[ It's a beast that lands on Rokurou, Yuri's clothes splitting under the strain of the sudden transformation. Ozen's enormous white teeth snap in the air, spraying spittle as Rokurou's ladle handle comes crashing against the side of his head. The momentum knocks him out of the air, sending them both down. The jaws close on the spoon, snapping it cleanly in half. ]
make me, sixth son
[ Under Rokurou's weight, the wolf thrashes, twisting his massive head to sink those frothing teeth into the nearest piece of exposed flesh. Golden eyes stay locked on Rokurou's face, pupils like tiny black pinheads nestled at their center. Gathering his hind legs beneath himself, Ozen abruptly kicks out sharply against Rokurou's belly and thighs in a powerful sweep to try and dislodge him. ]
[ What looks at him now is all beast—none of the softness of Yuri's gaze, or the tilt of his usual fond (if a bit exhausted) smile. The lack of association makes it easier for the daemon to grit his teeth and apply pressure, weathering the blow of a sharp kick to his gut. Hard enough that it aches deep; there'll be a colorful bruise there in a few hours.
It isn't anything he isn't used to. What are war daemons for, if not this? ]
You're nothing compared to my brother.
[ Ten years of being that man's favorite punching bag have prepared him well for this. Each blow leaves marks, red now but promising purple later, yet Rokurou refuses to unlatch. Swinging his legs, the daemon straight-up straddles the wolf, throwing his weight into becoming a constricting clutch of limbs.
Locking down, he hits his chin against the top of Ozen's head and again commands, ]
[ The wolf struggles, thrashes under the unyielding pressure of Rokurou's weight and strength. He's being doubly attacked, both without from the daemon and within from the boy, clawing at their shared mindspace.
Inside, man and wolf are locked in a similar battle, wrestling without bodies. Yuri grasps at every hazy memory, everything that keeps him whole. The feeling of the Lower Quarter cobblestones beneath his feet; Flynn's flaxen hair in the sun; Karol's bravery and Estelle's books and the old man's rambling stories. Here, the closest thing to warmth he possesses: Six's quiet presence, the erune's ears twitching in tune to every sound; Rokurou's fierce gaze over blades and over cards; Alex's laugh while she cooks; Shinobu's smile while she dances, firelight licking her hair. All his bonds, the things that make him human.
His pack.
The thought shatters through Ozen, crystalizing ancient memories of summer pups, of hunting and stewardship. The wolf snaps back into himself, his own mind. Just like that, Yuri can feel it, the beginning of the end.
In the apartment, the body beneath Rokurou stills, the enormous canine shape folding, melting down, becoming a man again. The clothes are in tatters, Yuri's pale body gathered in Rokurou's arms, and when he blinks his eyes open, they're silver again. ]
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swordhardy) wrote2020-10-29 08:10 pm
no subject
make me, sixth son
[ Under Rokurou's weight, the wolf thrashes, twisting his massive head to sink those frothing teeth into the nearest piece of exposed flesh. Golden eyes stay locked on Rokurou's face, pupils like tiny black pinheads nestled at their center. Gathering his hind legs beneath himself, Ozen abruptly kicks out sharply against Rokurou's belly and thighs in a powerful sweep to try and dislodge him. ]
no subject
[ What looks at him now is all beast—none of the softness of Yuri's gaze, or the tilt of his usual fond (if a bit exhausted) smile. The lack of association makes it easier for the daemon to grit his teeth and apply pressure, weathering the blow of a sharp kick to his gut. Hard enough that it aches deep; there'll be a colorful bruise there in a few hours.
It isn't anything he isn't used to. What are war daemons for, if not this? ]
You're nothing compared to my brother.
[ Ten years of being that man's favorite punching bag have prepared him well for this. Each blow leaves marks, red now but promising purple later, yet Rokurou refuses to unlatch. Swinging his legs, the daemon straight-up straddles the wolf, throwing his weight into becoming a constricting clutch of limbs.
Locking down, he hits his chin against the top of Ozen's head and again commands, ]
Down! You ain't going anywhere.
no subject
Inside, man and wolf are locked in a similar battle, wrestling without bodies. Yuri grasps at every hazy memory, everything that keeps him whole. The feeling of the Lower Quarter cobblestones beneath his feet; Flynn's flaxen hair in the sun; Karol's bravery and Estelle's books and the old man's rambling stories. Here, the closest thing to warmth he possesses: Six's quiet presence, the erune's ears twitching in tune to every sound; Rokurou's fierce gaze over blades and over cards; Alex's laugh while she cooks; Shinobu's smile while she dances, firelight licking her hair. All his bonds, the things that make him human.
His pack.
The thought shatters through Ozen, crystalizing ancient memories of summer pups, of hunting and stewardship. The wolf snaps back into himself, his own mind. Just like that, Yuri can feel it, the beginning of the end.
In the apartment, the body beneath Rokurou stills, the enormous canine shape folding, melting down, becoming a man again. The clothes are in tatters, Yuri's pale body gathered in Rokurou's arms, and when he blinks his eyes open, they're silver again. ]
Huh.
[ He looks up blearily at Rokurou, then grins. ]
I think we got him.
[ And promptly passes out. ]