no subject

[ the headless bones of snakes crack his way — not like whips that want to bend and force him into shape and position, but more like an animal lashing out to prove it's larger. as he stands perfectly still, it becomes apparent from his cool, calculating gaze that this is not the freeze response of prey. they come close enough, splitting open the skin at the line of his jaw, and even the pain is without flinch. ]

[ there are calculations to run, instead. this is a public venue; people are staring, some of them in fear and some of them with lustful curiosity, but isn't this dangerous? couldn't someone get hurt? ]

[ shouldn't he care? this is new math he's yet to solve. ]

And if I don't? [ a hand raises, broad and square, hard and gnarled with sweat-drenched hours ruining his lifelines on the wood of a bo staff, the patterned cloth of a katana, another boy's face. he looks more like he's trying to coax a stray cat into investigating him than he's fending off some strange terror. a single line of blood runs down his throat and seeps into his collar, spreading through the fibers in a fractal of red. ]

Would you strike me down here and now?

[ someone that volatile doesn't belong in society. but maybe Getou Suguru doesn't either. ]