Natanael Guerrero (peculiarities) wrote in willowbrookrpg, @ 2014-05-18 11:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | !thread, day: january 07, kazuma uemori, player: liv |
[cis]
Who: Kazuma Uemori + Anyone!
What: Kazuma deals with cleaning the bodies.
When: Lunch of 2014 January 07
Where: Cistron Lab, one of the bathrooms.
Rating: tbd
Status: tbd
Dead bodies were not new experiences for someone of Kazuma's years. Barring the death of his grandmother, he'd had fellow agents fall on him in the field or under the good Oliver Nye's watch and for each of them, he wept and mourned.
But none of them had been his recruit.
Kazuma was hard-pressed to think of a more traumatizing experience than sliding back the curtain and seeing the ashen, gaping face of the young boy he remembered picking up in Kansas. It was three years ago, during winter. Elvis Prettyman was waiting at the doorstep of their apartment when Kazuma arrived with a box of donuts and a tray of hot chocolate. While they were waiting for his mother to return from work, they plowed their way steadily through Kazuma's treats and was showing each other tricks through their pyrokinesis and energy constructs. Mrs. Prettyman came back to the sight of her son and this overgrown man laughing like there was no tomorrow.
Now all that was left of the boy was a mutilated body with no forearms and forelegs, his skin which used to be so healthy and brown, now course and spotted with white. Not even being mortally wounded, almost dying in the hands of a Syndicate, could compare to Kazuma's horror.
He took extra care cleaning him up, making him look as presentable as he could, while he could. It was the least he could do to a boy he had failed, to a mother he had grossly disappointed. After he and his fellow cleaners were set free, he ran off to the toilets and threw up everything his stomach ever contained.
Then he sat down on the dirt and cried.
It had been a year since he last cried, although it felt like ages ago since he felt his wife in his arms and his son's arms around him. More than ever, he missed them now and more than ever, he was glad his boy was human. Rather than think about Elvis teaching him how to shoot a couple of hoops during his breaks between classes, he trained his thoughts on his own son although that left him cold and unloved, too.
When he'd calmed down to a series of sniffles, he raised a hand and dropped it heavily on the flusher. He sat in-between the narrow door and the toilet, his back on one wall, his feet on another, long legs folded to squeeze him in the narrow space. He listened to the water drown itself as he leaned his head back and thudded it lightly against the wall.
Closing his eyes, Kazuma sniffled.