towerofanimus | have you ever tasted fear or loss of control

Characters: Mao and YOU YOU YOU
Setting: Dorms near room 1-04
Format: I'll match you
Summary: Mao returns to the tower in perfect mental health.
Warnings: Very angry creeper warning

It wasn’t like he minded being out of that godforsaken place. For all the things this tower had done to him, walking around the ruined hallways of Evil Academy? That was a billion times worse. In fact, when he woke up with paralysis throughout his body, it was almost… welcomed? Almost. His mind really wasn’t working that well at the moment. In its defense, though, it had taken a lot of abuse.

The memories were fuzzy, but they were for the most part accurate. The paralysis wore off after a short while, and then he was welcome to get up and explore the room, which at the moment was empty. After changing out of that stupid outfit and into his regular clothes, Mao unloaded his trunk, as he had done last time, and left the anime, games, and comics strewn about the room, once again as he had done last time. There were considerably less of them this time, though. He distributed the ‘Demon’s Handbook’ onto the three other beds, with a sticky note on them that read “REQUIRED READING” in thick red marker. He hung his assorted weapons and torture devices on the wall. It was all terribly familiar, because he had done it all before.

Once he was done redecorating the room to his liking, Mao sat on the bed and stared at the door for a moment. He thought briefly and flittingly that he would need to find a place to put all of his supplies; hopefully the tower had come up with a suitable lab area in his absence.

A second later, he was screaming like a madman and punching the door furiously. He probably got a fist through there.

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Well. That door is made of some admirable stuff. But Fran can't help but wonder if the person who attacked it's hand was made quite so admirably~?

"You're not hurt, are you~?"

She gets a decent glance at the door's aggressor, and they seem about par for the course for what she's seen in this tower so far. A teenager with a good dye job and pointy ears isn't much compared to parasite arms and robots and what have you.

No, it really isn’t, but he’s got plenty of those if you’re interested.

“No, of course not!” Mao needs a moment to catch his breath after the sudden fit of psycho-rage, but he’s soon back to his normal, ridiculous self. “I would never be harmed by something as weak as punching through a wall!” He’s punched through plenty of walls in his time, mind you. Though he really does prefer explosives; saves you the trouble of finding a minion to cast a healing spell.

Aw. She'd been rearing to repair the remnants of the delicate finger bones that had surely been shattered after that door-punch. But Mao's hand just had to be structurally sound.

"Oh, I see. Is punching through walls one of your regular habits, then? Or is this a special occasion."

“Of course not! Normally I would use a sword.” Mao folds his arms and huffs indignantly. Swords are vastly superior to bare fists, of course, though that was only because he had a pretty shoddy ranking in hand-to-hand combat.

"My mistake~~."

Because there is a world of difference between aggrieving doors with fists regularly versus using swords instead!

Fran retrieves one of the dislodged bits of the door, and looks it over. Appears to be a completely normal specimen of its material. She can't see the faces of the damned in the grain of the wood. Well, it's nice to know the doors here are normal. Dependable ol' doors.

Oh, good! There weren’t very many people who really understood the fine points of swords as compared to fists. They were easier, but never got you out in a pinch. Mao hadn’t found very many people with ‘sensibilities’ like that.

The door creaked open of its own volition then, leaving Mao to take his first look at the girl on the other side… and his eyes immediately lit up. (Fran, now would be a great time to run for your life.) “Ehehe…” A truly demented grin was washing over his face, focusing mostly on the many stitches across Fran’s body. “Why… whatever happened to your skin? Did someone… sew it up?”

He’s drooling.

That self preservation instinct was taking up too much space, she had to remove it in favor of more obscure surgical procedures!

..She's still rather off-put by the expression and the drooling, though. Might need a kerchief there buddy.

"Well, yes, someone did. I wouldn't get much use out of it in pieces, after all."

“Fascinating! Tell me more.” Protip, Fran: don’t do it. You’re only going to make things worse. Especially because, as he tends to do in this state, Mao has seemingly developed an extraordinary ability to catch the light on his glasses just so for Fran to be suddenly unable to see his eyes, but a fogged-over, glinting variant of it. Creeper McCreeperton, mayor of Creepytown, everyone.

Ah, the classic creepy shiny glasses. How nostalgic. But now's no time for nostalgia, Fran! Now's a time for fending off creepers!

"Well, that's simply all there is to it. Skin's skin."

She is looking a tad disturbed. ..more than a tad. _{Is this guy into ill girls or something?}

“No! I mean, what were the details? How was your skin cut up like that? When? Tell me!”

Don’t worry, Fran, he’s not ‘into’ you… in the traditional sense, at least. He’s hilariously underinformed when it comes to such perverted things. But as you’re seeing now, he gets very, ahem, excited when he comes within rage of something or someone new to experiment on! Yep, it’s 100% good, clean decapitating, guns-for-kneecaps fun.

"It's been this way since my creation. It's how I was put together."

That was probably definitely the wrong information to give away, Fran.

Well, she can at least respect your purely scientific interest.

“Really! Ehehehehe.”

Yeah, Fran, that wasn’t the wisest decision. Because as soon as he has his lab up and running again, guess who’s going to be the first person to get revolvers implanted into their kneecaps? You, Fran. You.

"Really~." Yeah, after that laugh she's going to be moving awayyyyyy from Mao's doorway.

Fran thinks maybe your name would have to be Naomitsu for her to put up with that. Which it's not. Which means a distinct lack of gun knees are going to happen, but hey, maybe she can operate to take care of that nasty drooling habit of yours, Mao.

You would be surprised. It’s stuck with him through one and a half thousand years. Maybe it’ll… catch on.

He doesn’t even notice that she’s leaving, either. He doesn’t appear to notice anything, grinning at her with a terribly predatory look on his face.

So many revolvers. So many.

And she is outta here!

have you ever tasted fear or loss of control

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...just pretend that said 'door', not 'wall' (i r smart you gaiz)

aye aye cap'n

Unintentional creeper advances are go

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