小田桐 秀利 >> Odagiri Hidetoshi (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
altitonant_emperor) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2013-04-23 09:00 am
altitonant_emperor) wrote in towerofanimus2013-04-23 09:00 am
OO9 >> caught between two books, squeeze me till I die like a flower you need to dry
Characters: Hidetoshi, and the rest of the population of the towerofanimus .
Setting: Floors 1 and 4, the dormitory levels and anywhere else.
Format: Actionspam to begin with. Either is fine by me, but be warned that using prose equates a slower tagging time from me.
Summary: As it is the popular thing to do this week; Hidetoshi's currently dealing with the aftermath of being completely brainwashed during this month's experiment, and like his previous brilliant coping method, decides once again pretend it never happened to him personally in the first place. After he has a small breakdown.
Warnings: Post-experiment angst? Mentions of violence. Oh, and vomiting and crying too.
[ SCENARIO A || DORM LEVELS: SEMI-CLOSED ]
[ After everything is said and done, Hidetoshi is left sitting on the edge of his bed in the dormitory, staring blankly at the wall as he fought to hold his composure together and steadily kept refusing to give cruel, abusive bullies like the administration the satisfaction of witnessing even a single crack in his calm. His mind was his own now and the body his soul resided within had been restored to normal. (No holes, no burning in his fingers and the organs in his torso properly hidden away behind layers of skin once more.) He'd seen the post the blond man had left on the terminals, speaking soberly of spying, subterfuge and dozens of broken confidences at the order of the administration. He'd talked about broken trust and offered apologies.
The collar around his neck was orange again. It wasn't pink.
He calmly stood up from the bed, calmly walked down the hallway at a brisk pace and didn't quite succeed in reaching the public bathroom before a shudder racked his body and he staggered against the wall, leaned over and promptly barfed the contents of his stomach onto the floor in front of him. Hidetoshi sank to his knees, hand still pressed against the wall for balance. After a few minutes' silence, he vomited again though much less came up, and splattered on the floor this time. Some of it got onto his shoes. His shoulders heaved as the teenager curled up, frantically attempting to curb the urge to... to...
Tears. He was crying, Hidetoshi realized shamefully but he couldn't stop.
He wasn't crying because he was sad or hurt or scared. He was crying because he was absolutely revolted by what had occurred to him and others, angry beyond all expressive words, and incapable of changing the entire disgusting situation to the point where it would be impossible to allow it to happen again. That knowledge made it worse. Struggling to withhold the frantic edge from his actions, he angrily wiped away the bothersome tears dripping down his cheeks, and they kept coming despite that weak, dismissive gesture. His head bowed. The slight spasm that racked his body as he crouched there weren't as easily concealed as his face nor were the small, muffled choking sounds that occasionally escaped him.
His hand clamped over his chest, tightly squeezing the fabric of his jacket as if reassuring himself that it was true flesh-and-blood there, that his lungs were whole and unmarred and without a trace of that sickening burning or tar caught in them. Dark gray eyes snapped shut when the teenager recalled that, how violated and ruined by smoke his own lungs had been. Like he'd been inhaling toxins and suffered the price of it. His empty stomach felt like it was considering rebelling again. ]
[ SCENARIO B || FLOOR ONE: CAFETERIA ]
[ Alright, cryingfest was over and done. Reddish eyes aside, there wasn't a reason to mention it to anybody else or acknowledge he had cried at all. He doesn't want to dwell on what happened to many residents, or his own brainwashed stint as a mindless drone. But first, he needed to make some apologies of his own. Luckily, he'd been so focused on his own area that he hadn't been interested in wandering outside of it or in tormenting anybody away from it. Few people had been personally harmed by his hands.
The recollection of enjoying being in he had been convinced was actual control (but ultimately false) of his environment had been refreshed sharply. The vice president of the student council's yearning for order had been warped into a crazed need for the rules to be obeyed at any cost, and with that the urge to punish whomever failed to shape up to said rules, and the ingrained, obsessive loyalty that had permeated his thoughts under that need during the week annoyed him the more he recalled it. The administrators, Hidetoshi decided, were not going to get away with doing that.
To any of them.
Anyway; on the bed in their dormitory room, Hidetoshi had left a letter addressed to Sephiroth. Its contents were short, brisk and deeply apologetic. Inside he expressed his shame over treating the older man in such a demeaning manner and offered his sincere apologies in hope that he would not be despised for his unwilling actions. He had no control over himself during the experiment conducted by the administrator, Jason. And neither had Sephiroth had any say in the matter. He regretted ordered him around like one would an underling. If there is any way he could make it up to him, Sephiroth need not hesitate to ask.
That done and letter delivered, Hidetoshi took the elevator down to the cafeteria. He checked the menu and was unsurprised to see the usual was offered. Those stupid, cardboard-tasting, bland nutrition bars.
What a wretched man Jason was, he thought sourly to himself. ]
[ SCENARIO C || FLOOR FOUR: LOUNGE ]
[ Like many of the distasteful elements of this place, it appeared he would have no choice but simply have to put up with the knowledge that while the main experiment was over, there had definitively been an impact that would last after the rebellion itself. Such as the increase of retrieval units on certain floors, and the change in staff on floor seventy-seven. It was his good fortune that he had no potential as a large threat or a member of the resistance.
After eating in the cafeteria, he'd walked up to one of his favoured floors—the lounge, where there was no immediate threat of maiming via monsters and which had a comfortably sensible layout of couches, sofas, and tables. He wanted sensibility right now. The view could even be called morbidly impressive, if you found looking over an endless sea of dull grey fog stretching out past the horizon to be interesting.
So, whenever somebody walks into the lounge, they'll either find one of the sofas occupied by a grouchy high school student, seemingly absorbed in reading a book as to distract himself from his own thoughts, or catched him in the midst of cleaning up and maintaining his knives which had accumulated dirt and fingerprints. On one of the tables, he had left a couple of nutrient bars snagged from the cafeteria that were bland and tasteless, along with a tidy stack of sprawled notes he was recreating from scratch after the flood had ruined all of his old ones, and a pencil. ]
towerofanimus .Setting: Floors 1 and 4, the dormitory levels and anywhere else.
Format: Actionspam to begin with. Either is fine by me, but be warned that using prose equates a slower tagging time from me.
Summary: As it is the popular thing to do this week; Hidetoshi's currently dealing with the aftermath of being completely brainwashed during this month's experiment, and like his previous brilliant coping method, decides once again pretend it never happened to him personally in the first place. After he has a small breakdown.
Warnings: Post-experiment angst? Mentions of violence. Oh, and vomiting and crying too.
[ SCENARIO A || DORM LEVELS: SEMI-CLOSED ]
[ After everything is said and done, Hidetoshi is left sitting on the edge of his bed in the dormitory, staring blankly at the wall as he fought to hold his composure together and steadily kept refusing to give cruel, abusive bullies like the administration the satisfaction of witnessing even a single crack in his calm. His mind was his own now and the body his soul resided within had been restored to normal. (No holes, no burning in his fingers and the organs in his torso properly hidden away behind layers of skin once more.) He'd seen the post the blond man had left on the terminals, speaking soberly of spying, subterfuge and dozens of broken confidences at the order of the administration. He'd talked about broken trust and offered apologies.
The collar around his neck was orange again. It wasn't pink.
He calmly stood up from the bed, calmly walked down the hallway at a brisk pace and didn't quite succeed in reaching the public bathroom before a shudder racked his body and he staggered against the wall, leaned over and promptly barfed the contents of his stomach onto the floor in front of him. Hidetoshi sank to his knees, hand still pressed against the wall for balance. After a few minutes' silence, he vomited again though much less came up, and splattered on the floor this time. Some of it got onto his shoes. His shoulders heaved as the teenager curled up, frantically attempting to curb the urge to... to...
Tears. He was crying, Hidetoshi realized shamefully but he couldn't stop.
He wasn't crying because he was sad or hurt or scared. He was crying because he was absolutely revolted by what had occurred to him and others, angry beyond all expressive words, and incapable of changing the entire disgusting situation to the point where it would be impossible to allow it to happen again. That knowledge made it worse. Struggling to withhold the frantic edge from his actions, he angrily wiped away the bothersome tears dripping down his cheeks, and they kept coming despite that weak, dismissive gesture. His head bowed. The slight spasm that racked his body as he crouched there weren't as easily concealed as his face nor were the small, muffled choking sounds that occasionally escaped him.
His hand clamped over his chest, tightly squeezing the fabric of his jacket as if reassuring himself that it was true flesh-and-blood there, that his lungs were whole and unmarred and without a trace of that sickening burning or tar caught in them. Dark gray eyes snapped shut when the teenager recalled that, how violated and ruined by smoke his own lungs had been. Like he'd been inhaling toxins and suffered the price of it. His empty stomach felt like it was considering rebelling again. ]
[ SCENARIO B || FLOOR ONE: CAFETERIA ]
[ Alright, cryingfest was over and done. Reddish eyes aside, there wasn't a reason to mention it to anybody else or acknowledge he had cried at all. He doesn't want to dwell on what happened to many residents, or his own brainwashed stint as a mindless drone. But first, he needed to make some apologies of his own. Luckily, he'd been so focused on his own area that he hadn't been interested in wandering outside of it or in tormenting anybody away from it. Few people had been personally harmed by his hands.
The recollection of enjoying being in he had been convinced was actual control (but ultimately false) of his environment had been refreshed sharply. The vice president of the student council's yearning for order had been warped into a crazed need for the rules to be obeyed at any cost, and with that the urge to punish whomever failed to shape up to said rules, and the ingrained, obsessive loyalty that had permeated his thoughts under that need during the week annoyed him the more he recalled it. The administrators, Hidetoshi decided, were not going to get away with doing that.
To any of them.
Anyway; on the bed in their dormitory room, Hidetoshi had left a letter addressed to Sephiroth. Its contents were short, brisk and deeply apologetic. Inside he expressed his shame over treating the older man in such a demeaning manner and offered his sincere apologies in hope that he would not be despised for his unwilling actions. He had no control over himself during the experiment conducted by the administrator, Jason. And neither had Sephiroth had any say in the matter. He regretted ordered him around like one would an underling. If there is any way he could make it up to him, Sephiroth need not hesitate to ask.
That done and letter delivered, Hidetoshi took the elevator down to the cafeteria. He checked the menu and was unsurprised to see the usual was offered. Those stupid, cardboard-tasting, bland nutrition bars.
What a wretched man Jason was, he thought sourly to himself. ]
[ SCENARIO C || FLOOR FOUR: LOUNGE ]
[ Like many of the distasteful elements of this place, it appeared he would have no choice but simply have to put up with the knowledge that while the main experiment was over, there had definitively been an impact that would last after the rebellion itself. Such as the increase of retrieval units on certain floors, and the change in staff on floor seventy-seven. It was his good fortune that he had no potential as a large threat or a member of the resistance.
After eating in the cafeteria, he'd walked up to one of his favoured floors—the lounge, where there was no immediate threat of maiming via monsters and which had a comfortably sensible layout of couches, sofas, and tables. He wanted sensibility right now. The view could even be called morbidly impressive, if you found looking over an endless sea of dull grey fog stretching out past the horizon to be interesting.
So, whenever somebody walks into the lounge, they'll either find one of the sofas occupied by a grouchy high school student, seemingly absorbed in reading a book as to distract himself from his own thoughts, or catched him in the midst of cleaning up and maintaining his knives which had accumulated dirt and fingerprints. On one of the tables, he had left a couple of nutrient bars snagged from the cafeteria that were bland and tasteless, along with a tidy stack of sprawled notes he was recreating from scratch after the flood had ruined all of his old ones, and a pencil. ]
uh to be on the safe side! tw: smoking
Alright.
[His legs don't give out so much as finally decide to stop working, and Hidetoshi sits down with all the dignity he can muster in the situation. There's a pause where he looks at the Servant and considers what to do or say.
He feels tired: crying was a rusted sort of release, tiring in its own way. And the truth was that he didn't know to say or how to talk about it like Diarmuid offered him a chance to do. He was still angry and rubbed raw and confused. He clears his throat to open with;]
The administration is detestable. [A pause.] I don't like smoking or cigarettes. Back home—in school, that was against the rules to begin with, and it kills the smoker slowly over the course of time anyway. It leads to lung cancer, heart attacks. It's unhealthy. [He frowned.] I've seen pictures of longtime smokers. One was missing their jaw because they had cancer in it. Another had a hole at the base of her neck so she could breath, and, and had to use a device to talk at all.Their lungs were damaged. And so on, so on... There's poison in cigerettes.
[Hidetoshi's shoulders slump. He didn't want to talk about this. It felt shamefully like he was asking for pity or attention. And making a big deal out of nothing.] ... There were holes in my lungs. They burnt my lungs.
no subject
He moves from his crouch to sit next to Hidetoshi against the wall.]
I wasn't changed like you and so many others. I can't even begin to imagine how much you are hurting. The administrators... They are despicable. No one will argue with you on that.
[Diarmuid reaches out and gently squeezes Hidetoshi's shoulder.]
We will find a way to make them pay someday. That I promise you. Remember this moment and what you are feeling so that it can be revisited on them once we have the chance.
[Though he wants to say more, Diarmuid falls silent after that. He remembers how hard it is for Hidetoshi to talk about himself from their earlier conversations and is honored that the boy has told him this much.]
no subject
No. [Hidetoshi looks at his hands, trying to be coherent. Law must be enforced yet how could this emotion be accurately conveyed to their tormentors? It couldn't. The teenager felt lost.]
No, it cannot—I do not wish for equal retribution to be visited upon them. It would make me and the other victims feel better, feel validated, but if every instant of pain was returned, it... The world can't function in that manner. It can't. There's no way to make their punishment repay our suffering.
[An eye for an eye doesn't work out. Not in the real world. He slumps again, wanting to be more elaborate and not knowing how to be.] However, I want them to pay for their crimes so badly. So, thank you for promising that.
no subject
No, you are right. I was going to argue, but then I realized in my anger I am falling back into old ways. Back in my day, eye for an eye was how it was done, but in the end that method only leads to more pain. Pain that never finds an end.
[For a moment, his mind drifts back to a question he has pondered more than once. Had Oscar really followed through on his threat that day on the hill? Had his friend actually killed his own lord and grandfather in retaliation for letting Diarmuid die?
And how many had died after that if he had?]
As much as I want the administrators to feel the same pain they have caused us all to feel, that might not even be possible. None of them feel the way we do. If they did, they wouldn't be doing these things. You are probably right. It is better to focus on seeing justice served than looking for revenge.
no subject
I can see how that view on things developed in those times. The world was much less forgiving in the old days. It's still around now. To play by the rules of an eye for an eye, invites too much misery. It becomes a cycle which worsens every time it turns, doesn't it?
[What happiness can that bring? He was inexperienced in these matters, but what good would it do?
Justice was a tangle of complicated mathematics with different answers for every person in regards to each misdeed. For some, what would be a suitable punishment for a given crime wouldn't be acceptable to others. And to give a light punishment would cheapen the victim's pain, even be offensive. So would a death, multiple deaths in response to a wrong, however grievous that wrong is, be acceptable?
Anger is valid, a real response, and it's not wrong to be upset, but is killing people to sate that anger and as "payback" going to repair it?]
Indeed, revenge solves nothing. It's a method for a personal perception of justice only eases the ones taking it's emotions—Payback. They could have the right to that revenge, I suppose... Yet it's not going to erase what was done to them. I... [He broke off. A shrug, his mind flickering back to his father who believed in sincerity and was arrested for a crime he didn't commit, imprisoned for the convenience of others. Those people had probably never felt a jot of remorse over doing that to him.] Yeah. People who stoop to these levels don't care. They never will, it's a waste of time to try and make them.
no subject
[After all, even if they had not stopped to think of it, every action had a consequence. The men who Diarmuid had killed to protect himself and his friends were men who would not go back home to protect those they loved. And while it is the life of a warrior to fight and die for those they love and are sworn to, no lord plans to lose his whole army to a single battle. No family plans to lose their father and sons all in one battle. What are those left behind after such a battle but innocent victims?
And how many times had he seen such battles start from eye for an eye vengeance?
Diarmuid turns to Hidetoshi and smiles slightly at the boy.]
It is good to hear you sounding a little more like normal. You are right. Trying to make them understand what they are doing to us is a waste of time. There are other places where we should be focusing our energy.
no subject
[It's muttered in tired agreement under his breath. The deep breaths of air help to calm the teenager down, and ease away the slight lightheadedness that come with angrily bawling his eyes out on somebody's shoulder.
Diarmuid's presence helps too, even though the sight of the adult smiling reassuringly at him leaves him feeling awkward. Hidetoshi averts his eyes downward before noticing his shoes still has flecks of vomit on them. He reddens slightly.
Yes, cycles of violence inevitably caught innocents in its path and dealt them hurt, too. And it would expand from there. The friends and families of the victims, them who had lost much to the cut of a blade, the rattle of gunfire or the implosion of a bomb. Even the less permanent departures ached and demanded some kind of compensation to make up for it—a man imprisoned who could no longer provide for his family or his children. A woman exiled from her country by war, who could no longer bide good day to her friends and neighbors. The soldiers who died or were injured in battle, the civilians killed in accidents or homicides, and many others. The former vice president of the student council knew better than to believe life was fair, but wasn't it just to order the scales be equalized somehow?
Yet that wasn't a reasonable request, as the Servant had just detailed himself.]
Thank you. [Then he nods.] Yes, there are more worthy pursuits to be invested in. Such as locating reliable avenues for escape and putting an end to the administration's reign over this place.
no subject
[After all, Diarmuid had not said that much. He hadn't known what really to say. Instead, he had just tried to act as a guide like Hidetoshi had done for him so many times.]
There are those who are making plans and gathering to fight the administrators. These experiments might slow the progress but it won't stop it. In the meantime, others are working to try and make this place safer for us. Either of those goals would be better ways to spend energy.
[His voice softens as he speaks. While nothing Diarmuid is saying is anything the administrators don't already know, he would rather not risk drawing the attention of the wrong people with a stray comment. It's also why he doesn't say anything more detailed than he does. Instead, he switches topics.]
Would you like me to run to the bathroom and grab something for you to clean up with? It will only take me a moment.
no subject
[Funny how their respective positions are reversed in this situation. Except it's not really amusing at all because of this stupid Tower. And it's more along the lines of embarrassing because no, he didn't want to cry in a public area. Diarmuid's next comment catches his tired attention with the chance for a long-term goal. For the entirety of his time in the Tower, Hidetoshi has lacked a long-term goal beyond survival and an eventual escape for all its unwilling residents. He'd like to have a new one set again.
There's a definite flicker of avid interest in his dark gray eyes before the topic is switched to more safe waters of discussion. He looks caught between protesting that he can go and fetch himself and agreeing.]
Ah... That would be appreciated.
no subject
Has anyone from the resistance contacted you, Hidetoshi?
no subject
No, they have not. [The tone of his voice, spoken just as quietly as Diarmuid's voice, very much implies, "tell me more?"]
no subject
It probably will come as no surprise to you that there are cameras all over the tower watching us. This is probably not the most ideal place to discuss things, but there really is no ideal place. Only the bathrooms are suppose to be unmonitored...
[He pauses suddenly.]
Act sick for me again, would you? I will move you there and we will be able to speak more freely.
no subject
... Alright.
[Then he forces himself to recall some prior unpleasantness, and allows those memories of sensation to make his face go pale slightly and a mildly realistic-sounding whimper noise emerge from his throat as he bent over, eyes screwed shut for a moment. Hidetoshi wouldn't be winning any awards for his acting skills anytime soon, but it was convincing at least.]
no subject
Forgive me.
[His voice is soft.]
Lets get you into the bathrooms. Some cold water might help.
[Without saying anything more or waiting for a reaction, he dashes into the bathrooms. Once there, he sets the boy onto his feet and smiles slightly at him.]
Hopefully, that wasn't too disorienting for you. It bothers some more than others.