Inks
Member
Genowhirlas Raury Feybrand
Inkers as Rufus Allemand
Word Count: [ 4,228 ]Inkers as Rufus Allemand
Knock-knock.
Knock-knock-knock.
Rufus was already half-awake when the knocking started -- although he wasn’t too sure why. Some spiritual awareness nonsense still lingering about from his shinigami days, most likely. Those instincts and techniques were deeply ingrained, and even several decades of relaxed, self-indulgent living on Earth hadn’t managed to stub them out.
He sat up, blinking owlishly. The room was dark, but lit in a dim, sterile white glow. A heavy comforter was draped over Rufus’s head, and after a moment of sleepy consideration, it clicked that he had been sleeping on a floor. He squinted down at it. A mahogany floor.
...I have mahogany floors...
Rufus cast a disoriented look about the room, confirming, one piece of furniture at a time, that this was definitely his bedroom, in his apartment. There were the sliding glass doors leading to his balcony; there was his wardrobe, tucked away in one corner; there was his bed -- the comforter’s missing... No...wait, I’m wearing it -- sans Rufus, for some reason; on the opposite wall, there was his desk. The computer was still powered on, and the light from the monitor accounted for the eerie lighting washing over the room.
Two sake bottles -- oh no, that’s the junmai daiginjo... -- stood atop his computer tower; one was empty, and the other was nearly there. That probably had to do with why he was on the floor and not in bed.
And also why his head was thudding along in time with his heartbeat.
What had happened last night? He...vaguely remembered pulling out the first bottle of Asahi Shuzo, although the why was still beyond him. He also remembered laughing far too much for someone alone in their apartment. ...Something about a weasel...?
Squinting in the sterile glow of his monitor, Rufus picked his way -- carefully, carefully -- to his feet. His headache promptly rose to a crescendo and he sighed, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. The deep-brown, Egyptian cotton comforter slipped from his head, down his back, and deposited itself onto the floor, leaving Rufus alone in the cool of his apartment. He was suddenly, distinctly aware that all he was wearing was yesterday’s dress shirt and boxer-briefs.
Well.
The blond took a moment to get his priorities in order, absently wiping the sleep from his eyes. Then he stumbled over to his computer to see just what the hell he’d been up to last night.
If he’d spent the night drunkenly subscribing to porn sites again...
As the screen eased into focus, Rufus sighed. Of course.
At least ten tabs of Youtube videos were open, with ‘Playtime with Ozzy the Weasel’ featured. Slumping into the computer chair, Rufus checked the other tabs, which included ‘Ozzy the Weasel’s War Dance’, ‘Ozzy the Weasel in: No Gaming For You’, and ‘Ozzy the Weasel and Eeyore, best friends forever’.
He was still mulling over the tabs, torn between watching the videos and going to take something for his roaring hangover, when--
Knock-knock knock-knock-knock. Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.
--he was reminded of the reason he’d woken up in the first place. A familiar spiritual signature and...some very insistent knocking.
Rufus made his way to his front door, retrieving his pants from the foyer ( ...of all the places...) along the way. He folded them over one arm and unlocked his door, then pulled it open.
“...Raury?”
Raury, who had been slumped tiredly against the door, stumbled forward a step as it opened, struggling for a moment with his sense of balance. Sobriety wasn’t becoming of him. No, not in the least. Without straightening, his eyes tracked upward to Rufus, his peripherals barely making it up to the taller man’s neck. He stared for a moment, condensing his thoughts. Hard to do. There was so much fucking fog.
Instead of speaking, he leaned further in, his tattered and bloodied rag of a garment hanging loosely from his frame. His face wound up barely an inch or two from Rufus’s groin. He sniffed gingerly, tracking upward to the man’s waist, then chest, and finally the neck. The motion brought roughly a million screams of protest from various limbs and organs, but it didn’t matter. The scent had him. The sniffing intensified.
Cor, he smells of wine.
“I could drink you right now, mate.” His tired body leaned further until the other man was partially supporting his weight. “I swear on me mum.”
“Ah...yes...well...” Raury was an absolute wreck, and between the redhead’s state and his own hangover, Rufus was at a bit of a loss. There was, as always, the urge to make some sort of innuendo, especially with a good-looking guy pressed against (and sniffing) him, but...well... Even half-asleep and hungover, Rufus could tell it wasn’t the time.
What the hell happened to you? It was a legitimate question – and Rufus hesitated to ask it. He knew, probably more than most, what a heavy question it could be. The blond ran a hand through his already-disheveled hair instead, and tried for a sense of levity. “It’s...It’s good to see you, Raury. Please, come in.”
Later, he might worry about a shinigami knowing where he lived – but...in spite of himself, sometimes, Rufus had his priorities straight. He took a couple of awkward, shuffling steps back, all but carrying Raury with him. Once they were more or less inside, he kicked his door shut.
Then he addressed the redhead still slumped against him, picking out his words carefully through the mire of his hangover.
“I don’t have any more of the stuff I’m fermenting in, but the Scotch should still be intact...if a drink is what you’re looking for. ...I probably have some spare clothes, too,” he added after a second.
Raury pushed himself off of Rufus, swaying slightly before righting himself. He was so tired. But also...excited wasn’t the right word, but scared was too strong of one. Keyed up, maybe. Anxious. He didn’t know what all of this really meant. Well, he did, but it hadn’t really set in. One thing was for sure. He wasn’t going home this time. He sighed, taking a few steps into the apartment.
“The drink yeh. And now. Clothes can wait.”
Not wanting to wreck any of his friends furniture, Raury slumped messily onto the floor. Most of the blood had dried, the multitude of minor lacerations having sealed up by now, but he still didn’t want to chance being a nuisance. Besides, blood aside, he was still gross. No telling when he had washed last. Still no memory of where he had been, or what he had been doing with that time. Apparently, though, he’d made a friend. If you can call a tentacled mass of hollow that tries to eat your spirit partner a friend.
“I’ll just hang out here for now, mate. Kinda nasty.” Funny how sobriety makes you care about the little things.
“Hm? Feel free,” said Rufus, leaning against one foyer wall and blinking down at the other man with thinly-veiled concern. “...But don’t feel obligated on my account. Things are just things – they can be cleaned, or repaired, or replaced, if need be.” A brief smile played on the blond’s face. “It wouldn’t be the first time my place has gotten messy, and there’s a very comfortable couch just through...” he turned and gestured, “there.”
Given a second to really look at Raury, Rufus wondered if maybe their primary concern shouldn’t be first-aid. Still...Raury was a shinigami; if he were seriously injured, he’d probably have the sense to mention it.
Then again, he was a shinigami...so maybe not.
“Either way,” Rufus said, pushing himself upright, “Let me go get that Scotch.”
And some painkillers...And put my pants on...
“Floor’s good.” Raury muttered, absently watching Rufus as the man went about his business. He was trying to hash out a gameplan. But how do you approach asking favors? For all of his affability, Raury was fairly historically self-sufficient, not at all accustomed to crashing someone’s home. Maybe a party.
More importantly, how do ya tell a guy you went and got hollowfied?
Rufus had disappeared into another room, assumedly to collect more odds and ends. He had clearly been asleep. Raury didn’t even know the time. Hell, he wasn’t really used to giving a shit about time. Small changes, big meanings.
Waiting for his host to come back, he mulled over his course of action. Should he contact his Captain? Well, ex-Captain as far as he was concerned now. That bit kinda hurt. He’d liked Haresuno. He’d liked the Fifth. All the same, losing his access to The White City didn’t really amount to much. He had never quite fit in.
Military. He mused. Bit too stuffy for my tastes, anyway.
Still, there were plenty of things he would sorely miss.
Shit, am I gonna have to get a job? Do renegades get jobs?
He assumed not. Cover and all that. His tired brain warned him that he was getting ahead of himself. Frustrated, he ran his grimy hands through hair in similarly poor condition. It was all pretty goddamn overwhelming, honestly.
When Rufus returned, pants firmly in place and a heavy, freshly-opened bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label in-hand, Raury was still sitting in the entryway, looking far more like a dejected puppy than a god of death. Beneath the layers of blood and exhaustion, distress was written in every line of the redhead’s posture; that alone was enough to make Rufus worry, the reason be damned. Raury was drunk, and jovial, and more than a little childish. Not sober and tired and...stressed.
Again, Rufus wondered what was going on.
“I don’t know how you feel about Johnnie Walker,” Rufus said lightly, approaching Raury and sliding to the floor beside him, “but I hope it’ll do.” He offered the bottle to his friend, head leaned back against the foyer wall. “Then we can see about those clothes. Maybe a shower, first.”
Usually Rufus wouldn’t suggest an injured person drink a ton of Scotch and then go shower...but he suspected Raury was more likely to trip or collapse if he tried showering before drinking than afterward.
He tried his damndest to not actually snatch the bottle from Rufus, making his motion to take it kind of strained and jittery. An AA representative would have blanched at how clearly Raury relaxed with the bottle in hand. He hadn’t even drank yet, but already his muscles began to unwind, a few layers of tension sloughing off as his features relaxed noticeably. We all have our security blankets.
“There ain’t enough words in the world, mate.”
Tipping the bottle in acknowledgement, he turned it up, drinking deeply and not stopping until roughly a quarter of the bottle had passed his lips. A steeled breath whooshed from the man as he settled the bottle into his lap, one hand still clutching with maybe a bit too much desperation. He worked his way across the floor just a bit, making to use the wall as a headrest. He sat there, waiting a moment or two with his eyes closed as the fiery liquid warmed his blood limb by limb like the warm hands of a familiar lover.
He took another pull, slightly less eager and a good bit shorter, savoring the taste.
“Thanks, Rufus. Didn’t mean ta get in on yer business. I just find myself a bit, ah, out of my element.”
He cocked his head up and to the side so he could clearly see the other man’s face.
“Again,” Rufus replied, angling his own head to better meet Raury’s gaze, “there’s no need to worry on my behalf. The only business of mine you got into was a hangover I more than earned, after...what appeared to have been a night of intense lazing about.”
As Rufus had thought: Raury just...wasn’t Raury without a bottle of alcohol within arm’s reach. Some eternally-anxious part of him wanted to worry and fret and address the problem of such intense alcohol-dependence...but, then again, who the hell was Rufus to judge someone for their problems? Everyone had their own ways of coping, and, compared to some, Raury’s wasn’t even that bad. It wasn’t like alcohol was going to kill him.
And, honestly, it was reassuring to see how much the redhead relaxed once he’d gotten his hands on the Scotch.
“In fact, I’m glad you thought you could come here for help.” Rufus crossed his ankles, hands folded in his lap. He tipped his head back again as his head began to swim. “I have...” he continued, slowly, “plenty of acquaintances, plenty of partners – and very few friends. If we’re being honest, that has less to do with what I am and more to do with who I am. I’m just not the sort of person people think to turn to when they’re in trouble.”
The blond’s lazy smile turned a bit rueful. In the relative dim of the foyer, his eyes were dark and indigo. “Anyway. What I’m... very eloquently...trying to say is: you’re quite welcome. And if you need anything,” short of marching on Soul Society, “I’ll do my best to help out.”
Raury nodded. He knew fairly well what Rufus was saying. Others liked people like them. Fun. A good laugh. But rarely would anyone consider them reliable enough to be depended on for much of anything. A twinge of annoyance boiled up for a moment, then dissipated. He had earned that lack of trust. A life of indulgence is hella fun, but it doesn’t really get you anywhere. Still, things could always be different.
“Glad to hear it.” Raury picked at his words, trying to find a way to approach the subject. Instead, he found the bottle, hitting it nearly as hard as he had on the first drink. The familiar wave of lightheadedness rolled through him as sobriety began to lose its hold.
Thank God’s floppy balls.
He took another swig. God, did it feel beautiful.
“So, about this issue.” He studied the bottle in his hand rather than meet Rufus’s eyes, watching the amber liquid swirl along the slides of the bottle as he turned it in his hand. Relying on people is hard. He sighed, becoming frustrated.
Cock it.
“I don’t remember anything in the last I don’t know when. Like, what day it even is. Or where I’ve been. And when I try to remember I get hit by cars, an’ there’s a hollow tryin’ ta eat my dragon.”
Another quick quaff as he closed the sentence.
Rufus did his utmost best not to seem as uncertain as he felt. He watched Raury’s throat work down another mouthful of whisky and spent the long, awkward moment trying to figure out what Raury could have meant. Everything he’d said made (at least a degree of) sense, except for...
“Ah, I’m sorry?” Rufus said. Then he hastened to add, “I mean – what? Your...dragon?” He shook his head, a crease appearing between his slender eyebrows. “Sorry, Raury. Either I’m much further out of the loop than I thought I was, and shinigami have pet dragons now, or I’ve missed something.”
Although...truth be told, Rufus had his suspicions. Well. It was more like a thread of intuition – something else left over from the good old days. But that was one thread he wasn’t going to pick up without being a hundred percent certain.
Raury chuckled a bit, rubbing the fingers of his free hand between his eyes.
“Yeh, guess I coulda been a bit more clear, eh?”
He let his hand drop back to his lap, the other coming up to bring the bottle back to his lips. He diminished the contents by another quarter and exhaled sharply.
“Jus’ hard ta figure out how ta...pfff, nah it ain’t hard. Just weird.”
The scotch was working its magic, Raury feeling the flood of familiar sensation returning quickly now. His personal rhythm returning, he was feeling more like himself by the moment. He found it in himself to meet eyes with Rufus, his eyes clearer than they had been since he had woken up in that alleyway. And the static was dimming somewhat. Yet another point in alcohol’s favor.
“I’ve got my own personal squatter, mate. A hollow. Y’know,” he gestured at Rufus with the bottle, “like you. Guess I’m a masky now.”
He sighed, another soft chortle making his chest tremble lightly.
“Na like I could tell ya the how or the why, but ah, guess ya could say I woke up like this.”
Rufus’s thoughts stilled, and so did he. The blond favored Raury with a long, searching, deliberating look.
Well...On the bright side, it was good to know his intuition was still in working order, even after a few decades in retirement. Still, while this answered a few questions, it didn’t matter when different questions took their place. Best to take things slow, though.
“So,” he said, drawing out the word as he organized his thoughts. “You’ve lost some time – you don’t know what caused it, and you don’t know how much time you’re missing.” Rufus studied the opposite wall and counted out the points on his fingers as he went. “You do remember getting hit by a car, so I’ll assume that when you regained awareness you were here on Earth. And at some point, you were...”
...hollowfied.
Rufus stopped. After a moment of thought, he cleared his throat and returned his gaze to Raury.
“You said a hollow is trying to eat your dragon. Did you...? Have you...?” Rufus made a vague gesture, then sighed.
It’d really been a while, hadn’t it? He had no idea how to even describe events he’d personally gone through. Events he’d personally witnessed. All at once, Rufus envied Raury his lack of sobriety; he considered getting something for himself, hangover be damned, but...he was no Raury. Alcohol probably wouldn’t help his problems.
Rufus dragged a hand through his hair again and pushed on. “In my...admittedly limited experience...you have to directly challenge the hollow and overcome it. Until you do, there’s a high risk of the hollow taking over. For good. If your hollow is still trying to eat your zanpakutou...that might be a problem.”
He’d been in the living world for too long – talking about hollows and zanpakutou felt surreal, regardless of his familiarity with both.
In response, Raury drained the last quarter remaining in his bottle. Well, it was really Rufus’s bottle. But not anymore. It wasn’t anyone’s bottle. It was empty. Slapping the drained vessel on the hardwood floor, Raury nodded, belching.
“Hyeah, thas’ ‘bout what I know of it myself.”
Raury sniffed, trying to feel out the conversation. There was a bit of something underneath Rufus’s words. Something the drunk couldn’t quite grab ahold of. Something...somber. raury shrugged to himself. If the guy didn’t want to elaborate, he wouldn’t, and Raury wasn’t gonna be the guy to push that. He looked back up, meeting the other man’s eyes again.
“‘Cept there’s the bit where I go all apeshit while M’ playin’ slappy hands with my inner demons. That part’s no good.”
He rubbed at the back of his head absentmindedly.
“Logi seems ta have things on lockdown at the moment. He sorta...ate it. With magic. Or some shit. Dragons are weird. But, yeah, needs ta get addressed soon.”
A thought crossed his mind.
“Uh, dun wanna get yer panties twistin’, seein’ as yer kinda...reclusive concernin’ folk of our nature, but. Do ya even know other maskeys?”
“Dragons are weird...” Rufus repeated in an undertone, rubbing at his face with one hand, a hint of laughter (equal parts amusement and nerves) in his voice. Louder, he added, “Well, at least it doesn’t sound like you’re in immediate danger. That’s...better than nothing. Unfortunately, as you pointed out, I’ve made myself pretty scarce on the otherworldly scene, I guess you could say, ever since--”
“...Ru...kun...”
“--I got my mask.”
Painfully aware that he was being...awkward, Rufus offered Raury his best apologetic smile.
“I know...of other masked...individuals, but I don’t actually know any of them. But,” he continued, “you’re right. Fighting that inner hollow probably isn’t going to be a cakewalk for you, and fighting you while you’re turning hollow probably isn’t going to be a cakewalk for anyone around.”
“Kazue—!!”
Old, unpleasant memories worried at the edges of his thoughts; it was almost inevitable, considering the current thread of conversation. Nevertheless, Rufus pushed them away. This wasn’t the time for melancholy and reminiscing (not that it ever was).
He was far too hung-over for it, for one. For another, what was happening in the here and now took precedence. Raury was still alive.
The blond drew his legs up a bit and extended his arms over his knees. “What we need,” he mused aloud, “is some sort of controlled environment. Or somewhere that’s isolated, at the very least. And someone who can rein you in without killing you...or getting killed...while you set yourself to rights.”
Here, Rufus visibly hesitated – after a few false starts, he said, “I’ll be upfront with you. I don’t have the...the best...track record with, ah, helping people through their hollowfication. Finding someone else might be a safer bet.” The man’s eyes shifted, tracking off to one side. “Even if it’s a stranger. ...But. Raury.” Then his voice firmed, and he set his gaze back on the redhead. “If you need me, it’s like I said: I’m here, and I’d do my very best. I just can’t make you any promises.”
The redhead nodded through Rufus’s words, noting all of the shit the man was leaving out. There was definitely some history there, but it seemed a bit of a soft subject. He’d keep it shelved. Maybe another time.
Whatever other Vizards there were out there, Raury decided it would be best to not do the introductions bit before he had his shit under control. From what little personal experience with them he had, he kinda got the feeling they were a jumpy bunch. Not surprising. They had made public enemy number one on more than one occasion. Vizards were treated more like volatile sociopaths than the people they actually were. Understandable, maybe, from a few figures in history that stood out. But still, some didn’t deserve the treatment, and were probably gonna be resentful if some new guy came waltzing in with his crazy on full blast.
About his taming. Or whatever you’d wanna call it, a few names came to mind that might be willing to help, but frankly Raury had been entirely too out of touch with Soul Society to know current events well. He wasn’t sure if aiding Vizards was currently a crime. It probably was. It usually was. So that cut off about ninety percent of the roster. As much as he would love his Captain’s guidance and assistance, it was best to exclude Haresuno.
Ex-Captain.
Another brief pang of loss. He wished there was another bottle on hand. Realizing he was in introspective mode perhaps a bit too long, Raury swung his head back up to Rufus. This was really hard for the man, even the drunk could tell. But honestly, he was all Raury really had at the moment.
“Ah, mate. Mebbe other folks’d be safer, but yer kinda the last man standin’ on the list o’ folks that can help right now.” He flashed an easy smile, genuinely glad to be where he was. “But I think ya got it in ya. S’more the question of whether I do, eh?”
“Well, look at it this way: if someone like me could do it,” Rufus replied rather promptly, “you’re bound to be fine.”
Despite his best intentions, the sentiment fell a bit short of sincere; Rufus almost felt like apologizing. Of all the people Raury could have known to help him through the transition from shinigami to vizard, he got the man who’d essentially been retired for the last twenty-or-so years and had a habit of running away from his problems.
Sure, Rufus could put on a charming smile and bluff with the best of them – but the thought of fending off a hollowfied Raury – and possibly dying in the process – made that itch for a drink return in full force. Rufus just wasn’t made for bravery and sacrifice; it wasn’t in hise.
Still, it looked like he was going to be trying his hand at it anyway.
Christ fucking help us.
The blond laced his fingers together over his knees and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for...whatever happened to you, Raury. I know it doesn’t feel great to find out some asshole hollow’s decided to take up residence in your head. Or...spirit. Wherever. Especially when it means you can’t go back to....well. You know.”
With one last glance at the redhead, Rufus pushed himself to his feet again – his head groaned in protest. “...I wish I had more helpful advice to give you,” he said, this time with an honest, if somewhat rueful, smile. “All I can really suggest for tonight is that you get some rest.”
He paused.
“Er. And a shower. Maybe the shower first.”
Raury gave a half-smile and hopped to his feet. At least the swaying had stopped.
“M’kay, Imma hit up the shower. You snag another drink, yeah?”
Rufus laughed. “Yes, of course.”
.