Kamizuki Izumo (clouded_moon) wrote in mollynet, @ 2012-10-09 09:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | kamizuki izumo |
[Accidental Video] October 5th
The screen flickers on. Apparently Izumo has just laid his CommLink on the table; the view is fixed and his hands are bare. He sits down in the middle of the room, and starts folding his hands through signs. His face is quiet, his attention focused deeply inward. As he works a patch of air begins to ripple, and when he pauses, hands held in a certain sign, the image appears.
It's a tall man, with a weathered scarred face and yakuza tattoos wreathed down his arms. His ears are pierced multiple times, and his face, and when he sneers at Izumo it bares crooked stained teeth. At first glance the man looks like Gin Charlie: only it is not. The piercings, the long bangs dyed rainbow shades, the two teeth missing....this is not Gin Charlie, and the sneer turns into a wry smile for Izumo, dark eyes turning fond in a face worn hard by life.
"Hey Gintaro." Izumo's voice is soft, almost respectful. He smiles and it's a sad and broken expression. His grammar has slipped: his words slangy, rough: his accent suddenly thick. Nothing proper, nothing educated. "You'd laugh your ass off at me doing this. Hell, you'd call me cracked, huh?"
He twitches his hands. The image snorts, and a rough smoke-ruined voice grinds out, " 'Mo, yer cracked in the head, bratling." The image reaches out, and from the air a glass and rag appear in its hands. It leans against an invisible bar and starts methodically wiping the glass, watching Izumo.
Izumo's hands shift, weaving the illusion from memory. "Yeah. There's this bastard here. He looks like you, almost. Makes me miss ya, kinda, 'cept he's a worse asshole 'n you are."
The memory rolls its eyes, jandice staining the whites as nitoctine and alcohol stain the teeth. "Fuck forbid."
With a laugh, Izumo nods. "Yeah, I know. Fuckin' impossible. Well, you live an' learn. Live an' fucking learn, or you're dead in the gutter with yer liver sliced out. Damn, ya know I miss yer bitchin' ass? No-one to tell me to behave." Izumo smirks, and tips his head back. "Though this bastard, man, he's bitchin' up a storm. Fucker just 'bout brained me with his gin bottle."
"Waste a good drink," the illusion declares, setting the glass and cloth aside. They disappear, and in the hands appears a cigarette, lit and smoking. Gintaro takes a deep drag, breathes it out. "Ya lay low, kid. Same shit as always."
"Yeah, don't tell me what I know already, fucker," Izumo shoots back, and then he laughs. "Like a memory could tell me anythin' new. Fuck this is depressin'."
The illusion raises an eyebrow, then sneers. "Well ya knew what you was doin'."
"Damn if I didn't." Izumo's expression shifts, and he closes his eyes as his hands move again.
The illusion pushes away from the invisible bar, crosses the short space between them and drops into a crouch. Old bones and tendons pop and the illusion ruffles Izumo's hair, roughly. "Keep on, 'Mo. Don't ya quit."
"I know," Izumo whispers, as the illusion dissolves. "I know."
He sits there, head bowed, alone in the silent room. Abruptly he stands, wiping at his face, and turns, moving roughly out of the frame, all his usual grace gone. The room stands empty, and the feed flickers and shuts down.