"
—Fifth
It's an exhausted Jyuji that reaches the fifth floor, shaking faintly with his exertions on the way here. He doesn't even know where he is within the building, nor how many floors remain. All he's sure of is that he's somewhere that might yield results. He smells the metal, the acrid, dry whiff of warm plastics. He thinks they're computers, at least, guessing by the faint hum in the background.
"Your turn," he rasps to the people he smells here as he aims his guns at the nearest warm body. "And you've got ten seconds to answer me before I splatter you all over the walls. Where. Is. The asshole in charge?"