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[chokuto]

UN: 火
𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓 / 𝐀𝐔𝐃𝐈𝐎 / 𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐎 / 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 / 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖
𝟖♣ ( 𝑬𝑰𝑮𝑯𝑻 𝒐𝒇 𝑪𝑳𝑼𝑩𝑺 )

Comments

[chokuto]

[A week without any recollection of what had happened, and with the clinic denying a serious injury. Sasuke believes the vampire must have done what was asked; what would be the purpose otherwise? And Stiles has further evidence to attest to it — marked by his question now.

Gaze turning up to look at the other boy, a line of thought wrinkles his brow.]

The red eye is called the Sharingan. [Dormant, now, but he knows Stiles has seen it.] The purple is the Rinnegan. They're something called dōjutsu, unique to my world, and the Sharingan in particular belongs to my family's bloodline. As for what they can see...

[Weird is one term for it, perhaps.]

It depends. They don't sense things reliably from other dimensions as they would where I come from, due to a few reasons, but — when we were returning from the clinic, I did notice... an aura around you. It was dark and oppressive. It didn't feel like power, which is what I expected when I first sensed it. I had never noticed anything of that nature around you before.

[He also didn't look for it, but he's certain he would have been able to tell.]

[mensrea]

[Quiet, he absorbs this new information. Sharingan. Rinnegan. Dōjutsu. Despite his current duress, Stiles remains fascinated by these abilities—and even begins searching for a notebook in order to record the details. But Sasuke continues speaking. Stiles finally locates a journal, binding so tight as to suggest it may be brand new, only for the teen to freeze as he’s picking it up. After a moment, it slips from nerveless fingers back to the floor. Thoughts of shinobi dōjutsu scatter like snow in a whiteout.]

Oh.

[It’s happening again, isn’t it? A sharp noise snaps out of Stiles—a bark of semi-hysterical laughter that only manages a few notes before its swallowed ruthlessly into stilted silence. Almost unconsciously, the boy practices deep breathing in an effort to thwart any potential panic attacks. And as he draws each pocket of stale air into his lungs, Stiles counts each digit of each hand, hoping desperately for proof that he’s dreaming.]

That’s a problem, [he says, voice too steady, and then there’s a whirlwind of movement as he all but throws himself off the bed again, tearing the shoebox out from under the mattress and throwing the lid over his shoulder.] This place plays tricks too, though. So who can say…?

[Seizing the mirror in a white-fisted grip, he tries to angle it so he can check the resort’s tattoo on the side of his neck. Unfortunately, the mirror’s smaller size makes it impossible.]

Sasuke. [Again, with that misleadingly calm voice—belied by the frantic look rounding out his eyes until color is devoured by white sclerae.] The mark on my neck. With my suit. Is the kanji for “onore” still there?

[Indeed it is, with the inking of the tattoo darker now than it should have been if totally inactive.]

[chokuto]

[He doesn't know what his words have triggered in Stiles, but he can see the effect plainly, and concern only mounts higher. That scar of darkness — it must be tied into the problem, but how? Stiles produces a small mirror in a flash of silver, and his eyes fall to it reflexively, brow furrowed with question.

Onore. He looks to the place where Stiles indicates, then slowly nods. It is kanji he can read on Stiles' body, strange as that is given their different cultures. Oneself?]

Yes. It is. Why?

[The fear is stark on the other boy's face. He can recognize it now because Cy has told him what it means — that panic. Clearly, this holds heavy meaning to Stiles.]

[mensrea]

[The confirmation does little to calm him. So what if the resort’s parody kanji still lingers? It proves nothing. And, in the wake of his experiences with Carmilla—where his Watch conveniently refused to activate—Stiles remains convinced the seemingly omniscient House will employ whatever tactics necessary to force cooperation among guests. Unless the oni somehow make an appearance here and rebrand him with an official “onore,” he can’t deny the possibility of possession.

But these are not problems to burden Sasuke with.

With a wordless nod in acknowledgement, he goes through the motions of returning the mirror to the shoebox and sliding the container under his bed for a final time.]

I don’t have answers yet.

[That, if nothing else, is a confession he owes the other boy.]

If I figure anything out, though… I’ll let you know. [Stiles has to remind himself to look at Sasuke—to offer a wan smile.] Thanks, buddy. You’ve helped me out a ton today. Don’t be a stranger, okay?

[It’s a clear, if gentle, dismissal.]

[chokuto]

[The disengagement is acknowledged with a nod of his head, but Sasuke does not leave yet.]

Stiles. I'm not far. If you need assistance in the future, I'll be there.

[Only a room away — and suspecting who it is that had helped Stiles once before, he feels compelled to go on. If he knows Cy at all, he knows this is true for them both.]

There are people here who don't wish to see you hurt. You aren't alone in this.

[Then, rising to his feet, Sasuke is respectful to give the other boy space and privacy. He does not know him well enough to persist in his worry, or feel justified overstaying his welcome given what Stiles has just endured — so with that he will slip out, shutting the door gently behind him.]