dear_mun | (no subject)

Ever heard the story about how somethin' goes feral?

Take a good dog. Something supposedly precious. Something that thinks it's loved. Now watch his beloved companion, the one carrying the leash, tie him up. Good and tight. Then walk away.

That obedient, loyal, adoring- stupid creature. Heh.
...You know, they only do two things.

[Holds up one finger, first.]

The first; He'll sit. Stay. Wait. Forever.
Fuckin' lay down in that same damned spot the owner of his heart was last.
Willingly. The stupid thing wastes away. Starves. Dies. Eyes still locked open. Like it's lookin', longing, for someone who left 'em there, alone.

The second choice?

[A dark, low chuckle.]

All that...love it had. Has to go somewhere, you know? Has ta' spoil and sour. Get real bitter. Even for a good little mutt who's only known, wanted, the touch of one soft hand. Sometimes it's too much. Maybe a little madness sets in. Comes with choking back all the memories. Swallowing every good word that's gone to waste.

And a mad dog? With the rotten, bitter slop that was his unconditional little heart? He'll strangle himself on his leash until he breaks. Or it does.

Too bad that even if he's free- nothing feral's good. Not for anybody, anymore. He's broken. Ruined, really. Bites the hand that would feed. Anyone who gets near. Even itself. After all...

Hate. Real, ugly, brutal hate. It's the only thing a broken dog has left, now that hope's dead and buried.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

You break your dog of his madness, or you break your hand putting him down.

These are the master's options. The master's duties.

Duty, huh?

[A grimace. Wasn't it always that exact thing, sterile and so very heartless, which neatly bound them together?]

Good to know the dog gets to leave one last reminder of himself, even if he's snuffed out. Broken bones take time to heal, after all.

Time, attendance, fortuity. Yes. Failure brings its own price.

Could be it costs only a broken fist.
But have you tried, before? Laying a mongrel low- like that?

Might be that it takes more.

[Klaus looms nearer, piercing the bubble of Taki's personal space in order to pin him with a raking look.]

I wonder just what you'd really shatter, Taki Reizen, should that oath of yours end up fulfilled.

[The whole arm? Shoulder? Or Taki's unflinching, even forever elusive, heart and soul?]

[ He keeps his ground steady, sweeping Klaus over with a cool glance. ]

You're quick to surrender me to theoretical indignity. Don't take so much open joy in the thought.

Then I'll just tuck all those rapturous thoughts on your broken pride away. Keep it nice and private.

[Mouth twists unevenly; lopsided in it's smirk. Cocky. It feigns satisfaction beautifully.]

...Something to really enjoy in my own solitude.

[ There's a frown, but he tempers it. He is being, he realizes too late, baited. ]

You're master and commander of your own mind, Klaus. That much, I'll allow you.

Ha. Half expected you to protest just what fodder I might use to occupy the long hours. And here I was ready to offer that you watch. ...Instruct me, like a good master might do.

Give orders, step by step, just where the mind is allowed to tread before hands follow.

[A measured look, one that catches Taki's eyes; holds them. The bait never leaves, and he sure as hell isn't finished fishing for a reaction. Even if honesty sometimes spills forth.]

It's never half as good as the real thing though.

[A broken, sobbing, half relenting vision of the man in front of him? It's a sorry excuse for getting to catch hold of the flesh itself; to cause it to happen. To break Taki with his own hands.]

You... you presume. Orders? Instructions? You dishonor me. You dishonor yourself. I don't intend to permit it.

[ He swallows thickly. ]

I'll have your apology. I demand it. And you will... you will give it. You will give it now.