Post by Akito Himura on Mar 28, 2016 7:07:33 GMT
"One Jasmine, one Ginseng tea." There was nothing particularly chipper about the yukata garbed tea server. Long thin dark hair obscured his features, gently parting to give way to bright green eyes and hollow cheek bones. Was he always so pale? So frail and sickly looking? And were his eyes always so green? They used to be brown, didn't they? They said he was very ill, that getting up each morning was a struggle. The doctors couldn't help him. Was he dying? Surely he couldn't be eating if he looked so gaunt?
For weeks, Akito had listened to the rumors about his new condition. Was he sick? If only they knew. A polite bow to the rather timid looking couple and he slunk away, back to the kitchen. A cheerful greeting caught his attention. The seating hostess greeted a small party of people at the threshold. The open doorway brought with it the gentle spring breeze. Instinctively he opened his mouth.
He could smell them. He could sense the pulsing lives around him. The steady beating of life, some moving more quickly than others. A slithering tongue made its appearance, tracing his upper lip tantalizingly slow as he studied the customers before him. His mother called it predatory intuition. Her babbling nonsense made very little sense to him. As if she could understand what he was going through. No one did.
His skin itched. Dry and scaly, it crawled. It felt foreign, unnatural, he couldn't stand it. And the Imprint, hidden beneath a series of carefully bound bandages burned into his forearm. It never stopped burning. It felt like a lesser but constant awakening. A pain that was only satisfied when he gave up. When he relented. When he killed. Akito cast another predatory look around the restaurant. Where was it, he wondered? The most vulnerable life, one he could crush in a moment's-
A sudden vibration at his wrist drew his attention. The set watch buzzed persistently before the timer began to count down from thirty seconds. Staring at the device, Akito blinked. It was a very slow and methodical blink, one that required timing and effort on his part. The watch served as a constant reminder. His mother made him wear it. Not blinking was unnatural she said. Plenty of things were unnatural.
Rubbing his arms, Akito dragged sharp nails down his leathery skin. It itched. It irritated him. Someone handed him a tray and the Reaper took it without a second glance. His tongue darted out briefly, tasting the air. "One chamomile, one Green." He said rather robotically. From beneath his hair he stared intently at the two women before him. They accepted the tea with thanks, delicately cradling the warm mugs.
He could sense it. There heart beat. He could smell their unease. He could see it. Studying their flushed cheeks and supple flesh, Akito's tongue darted out dangerously before he turned away sharply. Harshly slamming the empty tray upon the kitchen counter, he ventured away from the restaurant to the peaceful gardens outside.
The pain. It was becoming unbearable. Traversing the lawn, he longed to feel the gentle fronds of grass, or even the occasional pebble underfoot. Instead, there was only quiet agony. Seating himself next to a small pond, Akito rested against a boulder soaking up its warmth. From the outside he looked like a sickly old man, pausing for a brief respite. He wondered what would happen if customers knew there was a Reaper in their midst?
For weeks, Akito had listened to the rumors about his new condition. Was he sick? If only they knew. A polite bow to the rather timid looking couple and he slunk away, back to the kitchen. A cheerful greeting caught his attention. The seating hostess greeted a small party of people at the threshold. The open doorway brought with it the gentle spring breeze. Instinctively he opened his mouth.
He could smell them. He could sense the pulsing lives around him. The steady beating of life, some moving more quickly than others. A slithering tongue made its appearance, tracing his upper lip tantalizingly slow as he studied the customers before him. His mother called it predatory intuition. Her babbling nonsense made very little sense to him. As if she could understand what he was going through. No one did.
His skin itched. Dry and scaly, it crawled. It felt foreign, unnatural, he couldn't stand it. And the Imprint, hidden beneath a series of carefully bound bandages burned into his forearm. It never stopped burning. It felt like a lesser but constant awakening. A pain that was only satisfied when he gave up. When he relented. When he killed. Akito cast another predatory look around the restaurant. Where was it, he wondered? The most vulnerable life, one he could crush in a moment's-
A sudden vibration at his wrist drew his attention. The set watch buzzed persistently before the timer began to count down from thirty seconds. Staring at the device, Akito blinked. It was a very slow and methodical blink, one that required timing and effort on his part. The watch served as a constant reminder. His mother made him wear it. Not blinking was unnatural she said. Plenty of things were unnatural.
Rubbing his arms, Akito dragged sharp nails down his leathery skin. It itched. It irritated him. Someone handed him a tray and the Reaper took it without a second glance. His tongue darted out briefly, tasting the air. "One chamomile, one Green." He said rather robotically. From beneath his hair he stared intently at the two women before him. They accepted the tea with thanks, delicately cradling the warm mugs.
He could sense it. There heart beat. He could smell their unease. He could see it. Studying their flushed cheeks and supple flesh, Akito's tongue darted out dangerously before he turned away sharply. Harshly slamming the empty tray upon the kitchen counter, he ventured away from the restaurant to the peaceful gardens outside.
The pain. It was becoming unbearable. Traversing the lawn, he longed to feel the gentle fronds of grass, or even the occasional pebble underfoot. Instead, there was only quiet agony. Seating himself next to a small pond, Akito rested against a boulder soaking up its warmth. From the outside he looked like a sickly old man, pausing for a brief respite. He wondered what would happen if customers knew there was a Reaper in their midst?
