dear_mun | Canon: Maiden Rose

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canon: maiden rose

Canon: Maiden Rose

It always seems as though there are infinitely more choices when one is starting out, in comparison to as when things draw to a close. But when the end of everything comes- whether you struggle or resign yourself; unfortunately it is still very much 'The End'.

A person does wonder how differently things might have turned out, had the decisions been unlike those which paved this journey. Or if it was always fated or designed from the start to collapse in upon itself as it has.

Regardless.

....I'm done, aren't I?

Soldiers willingly race to the very Ends of the Earth to fight for the cause they are striving for. But once everything they sought to defend and hold dear no longer exists...

Shouldn't they be cut free?

Or are they condemned to occupy the ruins and forever chase after ghosts?

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[ He falls into the theatrics easily, leaning in turn as if discussing minor bribery with border patrol officers. ]

Bought a few stamps sheets off a town last month. Got some rare ones, good for a nice collection. What do you say?

Ah. Sorry.

[He isn't. Not really. Taki's more surprised than anything else by such a deceptively forthcoming statement, and one with an exceedingly benign nature to boot. It throws him for a loop and, in the moment, temporarily leaves him to forget that this was a subtle in-joke between them.

There's a flicker of something very near to confusion as it works from the fold between brows and the set of his mouth. He's a bit too honest for this much acting.]

I don't collect stamps.

[ Philately is a taste most noble children acquire up with ease... but it's somehow unsurprising that someone of Taki's station wouldn't have had the time. Inclination. Damn. ]

I'll give you my set, if I ever get my hands back on it. [ Empty promises. As if he'll ever make it home again. ] You can have everything.

[ But the thing about proximity and a somewhat relaxed Taki who has the indecency to look so innocent is -

Klaus really can't help covering the small distance and trying to steal his kiss. ]

[He simply doesn't have the heart to refuse Klaus' oath to bestow a gift which surely took years to compile. Even if stamps themselves were not entirely considered treasures or even fascinating slivers time-lining locations and the histories they hold- this information might be.

Taki is almost lost within the surreal picture he has of a man like Klaus delicately handling tiny slivers of paper. Klaus; an imposing figure of chiseled flesh and bone, who seemed almost forged from the mold of a warrior, his form juxtaposed against the shrinking shape of a small wooden desk not fit for his size. And on it would be the littering of stamps salvaged, booked and roved over with eyes; time and time again.

So caught up in the image Taki creates from just this knowledge- he nearly misses the next moment. The movement which encompasses all of it. Klaus takes on that tell-tale lean; eternal and almost reflexive in the way the body tilts and shifts in just the precise way so that it may align features with someone else. Taki knows it all too well.

Klaus has pulled him into this sort of exchange more than once. Enough times to be ready, no matter his inital instant of surprise. Yet for how sudden it comes on and the second-long pause his heart decides to take upon realization of it all- Taki's reaction could not be more composed. Or gentle.

It's just the scantest cant of his head; but that slow and careful turn to skew their features- eyes, lips, everything in between; it's enough. Millimeters of space are ample enough room to throw off an alignment which cannot become more than simply forward propulsion and a sudden stop.

Even if Taki's eyes are shut, his cheek is all which Klaus encounters. But not with cruelty, nor malice. The way he remains so very still, even in the sudden halt of breathing, admits what his silence does not. I can't. ]

[ From this distance, a twist of Klaus' hand could break a man's jaw. There's a sadistic comfort in how so much defiance could reap permanent retribution. In how harming Taki right back is a possibility, if never a probability.

He dotes instead on the offered cheek, excessively reverent - as if it were his aim all along. Light kisses trail over the line of Taki's unscathed jaw, until lips close against the ear, whisper. ]

I said I wouldn't do anything.

[ But even this scant caress still exists as one which is infinitely taboo; undeniable no matter who might try to mince their moments or levels of intimacy into categories from extreme to subdued. It's not the touch Klaus intended, Taki knows that much, but remains just as obscene. Tawdry. Somehow harboring Klaus' skin on his, without throwing true distance between them, feels like a betrayal. One against his men, those who thought they knew him so well, and to himself.

Only Klaus could do this. Turn Taki's hope for salvaging the light moment between, and what should have been the most carefully designed method of dissuasion, into a language between lovers which Taki refuses to acknowledge. One he cannot accept.

Uncertain of how many times the words falls between them, for the longest moment he's only aware of two littering the quiet space left for his reply. 'Please' and 'Don't.' That's the sum total he can muster; because this, all of it, wrenches his heart in two directions. Accepting both choices would destroy him; so a choice has to be made. ]

...But you are.

[ Quietly. ]

And you must stop.

[ Klaus' laughter comes away bitter. ]

It must be nice. Must all this be damned nice for the master.

[ For you. He pulls away, glance lowered. Easier to be honest with stones on the ground, easier to strike against them. ]

But I've seen good dogs ruined like this. You get one tied, wave a bone with some meat in front of'im, pull it away... until one day he breaks the chain, Taki, or he writhes til he chokes himself.

[ His tongue clicks against a parting show of insolence. ]

...sir.

Far from it.

[ Nice. Of all the absurd accusations; this was probably the farthest stretch. This is a fight, a constant battle. It doesn't matter if he's truly struggling under Klaus' bare hands or if in the next round Taki is staring down the side of himself no one sees; a man who needs to be held, loved, treated as a person not an idol. It's never, not once, a joy. Truth be told- was there ever a moment that this path wasn't a glorified personal hell? Desired as much as it's hated between the proximity and the torture. Klaus'. His.

It never really makes a difference who delivers the next blow; or if it comes in words or bruises. It always, always hurts. ]

Everything necessary is given.

[ He tells himself that Klaus has all that he can give, gaze still focused on a point off and to the side of where Klaus looms. ]

I never mean to bait you.

You did. You do. It's your... leverage. If you didn't know there's something I want, you wouldn't know I'd follow.

[ In his pocket, something thick. Hard. Cold. His hand warms it - his lighter - nails scrape the lid. ]

You're not sorry you bait me, don't bloody dare excuse it in your pretty head like that, sir. Don't even think about it. You're sorry you get caught.

[ His play with the metal box pauses. He looks up, eyes steel. ]

Give me my cigarettes.

Are you honestly mad enough to think I contrive to scheme things of this nature? That all of this- is a ploy of mine?

[ Klaus doesn't have to lay a hand on Taki; this blow strikes harder than anything his hands can do. The admittance, all that hate and spite, shows how foreign the inner workings of his heart truly are to Klaus. ]

Is that what you really think?

[ ...Of me. Taki drops those unnecessary, ugly little words which declare just how much of their relationship has worked itself far below the skin. It's in his blood now. His bones.

The brutality of Klaus' resentment is so strong Taki might as well breathe it in; choke on it. Maybe he does. Enough that it clouds his thoughts, squeezes into lungs and puts a little fire into every word. Tit for tat. Hatred for hatred. If that's what Klaus wishes to bestow upon him, well then- Taki can give that right back. ]

Tch. They belong to me now.

I think I lo -

[ He thinks he's said enough, done enough, endured enough, let go of enough. He thinks this has taken a turn for the worse through sheer virtue of there being no better for the likes of them. He thinks he wants an apology between him, though he can't well tell whether his or Taki's.

There is far too much thinking to do. ]

I think you should give me my cigarettes before I get up for them.

[ Klaus is sorely mistaken if he thinks a threat of words will get Taki to bend to his will. No matter that Taki understands how much he's allowed the other man to give. To him the act of returning those little sticks of tar and tobacco would never make amends for that. Giving those over to placate Klaus' temporary need for something to fixate on; it doesn't do any of them justice.

Alcohol. Women. Drugs. Cigarettes. Taki.

It's all the same slow and steady self-destruction. That may very well be the case. But at least one of those things he has control over. One of them, he knows, won't drown Klaus' liver or slit his throat while the man sleeps or leave lungs burnt and hollow.

If Klaus can slake the craving for poison in his veins by breaking those under Taki's skin, painting him with bruises; well, it's not the worst compromise. He may not kneel, nor accept a hit without retaliation- but he can take it. As long as Taki can keep the leash loose enough, endure the bites Klaus takes out of him, and simply keep them both alive- it's the most he can ask for. ]

When will you learn that I don't take orders from you?

[ There are occasions when Taki acts his age, when obstinacy wins over wit and reason - and this. This is one of them. On any other day, Klaus might find the reminder... nostalgic. Cute.

Today, he's getting up instead. Slowly. Surely. There. He stretches for a moment, bone blade still affording a slight crack when he loosens his shoulder. Time will care for that.

He ruffles his hair, then takes his time to walk Taki's way in measured steps - ]

When will you learn that your authority has limits?

[ - until his stronger arm reaches out abruptly, intent to cast aside Taki's lapel and fish for the fabled inner pocket. ]

[ Funny how Taki had expected more; something grander in the way this dispute would end. With violence, raised voices, anything beyond such a weary response. Not the way Klaus moves like a man under the weight of the world. Not how the edge is worn away and blunted to the Captain's words. They sound tempered to him; as though meant to express the barest slivers of begrudging tolerance, nothing more, for Taki. For his behavior. That which clearly seems pathetically unworthy of even the effort of shouting.

If all of this hadn't thrown him into such shock, maybe Taki could do more than catch the thick of that extended arm between both hands and leave them there. It's a gesture of weakness that he immediately resents; pleading in the way fingers simply hold on; bereft of all pressure or command. ]

You wish for me to simply stand here- [ Hastily added ] as your commander, and just let you do this to yourself time and time again?

[ His right hand follows the left, peeling the coat away with clinical detachment; the job at hand doesn't involve enjoying Taki's warmth, there's no point - no need - no want, he's been told and told and told, for wooing. ]

Wake up. Bombs, tank shooting, extradition, wound infection, some luckier man's bullet. I can die tomorrow. [ Not 'we.' He won't allow - he forbids that. ]

Compared to that, my cigarettes are nothing. But they're mine. So let me have what's mine and shut up.

[ Shut Up. It's a small phrase, thrown around so often in this indelicate world that most forget how much it can cut. People don't remember that it demeans and belittles a person receiving the rough backhand of it's weight. But Taki is certain Klaus knows all too well. He has no doubt. That's the reason he chooses it above other options. To deliver one more petty blow.

The scars from words flung between them remain, even when every welt and cut has long since healed. ]

...

[ Two small words and he's done. That's all it takes to cast the wind out of his sails and strand Taki off alone on some lonely little place called 'surrender'. Unneeded, useless even for all the good they did him, both hands drop away. They hang like dead weight at his side. ]

Take what's so important to you.

[ Taki can't look at the man rifling through his attire any longer, so he tries to shut his eyes. It's not enough. So let Klaus suspect and assume whatever he wants when Taki's face turns away; craned painfully, awkwardly to the other side. It's crushing being in this place. Pretending that it isn't only adds further salt to his wounds. ]

Then leave me alone.

[ Push. Shove. Pull. Strip away. Recover the pack. Remove. Simple, rushed, angry movements.

He doesn't stop.

He can't stop. If he stops now, it'll send a message: the dog's all bark, no bite. The dog's fine with getting kicked around. The dog's wanting it. ]

So many bloody theatrics... didn't I tell you not to hide your face from me?

[ His teeth grit again. Son of a -

His pack comes down hard. Hard, when it hits the floor. Hard, when Klaus' right foot stomps on it, wrecking. Hard, when the next kick sends it flying. Hardest of all for Klaus to swallow his pride, but at least this is - this stupid, unnecessary gesture that only Taki's deranged mind could want, when every good man enjoys a cigarette now and then - this is done by his own hand.

The lighter follows. ]

To hell with it all.

[ And then he's back on his kneed again, standing on ceremony, waiting on Taki's hand. ]

To hell with you, give me what's important to me.

[ Pot. Kettle. Klaus makes a wild enough scene to manage Taki's undivided attention once more; amazingly without needing to resort to a single prying of fingers. Yet it's a focus filled with surprise and wide eyes that dart around till they actually find the cigarettes. Those, or what remains of them, are found ground down into smithereens beneath a boot Klaus willingly lowers.

So much confusion abounds as a good part of this show has been missed. The story is encountered mid-arc; before it makes sense and there's only motion and that forever unequal take, take, take between them. Time passes, even if only seconds, until he realizes Klaus is conceding; giving into a whim he cannot feasibly find rational. Logical. That's because it isn't.

Klaus had struck at the very heart of the matter. Between the bullets and the landmines, how long did they have? Time was a luxury the two probably squandered, wasting precious moments on these very battles. It would run out for them eventually. Not in decades or long stretches of years either. Months? Truth be told, even tomorrow held no guarantee. So this is why he can't stand the cigarettes. They're just another fuse lit under the man who would be erased once it came to fruition. A fire set into life by Klaus' own fingers, his hands, and will. Perhaps it was crazy. Futile. But Taki can't lay down and accept that, so he pretends he may keep Klaus a bit longer if one of those many embers, growing shorter and shorter under Klaus' feet everyday, are snuffed out.

Taki allows the gentle lure of gravity to take hold and bring him down to Klaus' level. They were talking about this earlier, weren't they? But Taki lets the thought and it's implications slip through his fingers; ignoring it right along with the extended hand offered up in his direction. He exchanges that for something stronger than the skewed position both are forced into by their ritualized pledge of fidelity. Forehead tiredly thuds against the strong expanse of a shoulder. It's sufficient replacement. No, far better. At least they are both on their knees this time; equal. ]

....

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Canon: Maiden Rose

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