[Even the sweet scent of freshly-made strawberry-papaya jam is not enough to soothe the savage boxer. Not now. It smears across Ethan's face and his hand like chunky bits of gore, hardly a new sight for him, and it only makes his heart beat faster. He presses down harder, leaning most of his weight against the boy.]
[ "You should be careful with him," he would have said, but only now is he regretting to have that thought come way too late. That sounded too much like a death threat, and while Ethan would return from one with no problems— he hadn't been desensitized to the extent of shrugging it off— a sense of danger and fear still rose behind his aggression, breath quickening the more he can't seem to peel himself away. Pain still played its part, and its slightly worse knowing you'll just come back for more instead of ending it there.
For a moment, the image of the firefighter that urged him to jump from a building to save himself came to mind— he got stuck in a container and hidden away somewhere, where no one could find him. They could be buried alive for all they knew, crammed tightly like processed meat with thin oxygen and nothing to see, for who knew how long— That was frightening.
His movements to flee get frantic, nails digging into skin and legs kicking like a wild bull unready to accept. He had no weapon to defend himself with, not even something useful to reset if he were crippled, even if he did have to think twice— his eyes go from madly staring the boxer down sideways, to searching for routes. The traps were gone. Being on the first floor, fortunately or unfortunately doesn't help today. ]
It's an extreme thought - one that makes even him recoil a little in disgust, but despite whatever starved husk of a conscience he has left, a perfectly rational realization follows in its wake:
He'd be fine anyway.
That's right... It doesn't really matter here if he beats the kid to a bloody pulp, if he's just going to pop right back up. There'd be no reason to feel guilty about it, and he'd get it through that thick skull that he isn't fucking around. Because even scaring Ethan shitless a few times just doesn't cut it, apparently. He has to prove he can and will hurt him if he needs to.
Just like he should have hurt Junko Enoshima all those years ago, who held his darkest secrets over his head just like this. That was just before the Tragedy, before he was forced into a life where death was the norm, and he still wanted to pound her face into the ground, into an unrecognizable pulp of scattered teeth and brain matter, and he should have-
He howls in wordless fury and reels his fist back, but the only plans he has of releasing Ethan are to free him from this mortal coil, at least for a few minutes.]
[ There's something deep inside of Ethan that speaks as he sees the fury in the man's eyes, the intent, a feeling that pumps andrenaline through him to the point that he quivers as he squirms against a powerful grasp that makes the wood against the side of his face creak.
Scream.
The situation may be different, but the aura is the same, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end and his eyes widen with a surge of energy to flee, from the numbing muscle in his legs to the drumming of his heart in his head. He wants to kill me, he finalizes, the roar of the boxer's wrath ringing in his ears and his face being spared from the hold— for seconds, because his fist is only pulling back to gain the momentum it needed to pummel into his face, break his teeth, fracture his jaw, his face— the fear speaks to Ethan a second time, coaxing out a startled squeak as his body stumbles against the wall behind him and into the worst place to be: a corner.
Scream, Ethan. Scream and run, you can't win this.
Ethan staggers violently for his footing, nearly hitting the ground before his feet raise him, eyes still glued to the older but pinned at this point, with nowhere to go and staring murder right in the face. Staring at someone who wants to kill you. Ethan can already feel the rush of wind ready to crash into his cheek, every moment moving like a bullet. He doesn't think, he doesn't question what his gut tells him to do: he shuts his eyes tight, flinches back, letting the burst in his throat sound in a thunderous cry— one that rattles the air and seizes his attacker in a paralyzing strangle from head to toe.
The sound is high pitched, distorted and inhuman that coils around Mallory like a serpent and imobilizes every fiber that had been ready to beat the demi human to a bloody pile. ]
[A second later, and Mal's fist surely would have been connecting with the other side of Ethan's skull from the inside. Even with the onset of paralysis, the momentum behind the swing is enough to connect with enough force to rupture a little something in his nose for thread continuity, and then he-
stops.
His vision goes black for a second as he sinks right into a sea of all-too-familiar terror. He can't move, he's stuck, he's going to die, where's Luna, Luna!! His pupils dilate as he stares down at Ethan, beads of sweat already gathering on his face, but the beating does not continue.
[ The scream stops as soon as what's left of the punch connects, a sting burying just under his eye, into his maxilla and nose. Not enough to break anything (Or did he?), but enough to leave a bruise later— and present him with wetness trickling down his lips, to the floor, on his clothes. Ethan forgets to breathe as he pulls himself up, catching the return of his surroundings, the warmth and taste of iron at the tip of his tongue. He blinks, attempting to crinkle the numbing sensation from his bleeding nose and putting a hand over the dripping.
He inhales, looks up, and with Mallory paralyzed, he only then connects what he's done. He's still alive, but at what cost, now? The tables have turned, and now— Ethan's the one who's dreading, startled and fearful glance speaks louder than words: Mallory saw too much. ]
Sh—Shit—
[ In the rush, he staggers, trips, dirties the floors further with his blood smeared hands, and does the one thing ajin had to do when caught red handed: run. With quickened stares to Mallory's rigid form, just to make sure he really stayed, Ethan goes straight for the door without looking back, leaving the mess of blood and jam behind him.
You can bet he isn't coming back any time soon, not after that one. ]
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no subject
You're not going to get that chance.
no subject
For a moment, the image of the firefighter that urged him to jump from a building to save himself came to mind— he got stuck in a container and hidden away somewhere, where no one could find him. They could be buried alive for all they knew, crammed tightly like processed meat with thin oxygen and nothing to see, for who knew how long— That was frightening.
His movements to flee get frantic, nails digging into skin and legs kicking like a wild bull unready to accept. He had no weapon to defend himself with, not even something useful to reset if he were crippled, even if he did have to think twice— his eyes go from madly staring the boxer down sideways, to searching for routes. The traps were gone. Being on the first floor, fortunately or unfortunately doesn't help today. ]
Like hell— [ That's not happening— ] Let go!
no subject
It's an extreme thought - one that makes even him recoil a little in disgust, but despite whatever starved husk of a conscience he has left, a perfectly rational realization follows in its wake:
He'd be fine anyway.
That's right... It doesn't really matter here if he beats the kid to a bloody pulp, if he's just going to pop right back up. There'd be no reason to feel guilty about it, and he'd get it through that thick skull that he isn't fucking around. Because even scaring Ethan shitless a few times just doesn't cut it, apparently. He has to prove he can and will hurt him if he needs to.
Just like he should have hurt Junko Enoshima all those years ago, who held his darkest secrets over his head just like this. That was just before the Tragedy, before he was forced into a life where death was the norm, and he still wanted to pound her face into the ground, into an unrecognizable pulp of scattered teeth and brain matter, and he should have-
He howls in wordless fury and reels his fist back, but the only plans he has of releasing Ethan are to free him from this mortal coil, at least for a few minutes.]
no subject
Scream.
The situation may be different, but the aura is the same, making the hairs at the back of his neck stand on end and his eyes widen with a surge of energy to flee, from the numbing muscle in his legs to the drumming of his heart in his head. He wants to kill me, he finalizes, the roar of the boxer's wrath ringing in his ears and his face being spared from the hold— for seconds, because his fist is only pulling back to gain the momentum it needed to pummel into his face, break his teeth, fracture his jaw, his face— the fear speaks to Ethan a second time, coaxing out a startled squeak as his body stumbles against the wall behind him and into the worst place to be: a corner.
Scream, Ethan. Scream and run, you can't win this.
Ethan staggers violently for his footing, nearly hitting the ground before his feet raise him, eyes still glued to the older but pinned at this point, with nowhere to go and staring murder right in the face. Staring at someone who wants to kill you. Ethan can already feel the rush of wind ready to crash into his cheek, every moment moving like a bullet. He doesn't think, he doesn't question what his gut tells him to do: he shuts his eyes tight, flinches back, letting the burst in his throat sound in a thunderous cry— one that rattles the air and seizes his attacker in a paralyzing strangle from head to toe.
The sound is high pitched, distorted and inhuman that coils around Mallory like a serpent and imobilizes every fiber that had been ready to beat the demi human to a bloody pile. ]
no subject
for thread continuity, and then he-stops.
His vision goes black for a second as he sinks right into a sea of all-too-familiar terror. He can't move, he's stuck, he's going to die, where's Luna, Luna!! His pupils dilate as he stares down at Ethan, beads of sweat already gathering on his face, but the beating does not continue.
Better run.]
no subject
He inhales, looks up, and with Mallory paralyzed, he only then connects what he's done. He's still alive, but at what cost, now? The tables have turned, and now— Ethan's the one who's dreading, startled and fearful glance speaks louder than words: Mallory saw too much. ]
Sh—Shit—
[ In the rush, he staggers, trips, dirties the floors further with his blood smeared hands, and does the one thing ajin had to do when caught red handed: run. With quickened stares to Mallory's rigid form, just to make sure he really stayed, Ethan goes straight for the door without looking back, leaving the mess of blood and jam behind him.
You can bet he isn't coming back any time soon, not after that one. ]