( it's an odd feeling, to have to think of so many different places at once. most of his fighting has been centered around two points--curses, and himself. the attacker, and himself. keeping secrets from humans is easy when they're not involved; it's easy to get rid of something when he only has to focus on getting rid of it. usually spaces are evacuated by the government before they step in, so there's no reason to risk any lives. even in trainings, in classroom exercises, he hasn't done nearly as well at saving others than people like suguru or shouko, more acclimated to the idea of saving those weaker than them; he's never really thought he should bother trying. it's a frustrating idea, trying to protect the weak, because they're the ones meant to survive: he can even feel it pulling at him now, as the six eyes clock all possible issues. the doors. the people. the broken furniture and general destruction. he doesn't care about the resort.
but the people in it--well, maybe it's wrong to say he cares, but he knows that it's his duty to care, one way or another. whatever the resort's done to him, whatever punishment it's reaped onto him from the beginning: he shouldn't let that affect the way that he's been trained, the teachings that yaga has tried to beat into his head for years.
maybe his heart is weak--he wouldn't even argue that. but he does see where those blasts are going, from a weapon materialized out of nothing; a split second, an infinite stretch of time for him, caught between two places--he's there with his hands on the man behind the bar just quick enough for those blasts to never quite connect, dispersing around the limitless bound of space caked around the both of them. with a soft breath, he quickly makes short work of wood and plaster, helping the man up so that he can scramble away; that's the easy part.
his gaze tracks, moves across the resort, and then settles again on the faceplate of that helmet: he can joke around all he wants about it, but if he doesn't start taking things seriously, then there's going to be trouble. )
Stop you? ( loftily, as he clears the rubble of the bar, again, closing the distance between them. ) Or kill you? Which one do you want~? This place won't just let you go.
( it's tricky. he can't necessarily track the little monsters that have spawned out across the room, since they don't have cursed energy--but he can tailor his sight to them, his energy, as both hands lift, a crackle of bright blue that bubbles up between them; it's still tricky. he has to keep in mind the weight and mass of the people, versus the furniture, versus the creatures that his new friend has deployed: which means that some of the broken tables, chairs, drink glasses and chips, come spiraling in to the center of the infinite black hole he's creating, along with all of vanitas' deployments, ripped away from floors and doors and tables with the impending pull of a void. this center, he pushes out away from him with his hands, lets instead vanitas become the bright blue center: meaning that all of his monsters, all of the stray furniture and debris, caught up in a spiraling mess of depth, come crashing in around vanitas--to either crush him, or stop him.
he can't really tell, past the whipping of the air around their little vacuum--a convergence that means he can't quite see through everything smashed together. a part of him wants to laugh: maybe this will crack that helmet for him after all. maybe he'll kill him. is that good, or evil? is that a weak heart, or a strong one? he's not caring too much about that. )
no subject
but the people in it--well, maybe it's wrong to say he cares, but he knows that it's his duty to care, one way or another. whatever the resort's done to him, whatever punishment it's reaped onto him from the beginning: he shouldn't let that affect the way that he's been trained, the teachings that yaga has tried to beat into his head for years.
maybe his heart is weak--he wouldn't even argue that. but he does see where those blasts are going, from a weapon materialized out of nothing; a split second, an infinite stretch of time for him, caught between two places--he's there with his hands on the man behind the bar just quick enough for those blasts to never quite connect, dispersing around the limitless bound of space caked around the both of them. with a soft breath, he quickly makes short work of wood and plaster, helping the man up so that he can scramble away; that's the easy part.
his gaze tracks, moves across the resort, and then settles again on the faceplate of that helmet: he can joke around all he wants about it, but if he doesn't start taking things seriously, then there's going to be trouble. )
Stop you? ( loftily, as he clears the rubble of the bar, again, closing the distance between them. ) Or kill you? Which one do you want~? This place won't just let you go.
( it's tricky. he can't necessarily track the little monsters that have spawned out across the room, since they don't have cursed energy--but he can tailor his sight to them, his energy, as both hands lift, a crackle of bright blue that bubbles up between them; it's still tricky. he has to keep in mind the weight and mass of the people, versus the furniture, versus the creatures that his new friend has deployed: which means that some of the broken tables, chairs, drink glasses and chips, come spiraling in to the center of the infinite black hole he's creating, along with all of vanitas' deployments, ripped away from floors and doors and tables with the impending pull of a void. this center, he pushes out away from him with his hands, lets instead vanitas become the bright blue center: meaning that all of his monsters, all of the stray furniture and debris, caught up in a spiraling mess of depth, come crashing in around vanitas--to either crush him, or stop him.
he can't really tell, past the whipping of the air around their little vacuum--a convergence that means he can't quite see through everything smashed together. a part of him wants to laugh: maybe this will crack that helmet for him after all. maybe he'll kill him. is that good, or evil? is that a weak heart, or a strong one? he's not caring too much about that. )