2025-11-15: The Hedgehog's Dilemma
- Log: The Hedgehog's Dilemma
- Cast: Tsubasa Seki, Hyousuke Suzuki
- Where: Iwatodai Strip Mall
- OOC Date: 2025-11-15
- IC Date: Sat, Aug 11 2012
- Summary: Tsubasa refuses to ignore Hyousuke's wounds, but Hyousuke can't focus on his own pain, either. Why doesn't punching this problem fix it?!
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
It's summer. It's hot.
And it is one thing to say this; to say it is hot; but understand in fact that it is HOT. Dali's going to sue someone, because the clocks are about ready to melt off the walls. It's been threatening to rain all morning, but instead it's just gotten MUGGIER and AWFULLER and
listen
tsubasa's had to reapply their makeup three times today even though it's waterfast.
Anyway, all this to say they're currently lurking in the computer shop up the top of the strip mall. The AIR-CONDITIONED computer shop up the top of the strip mall. Do they own a computer? No. Does that matter? Absolutely fucking not. They're pretending to be absolutely fascinated by a copy of 'Mindful Boot Camp', as if they were ever going to buy it.
Who's going to call them on it? Most teens have a computer these days, c'mon.
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
Hyousuke was not sure why the computer store spoke of sheep so often. They were cute, he had to admit - even the less friendly sorts, with horns curled about the sides of their skulls, and habitats outside of fenced-in pastures watched over by a shepherd and an unusually intelligent dog. But he failed to see what they had to do with computers, much less how technicians managed to cram eight of them into a computer case. He didn't know that even one singular ram could fit into those cases, bulky though they may have been.
It was a mystery to unravel another time, he supposed. There was, after all, one that he could solve far more easily - the mystery of what Tsubasa was doing there too. It likely had something to do with computers, given the location, but it never hurt to check.
"Tsubasa-san!" He said, all broad grins and sunny tones. "Didn't expect to see you out here. You looking for something?" Hyousuke seemed remarkably chipper for someone that was in - to put it politely - terrible state.
His eyes were underscored by bags so deep and dark that they had practically turned black, while his bloodshot eyes themselves were criss-crossed by jagged lines of red.Further blow, bruises lay across his skin, scattered haphazardly about his body. The longsleeve shirt he wore - the thinnest he could find, given the weather - did much to hide the majority, but some few peeked out past his collar and cuffs when he angled himself just the wrong way. His knuckles had fared no better. The skin on them bore very obviously fresh scabs, having very clearly split open quite recently.
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
Tsubasa looks... better, by comparison. Still completely fucked up with scars all across their body, but those scars were burned in years ago, and now they're all hidden by fake tan and concealer and a neon blue wig. You'd never know!
(Well, you'd still know if you looked closely.)
"Hey, dude," Tsubasa says, turning to Hyousuke -- looking him up and down.
"You look like shit." Zero words minced.
And so, looking back to him, they ask: "What's up?"
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
Hyousuke was, for a moment, stunned. It wasn't that it was news to him, nor did he find it particularly rude. But others had danced around the subject, so it came as little surprise that Tsubasa's ability to cut right to the heart of the matter had caught him off guard.
"You should've seen the other guy." He said, hoping the pithy response would suffice as a way to brush off Tsubasa's remark, and perhaps draw attention away from the fact that he'd clearly done more than just gotten into a scrap. "I'm just browsing. The cafe I wanted to eat at's gonna be doing breakfast for another fifteen minutes."
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
"Aight," Tsubasa says, as they turn back to the rack. There's a whole row of programs here -- 'Muscle Boot Camp', 'TypinGhoul', 'Language Made Easy', 'Lessons in Etiquette'...
They reach up to lift the little elastic cord keeping the cases on the shelf, and tuck 'Mindful Boot Camp' in beside 'Muscle Boot Camp', right where they found it.
It may seem, in these long moments, that Tsubasa buys Hyousuke's story.
-- at least until they turn back to him, and say: "Now gimme the lowdown on the other ten guys."
'The other guy', Hyousuke said, as if there were only one... Tsubasa clearly doesn't believe that.
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
Hyousuke felt pleased with himself at being able to once again expertly tell only part of the truth. He had not lied, and thus his conscience was clear. He did his best to hide it - and, to some degree, succeeded - but he was rather proud of himself for doing so. That pride fell to pieces when Tsubasa followed up the remark, and suddenly, a copy of 'English Made Easy' seemed remarkably more interesting than it had a moment ago. Enough to draw his gaze away, at least, and turn his head so that he could - by sheer coincidence - hide the hint of embarrassment that crept into it.
"Hard to say." He said, as casually as he could force himself to sound. "It was some time after midnight, so I didn't get a good look at them." Persona stuff was hardly something he could talk openly about, so he hoped the implication was clear enough. With the matter settled - he hoped - Hyousuke did his utmost to shift the conversation away from the fact that he looked like he'd been dragged backwards through a hedge. "So what're you doing in here? You buying something, or just window shopping?"
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
"You been goin' out alone?" Tsubasa asks, shooting Hyousuke a frown. "Yeah. I did that. Then this freaky-ass fuckin' ninja drops in and decides he owns my ass. That kinda shit happens when you're out on ya own."
They turn their eyes back forward to the titles, but they're not really reading them. "Nah," they answer his shift in conversation, which is remarkably efficient: it both serves as an answer to his literal question, and as a denial of his attempt to change the subject.
"You could die out there," they say, instead. "Lookin' like ya might. What's eatin' you?" Aside, they think, as they flick through some cases on the shelf as if they care, from the Shadows.
The Shadows are clearly eating him.
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
Dense as Hyousuke was, even he could see that his efforts had been in vain. He supposed he should've learnt his lesson - everyone else had cottoned on, after all. But then again, they'd dropped it when he hinted at not wishing to speak on the matter - or, rather, avoided the topic until it had become clear that a man as stubborn as him would not budge for love nor money. So, with that in mind, he decided to go ahead with his tried-and-true strategy of being as obstinate as a mule.
"Don't worry about it. I'll be fine." He said, attempting his own variation of Tsubasa's strategy - one consisting of an acknowledgement of the situation, and a complete refusal to engage with it. "What about you? You need any help dealing with that fuckass ninja?" And there it was - the first genuine emotion of the conversation, save for the initial greeting. Concern. Not for himself, but for Tsubasa, and he didn't even attempt to disguise it.
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
Tsubasa growls frustration, a thing which grows in their belly and migrates up their bound chest into their throat; that's just kind of a skill they've had to develop, wearing this thing all the time. They turn, and clap a hand on Hyousuke's shoulder, firmly.
"If you think for one second I'm gonna send you off on that fuckin' killer's trail 'cuz you'd rather grind yourself to nothin' for some other guy than tell me why you're so fucked, I'll floor you right now."
Tsubasa's been quite terse and laconic this whole time; maybe it's hard to tell, with their own lack of emotiveness, that they're concerned.
Whether or not it comes through a beat later, as they ask -- "We doin' this?" -- is really an open question.
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
The growl was not something that Hyousuke felt uncomfortable with. He supposed he should have seen it coming, when he thought about it. It was only natural that someone would grow frustrated with his repeated attempts at avoiding a question, given that they were supposed to be working together. No, it was the touch that almost had him leap away from Tsubasa. His eyes focussed like an attack dog's for the briefest of moments, his muscles tensed like a coiled spring, and he flinched to the side the moment he realised that he'd been touched. He softened his expression as quickly as he'd made it, but there was no hiding the sudden - perhaps even instinctive - movement away.
All he could do was push past it.
"Fine." Hyousuke said, doing his best to ignore the hand. He didn't attempt to push it away - he didn't even move from it. But his shoulder might as well have been steel cable for all the tension it held. "I've been going out alone. But I got some new gear, and I've got enough cash for some cards, so this shit-" He nodded down at the vague direction of his injuries. "-Isn't gonna last. Happy?"
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
Yeah. Tsubasa sees that.
They can't even blame him.
The only reason Tsubasa touches someone else like that -- it's so they can hurt them. That hand on his shoulder? The first step to their dominant fist coming in for his face, because when you're not a trained fighter, it's way easier to grab the other guy and stop them from getting away first.
They're not, generally speaking... a huggy person.
... and it's because they'd react the exact damn same way Hyousuke does.
Their lips twitch back; their nostrils flare, with a sudden indrawn breath. If they've pushed too far, fine; that just means there's no going back, now. Fuck the cover story!
But Hyousuke actually answers their question, and so, Tsubasa reasons, they can drop their hand from his shoulder to fold them both across their chest instead. "I ain't happy," they say, in their usual low, growly tone. "You're beat to shit, man. You been dealin' with that shit alone... no, I ain't happy 'bout that."
Tsubasa takes a breath. "... but I get it. Like. I could pay for a CD the other day... 'cuz I been goin' through Mementos. An' I thought I was pre' tough... but it was stupid. If it'd gone different, mighta got skewered... instead, I gotta look over my shoulder now. Listen, there's fuckers what'll look at you on your own and see a target on ya back."
Especially if he's that beat up, they think, only to realise that's really kicking the guy while he's down. (A thing Tsubasa would be perfectly willing to do, but, like, that ain't 'cuz they wanna do it.)
Honesty and emotional vulnerability and shit really ain't their bag, but, like, Tsubasa grips their arms with their fingers and just kinda thinks, what would Ichika do, and, well, they already tried punching the problem, so here's the runners-up: "... I was doin' that shit 'cuz I felt like I was weak. I couldn't even stand properly in a place like that for long... I didn't wanna drag everyone down. But... it weren't like that. I had people willin' to run with me. Jus' had to... lay off the gas a bit."
They pause, a moment.
"Was gunnin' it straight into an early grave. Y'know."
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
There was a snarl on his face. It was a bare-toothed thing, one that clenched his jaw tight and curled his lips like maddened hound. It seeped into his eyes, spreading into his features like a poison in his veins. He only realised it was there when Tsubasa withdrew their hand, but it was slow to fade. Even after making a conscious effort to return his face to some semblance of calm, Hyousuke looked to be far more on edge than was warranted. Were the skin on his knuckles not scabbed over, the clenching of his fists would've left it a ghostly shade of pale.
"Then I'll get stronger." His tone was... strange. On the one hand, the words rolled off of his tongue so naturally that it was as though he hadn't needed to think about them. He said them in the same way that someone might say the sky was blue, or that grass was green. It was as though the idea that he wasn't strong, or couldn't get strong enough, to do something was anathema to him, and did not occur in his mind. The other part was resentment. Subtle, yes, and easily masked by what remained of his mangled expression leaking into his voice. But there nonetheless.
"Like I said, don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I'm tough enough to take it." He thumped his fist lightly against his chest. By physical appearance alone, he certainly seemed to be telling the truth. Tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, and toned, he looked every part the stereotypical tough guy. "Besides, we got other shit to deal with. Me taking a few hits isn't worth thinking about."
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
"You listenin' to a word I'm sayin'...?" Tsubasa wonders, shaking their head.
That chest thump is precisely the kind of salute Tsubasa tends to give -- their gang isn't exactly lawful, so they're not going to salute like officers do -- which adds an extra notch to their brow, as they frown.
"... you want me to not give a shit about you? Fine. Do what you want." Their lips curl over their teeth, as their back foot rises, toe of their sneaker tapping against the floor. "But get yourself cleaned up. Everyone's thinkin' it, even if I'm the only one mean enough to say it to your face. If you wanna deal with that other shit... get your shit in order, man."
It's the wrong thing to say; they know it's the wrong thing to say, even as the bitter words spill out of their throat. But what are they supposed to do? Magically fix the realisation that despite all these magic powers, they're still helpless to watch a man be brutally murdered?
There's no taking it back. You can only barge through.
"Appearances matter. 'Til you look less like roadkill, you ain't gonna be the kinda guy anyone wants in a fight. That's just the harsh reality, man."
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
Hyousuke was good at masking his feelings. It was very clearly something he'd practised, given how easily he dismissed both his own injuries and concern shown for his wellbeing. It hadn't been that long since he'd watched a man die - and almost died himself - but despite that, he acted as though he was made of iron. Yet all it took for that to waver was for Tsubasa to lay into him. He knew it to be well-deserved, and that if Tsubasa - someone Ichika trusted so dearly - was the one doing it, he'd really fucked up. But to hear that someone he thought to be his friend could stop giving a shit about him...
The corners of his lips twitched, then trembled, before he finally made a concerted effort to still them. His fists loosened in a way that he would try to play off as relaxing a little, but in truth, some part of him grew too tired to keep them clenched. The skin on his neck shifted as he swallowed, as if to try and push something back down to the depths of his soul from which it had crawled. He had to keep it together. No matter what, he had to say strong. No other course of action was acceptable.
"...Yeah. I guess you're right."
He did not speak with the contrition of a man that had accepted he was wrong. He did not speak with the kind of shock that someone who had come upon a sudden revelation might be possessed of. He spoke with resignation. He spoke with grim acceptance. He tried to feign something more positive, but even his iron will could not keep his voice from wavering. A great silence hung in the air as he processed everything, then with a slow blink and another deep swallow, he addressed Tsubasa again.
"I'll get fixed up so I can go back to fighting. I'll... I'll be ready when you need me. Count on it."
<Pose Tracker> Tsubasa Seki has posed.
Tsubasa's hurt, in turn, by the idea that Hyousuke would insist they could look past his injuries and not worry about them. Tsubasa, as it happens, is great at lashing out -- at stripping ideas down to show the implications therein.
At driving the people around them to...
Their stomach twists as they hear Hyousuke's resignation. Would it have been kinder to punch him? Probably. Would it have worked any better? Probably not. Everything they do is more broken glass; so, what are they supposed to do? Put their forehead to the floor again? Fuck that.
"So you can get back to fightin'," Tsubasa scoffs, their own tone closing off. "Sure, man."
Tsubasa turns, sharply, showing their back to Hyousuke. "... whatever. I get it. You do you," they toss over their shoulder, as they stalk off. "I'm outta here."
Of course, once they open up the door, it's finally decided to bucket down rain...
... but instead of lingering back so they can talk it out like a reasonable adult, they bolt straight down three flights of spiral stairs and run into the rain like a teenager who's never dealt with their emotions properly in their life.
<Pose Tracker> Hyousuke Suzuki has posed.
Dense as he was, Hyousuke could tell he'd fucked up. He'd fucked up because he was stupid, and couldn't say the right thing. He'd fucked up because he hadn't been strong enough to win before he got injured so badly. He'd fucked up because people needed him to be better than he was, and he'd failed. He had, in no uncertain terms, fucked up. And he'd hurt someone that he cared about in the process. He said nothing to Tsubasa as they left. What was there to say? What words could salve the wounds he'd carved? He couldn't just walk back everything, or play it down, or - heavens forfend - say that he was wrong and needed to change.
There was, as far as he could tell, only one way to fix things. He had to soldier on.
Hyousuke breathed as he was taught. A deep breath in, one that he held long enough that his focus drew to his aching lungs, and then a deep breath out. He imagined whatever his feelings on the matter were drifting past his lips as he exhaled, and to some extent, it worked. He calmed down enough that he didn't risk people staring, and to keep the feeling welling up at the sides of his eyes from spilling over into something tangible. To the world around, he simply looked tired and unfocussed. That was fine. It was better than weakness.
Hyousuke strode out, a small and polite smile carved into his face.
It did not reach his eyes.