swordhardy | NOCT OVERFLOW

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NOCT OVERFLOW

OVERFLOW & EVENTS

[ Late night: the digital clock on his phone blares 3am when the daemon groggily taps it, still mostly asleep but stirred from comfortable slumber by nature's call. It's comfortable in Guanshan's room, and dragging himself up and out of the bed to drag his ass out of the room and to the bathroom isn't something Rokurou's thrilled about—it sucks waking up so close to his normal rising time, too. 6am may as well be two minutes from now, with how time seems to fly between cracking eyelids.

Shirtless, sockless, and wearing only a pair of gray sweats as pajamas, he finds his way there with his eyes mostly closed, pissing and washing his hands half asleep, stubbing his toe and cursing lowly under his breath in the process. Loose, dark hair falls heavily in his face as he stumbles out, yawning wide, using the same blind method to tut tut tut back to Guanshan's room.

Groping out, he hooks his fingers over the doorknob and pulls it open, forgetting completely that he hadn't closed the door after spilling out into the hallway earlier. He remembers to do it now, closing himself into darkness once he's back in the younger man's bedroom, stubbing his toe on something else he doesn't remember being there as he walks back to the bed. It takes him a minute to find it, but soon his knees sink down quietly into comfortable mattress. He's long sinced mastered the art of being quiet getting in and out of bed, since their schedules run so starkly different.

With another yawn, Rokurou gropes out, hooking a strong arm over a slight dip of waist once he finds it, drawing in close to press his chest against the span of back. His favorite spot is to nuzzle his chin and mouth against the curve neck, so that's what he does on instinct, slope of his pursed lips pressed in a light kiss against the thud of a steady pulse. Soft hair tickles his cheek as he does that, and it feels nicer than usual: downy, almost, and drowsily he thinks, new shampoo? good shampoo. like shampoo..

Ah ... and whatever position he's managed to find, for once, Guanshan's knobby sharp elbows and shoulders aren't trying to puncture into him. Comfortable. With a contented sigh, he begins to doze off again.

The fool. ]

( ironically, the more serious shinsou has gotten about his training to become a hero, the more deeply he tends to sleep. one would think that a hero should rest lightly, ready to spring awake and into action at the first sign of trouble, but... it hasn't even been half a year since aizawa-sensei started training him, and the fervidity with which he tries to close the perceived gap between himself and his peers causes him to constantly be in the red, as far as his body is concerned. not only taxed with the process of growing, as a teenager's body was wont to do, but with all of that additional strength and agility conditioning on top of it — it just means that, whenever shinsou lies down to sleep, he sleeps like a fucking rock. his body's learned to recoup what it can, when it can.

so he doesn't hear the door open, and doesn't hear it close either. doesn't hear the hushed footsteps, or the stubbing of a toe, or the quiet ambling of someone trying to find their way through the unfamiliar dark before the interloper manages to come across the bed. really, he doesn't even completely stir out of REM when the bed shifts somewhat under the stranger's weight. what begins to draw him out of unconsciousness is the arm that snakes around his waist and draws him closer to a warm, broad chest. manna crackles and then hums through him, and even a lower wattage is enough to register as odd, sticking in his mind like a thorn. he starts to drag himself out of sleep, but it's like pulling himself through quicksand —

no, what really gets him is the nuzzling at the sensitive skin of his neck; scarcely a few seconds after the stranger's lips press to a steadily-increasing heartrate, shinsou's violet eyes snap open, alarm flooding through him like a storm surge.

hey, rokurou. you know those knobby, sharp elbows you were appreciating not having to deal with for once?

well, shinsou's months of intensive hero training kick in within the span of half a second, practically without any conscious thought. and they have him drive an elbow directly backward with full force, into your solar plexus. )

[ It was a nice doze. For .0000040 seconds.

At .0000041, an elbow rams dead center into his chest with strength he's never known Guanshan to have. Direct hit— ""GOOD HIT ! ! !""—K.O!!!!. Completely unexpected and completely unable to defend himself, the strike gets when he's at his most vulnerable. Rokurou lets out a pained grunt, wheeze a pathetic sound as sharp and then dull pain pinballs between his ribs. ]

Huuurkkhnhfhghfhg.

[ A sound akin to a whoopie cushion being backed over by a greyhound bus as he bodily falls over, head and torso going down off the side of the mattress and THOMPing on the floor, legs up the air, knees still hooked over the side of the mattress and heels flat on the bed. ]

Th'hell was that for...? [ dazed and confused, he just. lies there, eyes half-cracked and staring at the ceiling. the knock still hurts, an echo against sternum that he knows instinctually will bruise nicely. ] I washed my hands 'fter I went this time.

[ Seriously, what the fuck babe...... and he was so damn comfortable, too.

It takes him a second to note that the ceiling is different. Not hugely, but enough that he blinks once, twice, wondering why it changed shape slightly. But has he put the pieces together yet? Nope. Because Guanshan dropkicking him out of bed isn't outside the realm of possibility, though the impact of that hit had been impressive. Good job, beansprout. Kudos. So proud of you. ]

( sorry, rokurou. perhaps one day you will have a comfier cuddle, but not today.

it had a purely automatic reflex, one he had been painstakingly programming into the muscular, skeletal, and nervous pathways of his body over the last few months. but even after his thoughts catch up to his actions, shinsou can't really find too much regret in laying the dude out. (he might even be a little proud, even if it had been a totally cheap shot.) he knows he hadn't hit him hard enough or in a place that would damage him past a momentary stun and a really bad time. shinsou scrambles to the other side of the bed and flips on his bedside lamp at around the time rokurou's head and shoulders impact the floor. )

What the hell was that for?

( shinsou's voice, usually pretty low for his age, is audibly strained as he speaks. he rounds the corner of his bed, standing with his hands on his hips a few feet away from where the daemon was collapsed. he wears a thin t-shirt and sweats, and he is bright red. his brain has finally broken through the block of early morning static that had been addling him up until this point, so he has an idea of what happened, but it doesn't make it any less embarrassing. not the way he'd want to meet his roommate's... whatever-he-is.

when he continues, he speaks through thin, bloodless lips. ) You've got the wrong room. ( his voice is similarly thin and bloodless. )

[ Crosseyed and openmouthed whilst still upside-down and half on the floor, Rokurou responds intelligently. ]

Oooooh.

[ With light finally illuminating the room, the daemon's mismatched eyes dart back and forth quickly, finally assessing how it is very much not Guanshan's room. Different walls, different furniture, and different boy standing in front of him with (justly earned) judgement.

Definitely some kind of way to meet his whatever-he-is's roommate. Spooning isn't normally how he introduces himself, so the daemon's at a little bit of a loss right now, blinking stupidly at that red face for a few more seconds with more belated realizations of why he had registered soft and fluffy instead of buzzed when he'd nuzzled his face into his nape.

Slowly, dramatically, with a shhhhhhhh of rumpling sheets, his legs slide to the side and thump down onto the floor so that he's just. Flopped out there for a moment. A second to gather a breath and push himself into proper sitting position, knees bent and hair a wild mess as he turns upright, which brings the world order. Rubbing his neck, he offers a sheepish, boyish grin, apologetic with stupid good nature knit together. ]

Sorry. I got lost on the way back... [ painfully obvious, since he's here, having nuzzled alls up on Guanshan's exhausted looking roomie, ] ... haha?

[ Making a fist, he thumps it over the spot that Shinsou had jammed his elbow, a gesture that earns a little grimace for the twinge that shocks across his ribcage again. Freshly tender. ]

You got me good, this is going to bruise really well. [ a compliment to go along with the stupid smile; this is already awkward as hell and can't get worse, but he was impressed. damn, guanshan, get your scrawny ass to the gym already. ] I can tell you train.

[ ANYWAY..... HE'S JUST GOING TO SLOWLY........ BACKWARDS CRAWL HIS WAY TO THE DOOR............ ]

Soooo.... [ bYE??? at least, until he catches a familiar glint out of the corner of his eye, ] ... is that my third drawer desk knife?

( at least he has the decency to offer some diffidence in this situation, even if shinsou is acutely aware that he is carrying pretty much the full yoke of shared embarrassment. but even in the less than a minute that he has officially known and met rokurou (in that order), he can tell that the guy doesn't seem to have any measure of shame. unfortunately, shinsou more than makes up for any shortfall in that arena. )

I'll be sure to make some signs for you, later. ( shinsou's sole form of humor is as dry as the Sahara, cutting as the edge of a honed knife. he does look exhausted — the dark shadows under his eyes are intrinsic to him, sure, but even more pronounced now. he is also one who tends to rise early, so he's running into the same mental conundrum rokurou had had earlier: only a few hours left to rest? the whole thing's basically ruined at this point.

his violet eyes track to the movement of rokurou thumping his fist against his chest, right over the place where shinsou's elbow jab was already beginning to discolor the skin. here, the mask of shinsou's mask of impassivity slips — for the first time he seems to remember what he'd done, and in the gap of his composure he looks, just for a moment, remorseful. but the guy doesn't seem angry. actually, he seems to be taking it pretty well, all things considered? so he recomposes himself, brow furrowing as he gives a single, mute nod at the mention of his training.

he heaves a sigh and sits on the edge of his bed as rokurou basically starts to ...?? drag himself ?? out of his room? this would certainly go down as the weirdest way he's ever met anyone; he isn't certain he'll be able to convince himself it wasn't a dream.

except — it's not over. not quite yet. rokurou stops, and as soon as he points out the knife that he had left with some of his other going-out accoutrements, shinsou goes perfectly still. oh... right.

he looks back up to rokurou and is silent for a long moment before clearing his throat. ) ...Yeah. I, uh - borrowed it? ( oops. ) I figured, since you have so many, um...

( ...you wouldn't notice? he can't force himself to say it. now it's his turn to look sheepish. but how did he notice that quickly?! he's counted no fewer than thirty different knives around the apartment?? )

[ Finally, the daemon draws himself up from the ground, pushing palms down and hoisting himself up with a small, youthful spring. After rolling the kink out of his neck from that awkward floor landing, he steps over to where the blade sticks out slightly from some other articles. Just the tip, a small sheen of metal that anyone else probably wouldn't have noticed, but Rokurou Rangetsu has laser focus interest in exactly one thing.

With surprising gentleness, he lifts the blade with an index finger, careful as he drawing it out from where it's nestled. Then, with a quick flick of the wrist, it glints and whips in the air, flipped before deftly caught again between practiced fingers. ]

This is a Sakai Takayuki Clip Point. [ turning back toward the younger man, he turns the knife up so that its point faces the ceiling, then twists to show off its edge and the way its dull and thick until about halfway up, where it flattens and sharpens. ] It's sharp, but actually somewhat weak as a blade unless you plan to puncture something on the first strike. I keep it in the desk because it's great with precise control—you know, cutting paper, opening envelopes, slicing up apples for a snack.

[ Yes, that's right, not only does he leave tons of blades around their apartment ... he apparently leaves them in specific places with a purpose in mind. But it makes sense to him—even a fine clip point will always have a hard time comparing to the strength of a drop point against tough materials, its fine point better put to use in situations that call for the utmost control and precision. The Sakai Takayuki, with its decorative yet slightly fragile set hilt, really serves best for household tasks with light materials.

Moving again, he stops in front of Shinsou, flipping the blade once more so that the point is caught between the pads of his index finger and thumb, offering the boy the hilt to take. No, he doesn't mind that he borrowed it; he's actually a little pleased, if the little quirk of his lips doesn't make that obvious. It's not like Guanshan's ever showed a remote hint of interest in his swords or knives. Who would he be to stop a young man from exploring the pleasures of a blade?

And he did sort of spoon him and kiss his neck, so they can call it even. ]

It's a good blade to have on hand, but you run the risk of breaking the tip if you put it up against something thick or durable, so watch out for that.

( he knows he should have asked, or maybe just gone and bought one himself, but... aizawa had mentioned that he should look into getting a knife, and lifting one of the multiple dozen which had increasingly populated the apartment as the weeks went by had seemed to be simpler and easier. shinsou also hadn't met the knives' official owner yet, so frontloading an introduction with an imposition of whether or not he could borrow something of his had seemed not only unwieldy but rude.

...probably less rude than just making the assumption of taking something, but... again, he really hadn't thought that he would notice.

apparently there is very little that would escape the guy's notice when it came to these blades, though — it had been mostly hidden, to the point where shinsou could barely pick it out before rokurou extracts it and expertly flips it into the air and then into his waiting hand. shinsou raises one eyebrow and remains silent, the line of his gazing redirecting as he displays the knife and indicates characteristics that shinsou hadn't even given a second thought until this point. he had picked it because it hadn't seemed like the typical blade someone would keep on hand with the intention of self-defense; he specifically doesn't want to use it or any other bladed weapon to hurt someone, but rather to cut things in a capture or rescue situation.

for a moment, shinsou seems cowed; he had been under the impression that the steady progress of their apartment's transformation into an armory had been a side-effect of lack of organization, but it's painfully obvious now that it was the exact opposite case, if anything. with the deftness of his handling and comprehension of his analysis, it's taken less than a minute for shinsou to get the idea that this guy really knows these weapons. from what his fascination originates and for what end that expertise is applied are still mysteries, but... shinsou can't help but be impressed by a person clearly in their element.

the metal of the blade flashes in the light as it flips through the air once more, and after its caught between rokurou's fingers, shinsou watches it for a moment, considering. then he mutely reaches up to take the handle — any expert's eyes would see that he has a dearth of experience in handling it, but he is neither hesitant nor hedging in the way that he does. he doesn't respond at first, and it seems he might not respond at all — but then he speaks up, voicing a concern that had started to nag at him ever since he had explained the aspects of this particular knife. ) I need it to be able to cut cloth. ( which should be easy enough... ) But, ( as he speaks, his free hand lifts to his neck, where the capture cloth usually would be — he doesn't have it on him, so he just ends up hooking his fingertips into the collar of his shirt. ) The cloth's made of carbon fiber and this special metal alloy...

( even if this Sakai Takayuki did the job, it might get dulled quickly over time. that, or it might snap. the capture cloth was a strange support item.

far more slowly and carefully than rokurou had done, shinsou takes hold of the blade between bandaged fingers and offers him back the handle. ) Do you know what kind of knife would be best for something like that?

Carbon fiber is about ten times stronger than steel, if it's high quality. I'd say that also depends on the other elements in the alloy, aside from carbon. I could guess, since there are five common alloying elements usually used in weapons, but it would be easier to judge knowing the exact materials.

[ Chromium, molybdenum, vanadium, manganese, nickel ... steel too, of course, but the better your materials the more expensive they are. He doesn't know Guanshan's roommate, but he looks young—would he have the money and access to materials like vanadium or chromium? He's not even quite sure of the availability of many materials either, this world still brand new to him.

Knife offered back, Rokurou reaches for it, fingers brushing Shinsou's briefly as he reaches for the handle instead of the blade. ]

But I can tell you now that this would probably break after a few uses. [ or, more likely, dull so much that it would be worthless; for a blade, it's basically death either way. ] You might end up wasting time trying to pierce the cloth, too. Other styles of blade would save you a few seconds.

[ A few seconds can mean the difference between life or death—someone else's, your own. He might not know the circumstances, but that's simply where his mind goes: the effectiveness, strategy, possible outcomes for situations that haven't even happened yet. He might not have known the earth was flat or understand abstract art, but he does know battle.

After tucking the hilt of the blade into the band of his sweats and leaving the blade flat against his abdomen (not safe, children, don't carry your knives like this at home), the daemon rubs his own neck too. For all he knows the kid is just a really nicely built tailor. ]

Diamond is the first thing that comes to mind. A good smith can make a diamond coated blade that would never wear down. [ but diamond is also quite expensive, and from he's seen here, less a material for weapons and more for adornment of the wealthy—and would they be pissed, considering it some kind of cannibalism of their rock people? ] Tungsten carbide would be great, but a flint knife might be worth a try since it's more accessible.

[ Between his excellent mood born from talking about knives and compounds and the siren's call of soft purple downy fluff, Rokurou reaches out once more. Not to take anything—he pats his palm against the top of Shinsou's head, giving his hair a ruffle. ]

I didn't know Guanshan's roommate was interested in blades. If you have questions, I'll help you out anytime. [ rub rub rub............. this is the best, so floof. ] I train every morning from six to ten, but you can text me. 'Rokurou Rangetsu'—I'm guessing he hasn't told you much about me.

( was shinsou expecting a sudden crash course in metallurgy? not particularly. his expression is blank and only slightly slack as rokurou begins to explain, but as he continues, his attention focuses to a point — he's a great listener and a quick learner, and he's not going to look a gift horse in the mouth when it comes to someone going out of their way to explain something in detail. his own memory probably won't preserve every word in metaphorical amber, but he is certain to hold onto the highlights. )

I don't know much about the alloy itself... Sorry. I just know it's very strong.

( strong enough to keep even the brawniest mutant-type quirk users locked down, at the very least.

he relinquishes the blade back to its owner, nodding silently. he'd suspected as much, and he didn't really want to go ruining something that wasn't his.

speaking of ruining something that wasn't his: the capture cloth he'd been using while here wasn't his either; rather, it was occasionally on loan from his mentor, so he could keep up with his training. he's hoping against hope there's some way he can get his own back, so until then much of this is moot. aizawa had said that keeping a knife on oneself was important for a variety of reasons, and to cut off a section of the capture cloth to keep someone restrained while continuing to act was just one. but considering the nature of the cloth, shinsou thought it'd be smart to base the requirements of the blade on the sternest thing it might be required to do.

it doesn't seem like an answer that can be found here and now. perhaps shinsou can bother his mentor's capture cloth again and show it to rokurou and see what he thinks — from then on out, it would be a matter of what is actually feasible to buy around here (what is possible to buy around here? he finds himself thinking about the cannibalizing of gems and metals to forge these weapons as well). that and, of course, getting his own capture cloth so he wouldn't feel guilty about having to cut it, if it came down to it.

wherever this train of thought might've been trundling toward, it is jarred off-track at the hand that comes to rest on the crown of his head, tousling his hair in a way that, while not unpleasant, either makes him feel like a kid or a dog, and neither are particularly flattering. despite this, he doesn't swat his hand away just yet — this rokurou rangetsu has been helpful, despite their untoward introduction nearly giving him a heart attack a few minutes ago, so he puts up with it for now. )

I hate to disappoint you, ( he says in his usual low deadpan, ) but it's not a personal interest. My teacher said I should get one. Just in case. ( a short pause. ) But, ( there's something leading in that, and he lets it hang for a moment as he puts his thoughts together, then continuing, ) if I'm going to keep a weapon, I feel like I should know how to use it properly... if you're offering to help, I'd take you up on that.

( so serious... )

I, uh... asked about all of the knives. And he said something like, "don't you say another damn thing about any knives," ( and though the pitch, timbre, and perhaps diction are off, shinsou's imitation of guanshan here is surprisingly accurate here, at least in cadence alone, ) so I... didn't ask any further.

( a beat. ) I'm Shinsou Hitoshi.

Hoooho. [ there's a short bark of laughter at Shinsou's impression, the daemon's brow scrunching up as goosebumps flush across his naked arms and chest in sharp pavlovian response to that familiar thuggish cadence, ] That sent chills down my spine. Spot on.

[ He's heard that particular line probably about sixty thousand times since they met—which is somehow going on four years now. In fact, he's almost surprised that Guanshan didn't kick down the door before just to tell him to shut the fuck up about swords and their materials. They talk about basically everything and anything, but Rokurou's love of blades has always been something of a sore nerve (bless mgs for dealing with his special interest for this long, he's a saint in dropcrotch joggers). ]

It's either that or, [ switching up his own smooth with a hint of rasp tone, the daemon leans in heavily to thin out his voice and exaggerate diction, ] Shut t'fuck up about swords, m'tired'a heaaaaarin' that shiiiiit.

[ Ahhhhh, nothing quite like robustly making fun of someone behind their back.

Knowing better than to molest Shinsou's hair forever, Rokurou draws his hand back, not looking too upset about the fact that the question hadn't been born of fledgling sword love. A little disappointed, maybe, but he's long since passed the point of taking whatever he can get. He's snapping up the scraps, here. ]

Well, Shinsou Hitoshi, I can respect that. If you have a weapon, you should know how to use it properly. Care shouldn't go overlooked, either.

[ A surprisingly diligent and serious man despite looking like a jockass himbo... and he's perfectly serious when he says it, nodding his head for emphasis. ]

I'm happy to help whenever it comes to knives. [ yeah.... it's obvious from the deepening rasp coloring his tone that he's still happy; if he had a tail, it would be tagging. ] Now, I'd say I've disturbed enough of your night.

[ Sure, crawling into someone's bed without an invitation may be something he would do, but not with someone he doesn't know at all. He hadn't even been drinking last night, not having a particular taste for the piss beer that Guanshan favors over quality drinks, like a fine sake or a nice wine. Ugh. Poor guy, he already knows that Mgs is going to make him try that garbage swill if he hasn't already.

Flashing another smile, Rokurou turns on his heel to head out and back to the bed he actually belongs in— ]

Good night.

( shinsou laughs under his breath, and he seems to have the reflex to suppress it; his shoulders round and his head falls into his hand so he can cover his mouth. it lasts only for a moment, and then he straightens up and regards rokurou with a smile that's only somewhat crooked. ) Means a lot, coming from someone so well-learned in the subject.

( the subject... of mocking guanshan when he's asleep less than fifteen or twenty feet away, give or take a few walls.

he runs a hand through his hair once rokurou's has vacated it (as if there was anything to fix — it's not like there's any rhyme or reason to the way his hair is, anyway). he's relieved that he doesn't seem too broken up about the fact that he's not really willing to go into the fine details of smithing and the applications of various bladed weapons (not on personal impetus, at least). though if his baseline is guanshan, a professional interest is certainly better than the stop-dead dearth of any interest at all.

for shinsou, it's about responsibility. he wouldn't be able to accept accidentally hurting someone (or himself, for that matter) with a weapon he carried but had never bothered to get proficient with. but he's not the type to run from that sort of thing — if anything, he would pursue it with a dogged tenacity that verged on self-destructive. there's a reason he tended to be a walking billboard of minor injuries; his hands often a collage of multiple bandages covering the cuts and abrasions he got from training with the capture cloth. he knew expertise (and callouses) would come with time; for now, shinsou put in the time and the work. )

Well, Rokurou Rangetsu - I'll be sure to ask when I need it, then. ( though, without his own capture cloth, he's probably back to the drawing board for now. he might cross-reference his teacher's recommendations before reaching back out, as well...

he nods, reminded of the early hour by a curtain of exhaustion that shifts and then falls over him. )

'Night.

( said before the door swings shut and then clicks closed. shinsou pauses a moment, then topples back over into bed. he extinguishes the lamp on the bedside table, and he tries to salvage whatever sleep he can from the rest of the early morning. )

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