justonetruth | (no subject)

[no Kaito here. But blood for blood, that can be arranged.

As Aoko tears around one of the Mansion's many hallways, she collides rather solidly with a figure smelling of dankness and brimstone. It goes down with a pained cry in a mess of red skirts, and when the fabric settles, she'll find her own face staring wide-eyed back at her.

Or near to her own face, anyway. It's stricken with the lingering remnants of some horror, skin streaked with blood and some sort of chitinous green ooze. Paler fluid drips down one temple, reflecting a shimmering, somewhat greenish texture that seems poisonous, and the dirty brown hair is liberally coated with silk cobwebs.

Aoko's double makes a sound of surprise and attempts to scurry backwards, but she's hampered by her skirt and what seems like a very ill constitution. In fact, if you didn't know better, you'd say she looks near death]

[Aoko yelps, tumbling back. It's a hard landing, and for a moment, she's dazed. ]

Ouch… [ Nothing compared to being shot, yes. But in her experience, knowing what greater pain feels like doesn't really make smaller pains hurt any less. After taking a second to breathe, to get her bearings back, Aoko looks up, and… ]

… A-Aoko?

You—

[she stops and takes a deep, shuddering breath, only to lose it again in a series of chest-rattling coughs. She presses a hand to her mouth to help them die down, her gaze flicking wildly over the electrically-lit halls]

This— this is—

[—not the River. But she's not sure she can relax yet]

[ Scrambling to her feet doesn't work. She tries; of course she tries, but with her momentum lost the shakes are back in full-force. Part of Aoko wants to move on as quickly as she can, to find Kaito, to make sure he's alright—but most of her zeroes in on the disorientingly familiar girl in front of her.

She stumbles closer, half walking and half crawling. ] I'm sorry, I don't know where we are… Are you— [ 'Okay' seems like such a stupid question. ] —hurt? Is there anything I can do?

The Mansion— this is—

[there's a whine, followed by more coughs, sounding more and more strained as she tries not to retch; the venom has done a number on her. Despite all that, Miss Nakamori manages to struggle to her knees, fumbling with the chatelaine around her waist until her fingers close on a small blue bottle.

She twists it open and downs the contents in one go with practiced ease. It hits her like a punch to the gut, and her breath comes out in a wheeze as she doubles over, but she feels a little more coherent as it burns through her body (or at least a little less likely to die at any moment).

Coherent enough to notice the state of her companion, in any case. Panting for breath, Miss Nakamori eyes the blood-wet front of Aoko's shirt and fumbles for a second blue bottle]

I should be— asking you that— What— what happened?

[ … It's like Sabra all over again…

That's the first thought that strikes her, and it sticks. She hovers, half-crouching, unsure but hopeful that something can be done to help. Her concern spikes when the doppelganger doubles over—she makes a noise, reflexively reaching out to settle a steadying hand on her shoulder. ]

I'm alright. It doesn't hurt anymore.

[she gets a bottle thrust at her anyway]

Here. Drink it— regardless—

[at the very least, it should help with those shakes she can feel. At the very best... there's still the barest chance that this alternate of herself isn't quite dead, and she would be amiss if she didn't do everything in her power to make that bare chance a little better. The thought is chilling enough as it is]

You need it more than I do!

[ The injuries have healed, after all. Now it's just bloodloss and a bone-deep, disquieting exhaustion. ]

[continues to hold the bottle out, using the back of her free hand to wipe roughly at a trail of blood dribbling down over her mouth. Both hands are covered in fanged bite marks]

This place... gives us more. [slowly catching her breath, though it's still rough-edged and ragged] Please, take it.

[pauses, then adds with a hint of wryness]

Though you... might not want to drink it as... quickly as I did.