V. Fatui Adjacent - Tumblr Posts
@windsfavored / from a thread long ago
kami is no stranger to being held prisoner. it's not a PLEASANT sensation, but it's not unfamiliar. as he stares up into the face of his former self, that stupid bastard gloating above him, kaminari wishes desperately to bite back, say anything.
it's hard to do much when his hands are bound and his mouth half gagged, thanks to a shoddy job from some fatuus pissant. HOW kami had once tolerated them is beyond him ― thankfully it's no longer his problem. WAS ― no longer his problem.
he'd been tossed against a wall rather painfully, and currently, kaminari is slumped over, legs outstretched and leaning awkwardly to the side. this angle makes it hard for him to prop himself up correctly. all he can really do is glare, and try to ignore the cramps forming in his musles.
"go f'ck y'rself," kami manages to utter through the cloth. "g've back m' vision." he isn't sure if his anger is going to be enough, but if only scaramouche would come CLOSER, kami could kick him. or at least try to knock him down.
this entire situation is infuriating. he should have known something foul would happen when he magically bumped into his former self. engaging scaramouche in a fight had, in all honesty, been a terrible mistake, looking back. (kami seems prone to make several of those, no matter what he tries.)
"now."
already, he's trying to work his wrists, attempting to free his arms from the ropes. the ropes, at least, are done better than the gag around his mouth.
there's a spark of fear coursing through kaminari's body. it probably even shows in his eyes; the way they widen ever so slightly before he's rapidly schooling his expression. NEUTRAL. he doesn't know. scaramouche hasn't acknowledged it yet. the thought of being anyone's TEST SUBJECT yet again has kami almost fleeing completely. or making an attempt to.
see, he can't fly, without his vision.
he makes another attempt at sitting up, wincing in pain, though he manages this time. how long had he been propped against that stupid wall while his former self jeered? definitely way too long. kami had forgotten what it felt like to feel so cramped from disuse. welp, it's just another brand of old memories resurfacing and making him suffer in so many ways.
"no, thank you," comes his terse reply. "give it back and i'll be on my way." it's the BEST kami can offer. he clearly can't take this asshole on in a fight in his condition. while he could fall back on that cursed electro inside him still, kami would rather die than use it. it's not HIS to use.
"you can have fun being angry at the world for all your perceived injustices, i have better things to do with my time than be subjected to your idiocy."
WHY is he deliberately provoking scaramouche? he's still trying to free his hands, and scaramouche is staying well out of kicking range. perhaps his taunts are the next best thing. entice the maniac to come closer, so kami gets an upper hand. he hopes. or at the very least, he'll piss scaramouche off enough for the harbinger to actually DO something other than 'monologue' at him.
"come closer, i dare you."
at least all this taunting and back-and-forth is keeping his mind occupied. he still doesn't much like test subject. and if scaramouche actually rubbed two brain cells together, even he would be horrified by his own choice of words, AND action. "because i can and will knock some actual sense into that pea-sized brain of yours."
he stands like a statue, a shadow — a blot of dark ink bleeding through the page. ( as if his mere presence STAINS the rest of the room with malice. ) there's something quite eerie about the smile that plays upon the balladeer's lips; mocking, though with a jarringly beatific quality to it that attests to his divine heritage. it's clear he takes great joy in his other self's misery — and perhaps it is simply because kaminari's mere existence serves as an INSULT to his own. another soul with the audacity to share his face — and to think, this shallow copy was even parading around trying to boast about his own superiority! no, no, no that simply will not do. he can't condemn kunikuzushi for embracing his birthright while relying on what shallow dregs of power that eyesore of a vision offers him. they were born to be gods — not PARASITES clinging to some divine consolation prize.
❝ intimidating. ❞ the balladeer says. it's been entertaining watching this doppelganger throw his little TANTRUM, but even that is starting to grow tiresome. ❝ you must be either an idiot or suffering from some kind of head trauma if you actually think i'm going to do that. ❞ one hand raises, electro fizzling in his open palm. a silhouette of the wanderer's vision appears — only for a moment, before the curl of kunikuzushi's thin fingers banishes it in a shower of sparks. ❝ if this was really that important to you, why was it so easy to STEAL? ❞ ah well. he supposes that only goes to show the difference in their abilities.
stepping closer, the balladeer seems to loom over him — in presence, more so than height. he takes care not to come within range of his doppelganger's reach. it isn't as if he fears what this cheap fake can do — but he would prefer not to give him the SATISFACTION of landing a blow if he can help it. ❝ to be honest, i'm actually feeling somewhat inspired. ❞ a grin, one that just so happens to flash POINTED TEETH. ❝ the doctor is repugnant even among his fellow humans ... but he does have his uses. i think i'd like to try an EXPERIMENT of my own. let's see what happens ... when a puppet loses his heart and his ambitions. ❞
fingers snap. a thin bolt of electro slices cleanly through the cloth muffling his doppelganger's voice. ❝ what do you say, TEST SUBJECT? ❞
every single thought flies out of kaminari's head the second those fingers wrap around his throat. before he can even THINK to fight back, or react, he's being slammed back against the wall. of COURSE, only someone matching own strength, that's able to render him briefly limp and semi conscious. kami's seeing spots, vision half blurred as he stares up at the silhouette of the balladeer.
kami's already struggling to shake off the impact. even with the massive headache forming, his half-lidded eyes blink slowly up at scaramouche with his mind churning and creaking, trying to catch back up to the conversation. the idiot is still rambling on about something, though now the words are slightly out of focus, almost fuzzy sounding. his ears almost miss the context, but as if through some delayed response, kami can catch the gist of the monologue; something related to being afraid.
if only he could actually fight back, now that the balladeer is well within range. it's too bad he'd taken the initiative to DAZE kami first. it's embarrassing, really. for kami to be so strong, having overcome so much in his life. and is now once again reduced to being a prisoner with no real escape. anyone else would have already been long overpowered and beaten, but he'd almost forgotten how strong he was in this embarrassing stage of life.
"i'm not scared of you," kami finally mutters, gaze drifting down to the wrist still holding him in place. "now it's the exact opposite." he's drawing up a leg, tucking it up against himself and using it to keep himself propped up. it's not a whole lot of action, but it's still SOMETHING. "you're nothing but a moron with a captive audience," kami finishes speaking, before snapping his leg out to catch kunikuzushi in the stomach. the kick is probably weaker than normal, since his stupid body is still struggling to snap out of its temporary daze.
not MUCH is expected from this ― it's not like kami is concerned over being choked. neither of them have the lungs or air to worry about that. what kami IS worried about is the balladeer slamming him again, succeeding in actually knocking him unconscious. there's no way kami can withstand another blow against the wall, so the sooner he gets himself free, the better.
already, he's drawing up his leg again to prepare for a second kick. second time's the charm.
give it back? kunikuzushi blinks in surprise — are his ears MALFUNCTIONING? he simply cannot believe what he's hearing. yet the initial shock is soon followed by ( incredulous ) laughter. gentle, like the chiming of tiny bells — a sound that would be considered BEAUTIFUL under different circumstances, yet feels downright jarring here when contrasted against the obvious cruelty in his eyes. ❝ why should i? ❞ the balladeer asks, arms spread and palms raised upwards. ❝ aren't you the one who STARTED this fight? ❞ provoking him — such arrogance! ❝ for all that you pretend to know about me ... are you so naive as to think i would let you go merely because you asked? ❞ perhaps he did hit his head after all. kunikuzushi hasn't exactly been paying much attention to how this pathetic doppelganger was tossed around. surely he can't actually believe the sixth would be at all inclined to show him MERCY — oil and water would be more liable to mix!
❝ this isn't an ideological battle. i couldn't care less about whatever lies you feed yourself to find peace in such an inferior existence. ❞ and he isn't particularly inclined to listen, either. kunikuzushi was destined for greatness, for divinity — and unlike this FAKE, he has endured far too much to simply GIVE UP now. ❝ ... i just want to see you suffer. ❞
without warning, the harbinger disappears in a burst of electricity bright enough to SEAR the eyes. cold fingers curl around kaminari's throat — he pulls up his doppelganger as if he weighs nothing at all, cruelly slamming him against the wall. he's changed his mind; kunikuzushi really doesn't care whether this gives him the opportunity for a counterattack — because they both know his anemo-wielding counterpart won't dare go anywhere without his PRECIOUS VISION. ( and any pain he can inflict upon the sixth is utterly inconsequential. ) ❝ cling to that false bravado as much as you like. ❞ the balladeer says, voice dropping to little more than a whisper. at such a close proximity, the glow from his eyes appears almost eerie — as if they are glassy and doll-like, backlit by a purple-hued light. unnatural, inhuman and godly. it casts strange shadows across his too-perfect features, only serving to accentuate the sadistic, controlled mania that characterizes every word out of the sixth's mouth. ❝ the truth is ... you're TERRIFIED, aren't you? ❞ oh, kunikuzushi did not miss that look for the split-second it lit up his face. on the contrary, he RELISHES it.
❝ surrendering to something as weak as fear ... just like a common animal. how very human of you. ❞
if kami was afraid before, he's afraid now. the balladeer can ride on whatever delusional high he wants to, concerning power. he can even MOCK kaminari about taking away a strong source of kami's power. but at the end of the day, they are both well aware of the torment, the torture, of that isolation.
neither of them do well inside four walls for extended periods of time, after all.
he's not about to resort to begging. not that he can, of course, because that TOSS, has kami briefly losing consciousness. only for a few seconds, but when he comes back around, the balladeer is at least still talking, so kami isn't completely alone yet.
the gag around his mouth might be gone, but kami's hands are still bound. only this time instead of being slumped against a wall, kami's laying face down, with his arms awkwardly shifted to the side. THIS time, kaminari is too dazed and disoriented to try to free his binds. it's unlikely that scaramouche is going to come free him, either.
"you're making a mistake," kami growls. warns. he KNOWS that somehow, this is all going to come back and bite the balladeer in his stupid ass. kami knows he was pathetic back then, but to be THIS cold blooded, to inflict the very same trauma on himself? it's laughable.
not laughable; the wanderer is terrified. already, he's struggling to roll over, trying not to damage his already damaged body even further. he's not sure how much he'll heal; he needs someone to repair him. nahida would, if she knew WHERE he is. or cyno, or tighnari... or someone.
"don't you dare leave, you know what that does to us." his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth now. words are hard, and his vision is threatening to tunnel and darken again. even now, his gaze is LOCKED onto the stolen vision, and his mind is solely focused on how useless he feels without it.
he won't beg for freedom, but he can still curse the balladeer.
"you've become exactly like him," kami snarls. "i know you'll see it in time, how far fucking GONE you are. to inflict this much conflict on one of your own? might as well just call you another segment."
he's not sure if scaramouche is ignoring him at this point. and even worse, kami is CERTAIN that the balladeer is going to make good on his promise, and actually leave kaminari in nothing but complete.
ISOLATION.
the kick SLAMS mercilessly into his midsection, yet the balladeer doesn't seem to budge so much as an inch. he merely offers a blink — smile widening just the slightest amount as if to MOCK the futility of his doppelganger's struggles. did he really think such a pathetic attack would be enough to shake him? the doctor's experiments were infinitely more agonizing by comparison on even his most charitable days; kunikuzushi registers the pain no more than he would a buzzing gnat. ❝ deny it as much as you like. you're only lying to save face. ❞ his voice is eerily calm — almost conversational, as if this entire exchange is little more than a simple chat between acquaintances. the balladeer's eyes shine with just as much malice as ever, yet it grows sharper with every subsequent second. ❝ you're completely helpless here, and you know it ... you put on this defiant facade because you're desperate to take back even the ILLUSION of power. ❞ head tilts; his hat chimes, soft and melodic. ❝ but in the end, it's nothing more than that. an illusion — fleeting and insubstantial. the truth is, no one is coming to SAVE YOU ... and you're too WEAK to save yourself. ❞
for a moment, he meets kaminari's eyes. he doubts the other will agree with him so easily — and that's fine. ( the balladeer expects that, too. ) he simply wants to see what kind of expression he makes when the FUTILITY of his actions washes over him.
in any case, it was entertaining allowing him to struggle a bit — but kaminari hasn't earned the right to steal another free blow. kunikuzushi's grip tightens around his throat, tight enough that he's sure even his dull nails will leave a mark. ( for however long those last. ) in one swift action, he spins — hurling his doppelganger against the opposite wall hard enough to leave CRACKS from the impact. ❝ if you wanted me to leave you alone, all you had to do was ask. ❞ the harbinger dusts himself off, as if touching the other somehow DIRTIED him. ❝ i think some time in solitary confinement will do you good. it's not like you need to EAT ANYTHING, right? ... which means i can seal you up here for as long as i like without tending to those pesky necessities. ❞
he wonders if it feels familiar. surely even this pathetic copy is capable of recalling their FIRST of many betrayals. ( lonely. abandoned. time ceasing to lose all meaning. ) turning away, kunikuzushi moves to the door. he has every intention of making good on his THREAT; if talking is the only weapon kaminari has left, why not take even that away from him? the sixth has always wondered if it would even be possible to drive himself to MADNESS.
it's not just silence that kami's left in (though his ears are RINGING), it's also darkness. if he squints, he can still make out the faint light coming from the other side of the door.
he can barely move, but at least, finally, the ropes around his wrists snaps, letting his arms flop limply to either side of his body. he stares, and stares, AND STARES, before he finally gives into the panic and rage and terror.
SCREAMING.
-
screaming.
-
wandering around this small room is doing nothing. he can barely conjure up the strength to break walls down. he can barely remember where he is. throat is torn and broken from his rage-fueled screams, and no one had even come to his rescue. the balladeer had probably deliberately ignored him, too. not that kaminari can even BLAME him ― he'd ignore a temper tantrum too if he were in the harbinger's shoes.
( HE HAS BEEN IN HIS SHOES. KAMINARI VIVIDLY REMEMBERS WHAT IT WAS LIKE TO BE THAT CALLOUS. )
after what feels like hours of trying to find a way out, or even to break the door down with no luck, kami slumps back against the far wall, doing nothing but going back to staring. he's trying NOT to let his mind drift to darker times, but the isolation is already settling in. claustraphobia. waking nightmares. FEAR.
-
he doesn't remember crying. tears are sliding down his cheeks, and he can vaguely sense himself reaching up to brush a tear away. are his thoughts getting to him that badly? he hasn't shouted or screamed in hours. or was it days? time has no meaning anymore. it feels like forever since that puppet (puppet? enemy?) had trapped him in here. even now, his thoughts are too jumbled, too DARK for him to fully grasp; all he knows is that he's crying, and apparently has been for some time.
-
the darkness stretches out before him, tendrils of shadows etching out into forever. his mind ALMOST conjures up an image of irminsul. if he squints and stares hard enough into the shadows, he can make out the silhouette of the tree in the distance. it holds significance to him. he wants to CLING to that significance with everything he is. but that, like everything else he'd held dear, is slipping through his fingertips like grains of sand. why sand? come to think of it, why had he come here in the first place? what was he even looking for?
what is irminsul to him?
-
this is all he was created for. a nameless puppet, not good enough for the archon. mother. she had cast him aside, deeming him useless. and even now, he's crying. awake? asleep? it doesn't matter. he's lost in the darkness, no one and nothing to comfort him in this silence. his creator, his MOTHER, had left him alone. drawing his legs up, he wraps his arms around himself for a self hug. it's all he's ever going to get, right? maybe someday, someone will come to rescue him and give him a purpose again, but it's unlikely. the nameless puppet never had a purpose to begin with. there's nothing to do, no one to come, so he settles back, and stares into nothing.
it isn't quite begging, yet it feels close enough to be gratifying nonetheless. and the balladeer does freeze — silhouette engulfed by looming presence of the door, one hand reached out partway to open it. ❝ i know exactly what it does to us. ❞ the isolation. the dissolution of consciousness. it's funny — there was once a point wherein he desired to return to that state of absolute EMPTINESS. when the sting of this world's injustices against him grew too great, when he could no longer bear to go another step. yet the then-nameless puppet found it impossible to go back; his consciousness was like a blazing wildfire, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not smother the flames. much like how a piece of charcoal could never return to being a tree. really, isn't he doing kaminari a favor? his doppelganger might not see it that way — though kunikuzushi thinks logic and reasoning doesn't seem to be his strong suit. ( he picked a fight with the likes of him, after all. )
the snarling does manage to give him pause, however. ❝ become exactly like him? ❞ he echoes the words in a soft, breezy tone — as if taking the time to mull them over carefully. the sixth's head swivels, just enough to flash a single eye. it glows faintly in the dim light, a shade of radiant purple like a poison. ❝ you're wrong ... i'm not like him — i'm BETTER than him. ❞ a sharp laugh punctuates the words. he turns around completely, but takes care to lean casually against the door — a constant reminder of his ability to leave at any moment. ( contrasted harshly against his doppelganger's inability to. ) ❝ what is a god by its most basic definition? ❞ kunikuzushi asks. he doesn't expect an answer, nor does he wait long enough for kaminari to give him one. ❝ i've always thought it to be ... a being with the ability to shape this world to their liking — whose might is so great, they alone have the power to decide what is right and what is wrong. ❞
his stare feels unusually heavy, as if he means to pin his doppelganger beneath its weight. ❝ going by that logic ... doesn't that make me YOUR GOD in this situation? ❞ if the parallels weren't glaring enough before, they're absolutely SHAMELESS now. the balladeer knows precisely what he's doing — for who better to dig into one's deepest wounds than THEMSELF? ❝ it's ironic, isn't it? once again, you have proven yourself insubstantial in the eyes of a deity. a failure. a mistake. ❞
the door creaks ominously, light spilling into the room. it outlines the harbinger in an inhuman glow — kasa still casting his features in dark shadow. all save for his eyes. ❝ don't worry. unlike her, i won't leave you here to rot for ETERNITY. ❞
a smile. ( too perfect, too gentle under such grisly circumstances. ) then, ❝ so long, sucker. ❞ the door SLAMS, leaving kaminari in complete silence. perhaps a few days of that will improve his mood.
there's no awareness at first, the puppet too lost in an endless darkness. perhaps even slumbering, just as the creator had forced upon him. it takes several seconds for any life to register behind those unseeing eyes, but ― a slow blink, followed by a couple more rapid blinks. the gaze slowly shifts over to scaramouche.
the puppet doesn't recognize him. should he? there's something so striking about the stranger's appearance.
( HE LOOKS LIKE THE CREATOR. )
perhaps that's why the puppet is now looking upon this new stranger with something akin to hope. he's too new to recognize evil. yet, his whole body feels old and stiff, like he's already suffered from something. the old feels like many, many centuries of discomfort and use, but that's...impossible. it HAS to be. as far as he's aware, he's been here ever since the creator placed him here. he's done nothing to earn this kind of wear and tear. the puppet is chalking it up to a single, idle thought that makes no sense in his brain. he quickly pushes it away in favor of gazing upon his newfound rescuer. "are you here to free me?"
his voice, while a few days ago had been full of malice and hatred, is now so meek and innocent sounding. "i've been in here for so long, i didn't think i'd ever be found." even with the fresh wave of hoping crossing his features, the puppet makes no move to get to his feet. some innate part of him knows how to walk. it would most likely come as easy as speaking currently is, but there's also some fear pushing at him, warning him to stay put. just like that idle thought about how old he feels, he's not sure why he fears this stranger. it's not worth dwelling on for long.
as much as he wants to continue gazing in awe up at the stranger, the puppet gazes around him to stare at the light. it's BLINDING, and almost hurts his eyes, but to him now, it's almost as if he's seeing light for the first time. eyes widen and stare, mesmerized, at the light. it's so bright and beautiful, and yet, again, he feels like there's something horrifically familiar about it. something wrong with being amazed by it.
EVERYTHING FEELS WRONG.
he's too distracted now to disregard all these weird thoughts that keep popping up. they're all useless and mean nothing. what is important is that light from the doorway. the puppet wants to leave this room and see more of it. it's amazing to even imagine an outside world beyond these walls, but it's right there, within his grasp.
with an outstretched hand, he even tries to GRAB the light. it's intangible, and disappointment marks his features now as he stares down at his hands. he's confused all over again. along with the faint light over his fingers, there are things there that haven't been there before. or that he hadn't noticed before.
black painted fingernails. rings on his fingers; strange adornments of metal that mean little to him. perhaps some ceremonial attributes from his creator? he frowns before taking note of what he's even wearing. the light allows him to make note of the loose white and blue cloth draped over his body. once more, he's wondering if it all holds some ceremonial significance he isn't aware about. nothing here makes sense, and he almost doesn't even WANT to know anymore. "mister, where are we?" he looks back up at the stranger. his rescuer. savior? "...and why am i here?"
he leaves him. abandons him — much like THEIR CREATOR before him. locked away in a place where the flow of time itself is rendered utterly incomprehensible, torture masquerading beneath a veneer of condescending kindness. the balladeer fashions it another stepping stone on his path to true DIVINITY; replicating her actions brings him ever-closer to becoming a real god, or so he tells himself. honestly, there is something ever so cathartic about leaving his WEAKER SELF to suffer. his fate is controlled by kunikuzushi's whims.
there is screaming. he can hear it occasionally — it bleeds through the thick door, muffled sounds of abject agony. his underlings scurry by like the frightened ants they are, expressions twisted with discomfort even beneath their masks. that, too, is something kunikuzushi finds cathartic. he offers them no EXPLANATION, and the majority know better than to ask — the balladeer has earned his reputation for cruelty and made his disdain for questions quite clear. ( they won't risk provoking him. they won't even risk meeting his eyes. ) soon the screaming fades and the room goes eerily silent. were the soul inside capable of perishing, kunikuzushi would assume he simply DROPPED DEAD like all flimsy mortal creatures do. yet he knows better, and so he doesn't bother breaking kaminari's solitary confinement to check. there's plenty of work to be done in the meanwhile, after all. getting these idiots to do anything useful often feels as tedious as HERDING CATS — and there is always the tiresome task of paperwork that never quite seems to end.
a few days pass, as promised. such a mundane amount of time, utterly inconsequential in the grand scheme of it all... though he can only imagine what an eternity it must be from the wanderer's perspective.
the door opens with a grating, metallic creak — as if it's reluctant to move. the balladeer's footsteps are soft yet sharp; he strides across the room with clear purpose, gaze sweeping to and fro as he observes the damage. it's pathetic, really; the only notable progress kaminari actually made was removing his bonds. is he incapable of drawing from that innate pool of electro within him or has his PRIDE simply rendered him too reluctant — even for the sake of saving his own skin? ultimately, kunikuzushi supposes it doesn't really matter. heedless of the reason, if he had any intention of doing so, he would have ages ago.
the harbinger sinks to a crouch before him. snapping fingers — trying to rouse the puppet from whatever STUPOR he's fallen into. interesting, interesting. were this an ACTUAL experiment, kunikuzushi thinks now would be the perfect opportunity to take notes. he looks empty — more object than living thing. is this really all it takes to break the unbreakable? ❝ hello. anybody home? ❞ a gentle smile plays upon the balladeer's lips. he looks so innocent, malevolent intentions smothered beneath such a delicate countenance. under different circumstances, one might look upon the scene and misconstrue him for the puppet's savior. ( when in truth, he is more accurately called his damnation. ) ❝ how are you feeling? ❞
there's a dormant part of the puppet that is practically SCREAMING not to trust this stranger. that part is ignored and shoved down into some mental abyss, along with the rest of those pesky thoughts that make no sense. this stranger is the first person he'd even seen in what feels like forever. why SHOULDN'T he extend some level of trust? the stranger's voice is gentle and soothing, and it leads to the puppet wanting nothing more than to stay with this stranger forever, just to keep a tight hold of this new feeling of safety.
"dreaming?" his voice echoes. he doesn't remember sleeping, though maybe he has been. the darkness had stretched on and on, leaving him with all these dark thoughts that had only spiraled, leaving him feeling empty and too alone. the puppet wonders if that's what those strange thoughts are; remnants of dreams and nightmares. in the pitch black, it's hard to differentiate between awake and asleep; thoughts can become dreams can become nightmares. "maybe i was dreaming."
when the hand is outstretched, the puppet takes it slowly. not even his own creator had made him feel this at ease before. it's a poignant moment he wants to savor, and it doesn't matter where he's going to be taken to. no doubt it's going to be out of here, but the puppet can't help but wonder if they're going to see more of the world beyond. the small fraction of light he'd seen so far is almost majestic, but SURELY there's more to see and admire.
"you'll help me?" even with many, many questions at the tip of his tongue, this is the only question he allows to leave his lips. the puppet knows he'll have more to ask, and the questions will inadvertantly slip out without his thinking. for now, he wants to focus on the promise of help. he uses that hand to lift himself to his feet, not letting go even when he finds stability. he does remember walking, but the disuse has him feeling unsteady. strangely more sturdy than he would have anticipated. "how?"
the puppet refuses to let go of his doppleganger's hand. it's some sort of comfort, a tangible feeling he's been deprived of for way too long. the hand is warm, and even if this stranger. his savior ― looks displeased in general, he's still providing the puppet with something positive.
"by the way, thank you," he says. he's GRATEFUL. why shouldn't he be? he may not know anything about himself, or why he's adorned the way he is. or even why he was in the darkness in the first place. but he's free now. there's no reason to hold any fear or doubt anymore, not with people around. the puppet squeezes the hand a little tighter, trying to express with more than just words how glad he is.
"what do i call you?" he asks. "do you have a name?" he doesn't have a name. all he remembers is that he'd been created, then discarded before any such name could be given. perhaps names aren't even important in the first place, but to the puppet, it'd be nice to have a little piece of identity he could latch onto. "i don't have one either, i think. my creator never gave me one." only now, does he finally let go of the hand, feeling like he'd said everything with that gesture he could say.
he looks at him with such INNOCENCE — those eyes wide and pure and enamored with the mere act of existence in the way only a complete BLANK SLATE could ever hope to be. it feels as if he's staring into a mirror. not the uninspired insult that kaminari once served to be — but an echo of the past. a puppet, mind clear of all comprehension. utterly ignorant to the world beyond his beatific prison — abandoned by a god masking her carelessness beneath decrees of mercy. kunikuzushi knows he was like this once. revulsion clogs his throat like glue at the mere thought. yet it is one thing to recall that innocent echo through something as insubstantial as memory — it's another matter entirely to stare at him directly in the eerily similar face.
EVERYTHING FEELS WRONG. it does, it does. he wasn't sure what results his little so-called experiment would produce — truly, the balladeer's only goal had been to cause suffering. like a dog gnawing a bone, a cat batting some helpless rodent between its paws. it was a source of simple amusement. a way to banish the ennui all too often produced as a natural counterpart of eternity. he couldn't simply kill the wanderer, and handing him over to the doctor wasn't to his benefit — not when he needed to ensure that man continued working ceaselessly on his end of their BARGAIN. ( not to mention having another puppet around decreased his own value. ) letting him go hadn't seemed like a viable option, either. he was practically helpless without his vision, too prideful to weaponize that divinely granted well of power that was their BIRTHRIGHT — so why shouldn't kunikuzushi assert himself as the arbiter of such a worthless creature's fate? now that he's been reduced to a blank slate, the thing that once called himself kaminari looks upon him as if he's every bit the god he claimed to be.
... and the balladeer hates it. why does he hate it? this should be a moment of triumph, yet the only thing that comes to mind is a SUFFOCATING sense of self-disgust. towards which of them, he can't possibly discern.
he swallows back those worthless ( flawed ) feelings. no matter; ruminating on something so POINTLESS is a waste of his time — he's always known emotions aren't bound to rationality and common sense. it's why embracing them leaves him weak. ❝ i found you and brought you here. ❞ kunikuzushi tells him — which technically isn't a lie. ( he certainly did, for better and for worse. ) ❝ it seems like you've been DREAMING for a very long time, but ... you don't really get out much, do you? ❞ head cants; the harbinger looks him up and down. he may not be useful in a fight like this, but there's a chance he can still find some PURPOSE for him. he'll have to conceal his face, of course — their resemblance will have the chattering insects asking far too many questions. perhaps a secretarial role; something quiet and unassuming and relatively out of the way. although ... does he still remember how to read and write? if he truly has been reduced to their most basic form, kunikuzushi can only assume he'll need to teach him. that's troublesome. this is all ... so troublesome.
the balladeer stands. regardless, there's not much sense in loitering around this boring room; it's already served its purpose. ❝ come with me. ❞ he says, offering his doppelganger a hand. ❝ i'm going to help you. ❞ he will. in a sense.
