[ Souji knows he's there, but as always he makes no acknowledgment of such, ignoring him in favor of the silence.
or, no, that's what he'd like the situation to be, but the truth is that while he's aware Hijikata is there, he's too preoccupied and drowning in his own current of thoughts and feelings stewing over everything. he's confused more than anything, though, because what set him off wasn't having to kill Yamazaki ( although that had not been when he wanted to do, and he'd been unhappy to it was the cards dealt had to be ) so much as Yamazaki's death overall. he hadn't been at Toba-Fushimi, but something still twisted and snap inside anyway.
because it wasn't Toba-Fushimi initiating the flood of paranoia and anxiety, the fear and the hate and every other negative unstable and uncertain emotion that picks away at those who are not one-hundred percent perfect; it was that place.
that one place he can't remember even if he wanted to ( and he knows he doesn't want to, the dread of that subconsciously very real in its cold and heavy existence ); the same one that still nevertheless somehow stalks him everywhere, nagging and clawing at him and trying to get his attention and wanting him to stop everything to turn and face what he knows deep down he's trying to run as far away as he can from.
it's easier out here to think where there aren't any other travelers—but his thoughts are getting him nowhere other than sinking him deeper into a hopeless pit of certainty that he can't figure this out—will never figure this out—and is doomed to be consumed by it when it finally comes without warning.
Souji sniffs, the sudden echo shattering through him while all that's around him is absolute silence, but the action causes his senses to pick up the dried blood he's still splattered in. after Yamazaki, he doesn't know who or how many other faceless individuals he killed that got in his way, but he's sure there were some. he still doesn't care, either, other than for the fact that suddenly the scent of their blood is annoyingly potent all over again. he wrinkles his nose in distaste, forced to pull his arm away now to avoid having the smell irritate it further, opening his eyes a little to take a look at the sky.
he should say something, maybe, by now. it's just, in one of those rare ( or not so rare because it's always the same just almost never are the circumstance ripe for it to occur ) moments, Souji finds himself unable to address the other man. right now, he's equally incapable of saying something pointless and inappropriate as much as he is incapable of providing the explanation he knows he doesn't owe but feels like he should have, anyway.
and feeling like he owes Hijikata anything of the sort? what better thing could he hope for when it comes to something that pisses him off than that? ]
no subject
or, no, that's what he'd like the situation to be, but the truth is that while he's aware Hijikata is there, he's too preoccupied and drowning in his own current of thoughts and feelings stewing over everything. he's confused more than anything, though, because what set him off wasn't having to kill Yamazaki ( although that had not been when he wanted to do, and he'd been unhappy to it was the cards dealt had to be ) so much as Yamazaki's death overall. he hadn't been at Toba-Fushimi, but something still twisted and snap inside anyway.
because it wasn't Toba-Fushimi initiating the flood of paranoia and anxiety, the fear and the hate and every other negative unstable and uncertain emotion that picks away at those who are not one-hundred percent perfect; it was that place.
that one place he can't remember even if he wanted to ( and he knows he doesn't want to, the dread of that subconsciously very real in its cold and heavy existence ); the same one that still nevertheless somehow stalks him everywhere, nagging and clawing at him and trying to get his attention and wanting him to stop everything to turn and face what he knows deep down he's trying to run as far away as he can from.
it's easier out here to think where there aren't any other travelers—but his thoughts are getting him nowhere other than sinking him deeper into a hopeless pit of certainty that he can't figure this out—will never figure this out—and is doomed to be consumed by it when it finally comes without warning.
Souji sniffs, the sudden echo shattering through him while all that's around him is absolute silence, but the action causes his senses to pick up the dried blood he's still splattered in. after Yamazaki, he doesn't know who or how many other faceless individuals he killed that got in his way, but he's sure there were some. he still doesn't care, either, other than for the fact that suddenly the scent of their blood is annoyingly potent all over again. he wrinkles his nose in distaste, forced to pull his arm away now to avoid having the smell irritate it further, opening his eyes a little to take a look at the sky.
he should say something, maybe, by now. it's just, in one of those rare ( or not so rare because it's always the same just almost never are the circumstance ripe for it to occur ) moments, Souji finds himself unable to address the other man. right now, he's equally incapable of saying something pointless and inappropriate as much as he is incapable of providing the explanation he knows he doesn't owe but feels like he should have, anyway.
and feeling like he owes Hijikata anything of the sort? what better thing could he hope for when it comes to something that pisses him off than that? ]