justonetruth | it's in my head, it's in my veins, in my heart and in my lungs~

Entry tags:

*au,
[prose]

it's in my head, it's in my veins, in my heart and in my lungs~

The laughter is echoing down the hallways, utterly, utterly amused. There are the sounds of a scuffle, of things hitting walls, murmured taunts

--a sharp cry of pain, a young voice crying out.

Silence.

A giggle, and more clearly.

"My win~"

Turn the corner, and there is blood on the walls - not much, a little splatter here and there, decorating the knives sunk into the plaster. A fight has taken place in this narrow corridor. Quick, violent, not enough room to maneuver properly, hits taken on both sides. A white-clad 1412 leans over an unconscious Conan on the floor, his face broken by a grin.

Come and interrupt him, if you dare~

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Shinichi's startled enough to flinch out of the way of the first knife, reminding himself belatedly that he doesn't need to dodge -- only to get hit by the second. Big mistake.

He was pinned to the wall where the knife has pierced his shoulder, misty smudge slowly unfurling from the wound. Shinichi concentrates on making himself solid enough to close his hand around the knife, ignoring the hissing sound it makes as he touches is, the way it seems to be eating through his hand. "Payback? Shouldn't that be my line?"

A pleased grin curves across his lips, full of sinister intent for Shinichi; he throws another two knives, aimed for the ghost's feet, and then one more striaght at his stomach, just to be sure.

"Why? Ghostie was the one who decided to go poking about where he wasn't invited."

Shinichi dissipates, shifting invisible too late to avoid the knives. The first knife drops from the wall, Shinichi starting work on the one in his stomach.

"Funny. That's not how I remember it."

"Did you like what you found?"

"Did you like Poking and Prying and Prodding at me?"

Each words is harsh, firing at Shinichi venomously, stalking towards him; movements smooth, like a cat about to pounce.

He has an ofuda in his hand, and is close enough to shove his palm flat against Shinichi's shoulder, pressing the paper firmly against him with a sadistic grin.

Shinichi may be invisible and intangible but he thinks of himself in terms of a body still, and the hand 1412 places where his shoulder should be encounters an area of marked coldness, a feeling akin to the electricity in the air before a storm. The ofuda hisses as it comes into contact with the cloud, misty smudge growing.

This is bad. Shinichi grits figurative teeth, trying to pull himself together. The lightbulbs overhead, burn bright before exploding, leaving the hall in dark and glass shards. "I want what you stole," he rasps, using his free hand to reach for Kaito's throat.

"Not a thief," croons 1412 absently, digging his fingers in, wanting pain. But he had to be careful, didn't he? Mustn't tear the ofuda.

A frown, at coldness at his throat, and he shifts, leaning back, keeping the ofuda in place as he tries to avoid it. "Stop that," he mutters, batting at the hand.

It's hard to be selectively solid on a good day, even harder when you're being pulled three different directions by three different charms. Shinichi's focus is broken as 1412's hand passes through him.

Not good, not good. Think! How are you going to hold him if you can't hold it together-- Shinichi had a moment's startled realisation, a thought more instinct than reason, and for a second he was held still by the fear of it.

Only for a second.

This time his hand reaches for 1412's throat, going through it.

1412 growls, a sound low in his throat, free hand grabbing for the knife in Shinichi's stomach, dragging it up and out the wall, slamming it in again, at mid-chest level.

Stupid ghostie, getting in the way, doing nasty little ghostie things memories of last time flicker across his mind, and he hisses angrily, twisting the ofuda.

Shinichi's startled enough to gasp at that, and his focus wavers. Damnit, he got rid of that knife--

He forces himself to keep focus despite the tear. He's got no chance of freeing himself from all the knives before 1412 pulls out new ones, so his only chance is to focus all he's got in the hand in 1412's throat. Solid, he thinks, solid enough that he can't breathe--

1412 made a choking noise in his throat, and tore himself backwards, one hand flying to his neck.

"Stupid ghostie," he hissed, drawing a knife and slashing through where stomach would be, back again through torso. then he paused, stepped back, a drew a handful of ofuda and looked at the space Shinichi occupied thoughtfully.

Then, with careful deliberation, started placing them on him, making sure eahc one stayed before he moved to the next.

As soon as 1412 pulls back, Shinichi moves -- well the parts of him that he can at least. Pulling back through the wall, the ghosts gathers himself. He's feeling dizzy, pulled in all directions, his control stretched just like he is. He's thin and weak and worried.

He winces as he feels 1412 placing another ofuda on the other side of the wall. Only those placed around the places he's already pinned assist the bleeding process, but to be so close to so many of them-- Think! Think! Aren't you supposed to have a plan for all of this?

There's the sound of footsteps nearby, urgent, purposeful. A group, the murmur of voices, the leaping of shadows before a flashlight. Shinichi grits indistinct teeth at the effort it takes. "--the assassin?" "That way sir. We've got him this time--"

1412 starts, ofuda close to his chest, eyes wide--

Then giggles.

"More playmates!"

Police, rescuers, whoever, it didn't matter, he'd kill them all for getting in the way of a contract, his contra-- but wait... This wasn't a contract.

...He could still have fun with them, couldn't he?

1412's sharply twisting emotions were a little too compelling for the ghost's stability, and the footsteps came closer with an almost stalking edge. The light of the flashlight darted about erratically.

The picture on the wall between himself and 1412 began to shake.

"Hrrrmn?" 1412 made a curious noise, eyes flicking to the flashlight to the picture and down to his knives. "Ghostie's just playing," he said quietly, a voice with vicious hissing overtones. He restarted his placing of ofuda on the wall, expression dark. Nasty little ghostie.

Damnit! That had been his last--

The ghost chokes silently, finding it increasingly hard to hold himself together. His mind sags, tears, the noises and sounds in the corridor becoming increasingly more erratic, the picture flying off the wall directly at 1412.

1412 ducked with insulting ease, letting the crash past him. He grins up at the wall from where he's crouched, triumph in his smile.

I win again again stupid ghostie I win again--

He laughs, delighted, standing up in a lightning fast movement to press up against where he thinks ghostie's head might be, gloating.

"Payback, ghostie~~"

The ghost strained against the knives and ofuda, tearing himself further as he tried to pull away. He was lashing out blindly now, and the noises in the the hallway had acquired shapes and definition, flashes of people he knew, things he'd glimpsed in that brief trip through 1412's head--

This time it was the remaining knives that were shifting, rattling in their places in the wall.

1412 had another knife in his hand, drawing it in nonsense patterns over the wall, up and down and around, and then slamming it deep into the plaster, giggling quietly.

The surroundings didn't bother him. Things shifted enough in his mind, so it could have been normal for him, could have been fine to be vibrating. But he was still slightly wary, still a little aware of the fact that his knives could come back to him like the painting had. Wouldn't let that happen, oh no.

Just as it seemed the knives must surely be about to burst from the wall, they went still, sound and movement all dying away abruptly. The mist rising off the ofuda faded out completely-- even the air had changed.

1412 patted the wall fondly.

"Ghoooostie~?"

He chuckled quietly.

"Are we all gone, now?"

The words registered, but only as so much sound--

No relation to the scattered bits of consciousness resting at foot height.

Another little chuckle, and 1412 draws out a pen from thin air, choosing a clear space of wall next to the ofuda, knives, and sundry damage to write on.

Kudo Shinichi-san, deceased.

♥ 1412

Then he turns, humming happily under his breath to walk off down the corridor.

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it's in my head, it's in my veins, in my heart and in my lungs~

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