Fisher
New Member
Raury Feybrand
WC: 1027
As a person who had lived for the small pleasures in life, he was utterly in awe of exactly how blissful a hot shower could really be. Scalding fingers of aqueous glory tapping out a staccato to the beat of Ode to Joy across the redhead’s nude form, Raury practically writhed in ecstasy as steam and heat pulled knitted muscles and tense sinew loose, imparting a peace beyond his reckon. He sighed, the collection of abrasions and scrapes he had massed earlier in the evening singing, loud and painful, but somehow pleasant. Clean was a big deal.
The second bottle of Johnnie Walker helped too. Immensely. His right hand brought the bottle up to his lips and he drank, full and deep, taking nearly half of the bottle in his eagerness as torrents of water washed away the events of the evening.
Dirt and grime sloughed off, leaving clean skin in its wake, pink with the heat and drink. The pressure of another’s presence welled up from time to time, but at any word from Raury, it abruptly faded. He thought he heard the click of a mobile’s camera once or twice.
The wounds he had endured were already closing, practically healing before his eyes. Shinigami naturally healed quickly, reiatsu dramatically speeding the process, but even for a spiritual being this was quick. The influence of the hollow, he assumed. They seemed to have quite the will to live, the urge bleeding out into the host. Made sense. Still, interesting.
Another swig from the bottle. Raury had long since finished washing himself. Mostly he was just soaking in the warmth, and maybe taking a bit of time for himself. He wasn’t much for long periods of dwelling, but honestly, the situation sort of warranted it. There was curiosity. There was interest. A measure of fear. And still yet a sense of loss. He thought of Haresuno, the only Captain he had really felt attached to. He thought of Mitsu, a friend he had enjoyed, but he was still surprised at how much the thought of not interacting with the Tactician impacted him. Hell, he even spared a thought for Kyu. They had sparse interaction, and mostly spats about how Mitsu’s training should go, but overall he counted the lithe lass as a friend.
He shook himself a bit, turning his face up to meet the torrent of searing water, letting it beat rhythmically against his face. He was jumping the gun. He could see them again. Probably. He wasn’t sure on the circumstances of such a meeting. He knew so little of current relations between Shinigami and the other races. His complacency had become somewhat frustrating. How does one become productive? Useful?
Dependable?
Apparently, he had a lot to do. Contacts needed to be made. He might go as far as to say alliances. Rufus was a dear friend, but he didn’t share his friend’s complacency. A life of ducking in shadows and laying low may have suited him years ago, but now his wants ranged further. beyond even that, he was curious. A bit angry, a bit frightened, at what had happened to him. Where had the time gone? Where had he been, and why?
Turning to these thoughts heightened the static once more, the disjoined sound rising from a dull wave to near cacophony, as thus far it always had when he tried to remember anything that happened after the Tournament. After leaving the park he had thrashed, the static hadn’t been present at all, presumably squelched by the bindings Logi had placed on his inner hollow. But if the bindings had weakened that much in these few hours, Raury had more to be worried about than he had thought.
He huffed, pulling Johnnie Walker up to drain another quarter, killing the static somewhat. The maddening rush dulled back to a wave. Another drink and it had dwindled to a whisper.
This would have to be addressed soon. With a measure of reluctance, the drunk cut off the water and opened the frosted glass door of the shower, stepping out onto the condensation-soaked, but comparatively frigid tile of Rufus’s bathroom. He killed Johnnie and placed the empty vessel on a nearby marble counter, reaching blearily for a terry towel hanging on a nearby ring. He dried carelessly, his usual sense of abandon steadily returning after two bottles. It was a comfortable familiarity, his own world.
He paused a moment to examine the spare clothing Rufus had provided, and after a few attempts at wearing it decided the taller man’s pants weren’t going to cooperate. He was a bit broader of waist, and a good measure shorter of leg. These wouldn’t really do at all. The shirt, a casual tee devoid of adornment and the color of soft cream hung loosely, but otherwise worked fine. He was more accustomed to the loose garments of the Shinigami anyway, but without the pants he decided it would be silly to just wear the shirt.Giving the remains of his Shihakushō a once-over, he quickly determined the outfit unfit for service. Frankly, he was a bit surprised the damn thing had stayed on in the first place.
Shrugging, he carelessly wrapped the towel haphazardly around his midsection and stumbled from the bathroom into the adjoining hall, steam wafting out in his wake into the cooler and drier air of the apartment proper. The towel did not survive the trip as the drunkard stumbled form the hall into the living room, Raury barely noticing as he flopped facedown and stark nude onto the couch.
He huffed appreciably, feeling somewhat revived by the shower. Now that the filth and abrasions were no longer an issue, and alcohol was once more pleasantly fuzzing out his nerves, the exhaustion was setting in rapidly. His eyelids conceded to his body’s demands, drooping heavily as his mind wandered, somewhere between dreaming and awareness. The tide of static ebbed and flowed, but remained unobtrusive enough to allow for the former Founder to slide headlong into a full sleep, dreams of dragons and evil jello riding the sliver of moonlight slicing across his face into the night.
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