It's not that Dirk doesn't regard the woman below his blade as a person.
The truth is much, much worse than that.
But it's a problem with Dirk that Ranboo won't need to pick apart until some day far in the future. For now, Dirk watches with barely-contained impatience as Ranboo handles the liminal corpse with undue care--it's only by holding his literal breath that he keeps his thoughts on this perimortem hypersensitivity to himself. The deep breath he takes beforehand, however, might still give him away.
"Are you done?"
Ranboo's closed eyes are going to have to be answer enough. Dirk isn't waiting any longer. Not when she could wake back up any moment.
Bracing himself in the tub, he grips the hilt of his katana in both hands and raises it over her--
Just like a video he watched in his younger years--
And brings it down in one smooth, swift stroke.
There's resistance, of course. It's not like he's cutting only through skin and muscle and meat this time. But that video was the subject of his fantasies for so long--and he can see the ridge of the first thoracic vertebrae at the top of her shoulders, before the narrower, tighter cervical vertbrae. He knows where the skull ends. And with enough strength--strength he's worked for, sweated for, ached for--and a sharp, well-crafted blade, he cuts her head off clean.
It's so fast that it's almost a surprise--just like in the video, but it feels even faster when it's real life. The gout of blood that he's expecting from her neck is smaller--it's a shorter spray, and there's less of it, but her head comes off into Ranboo's hands and her already-limp body sags down into the tub as more of that hot arterial flow pours down the side of the bleach-white fiberglass to run towards the drain.
Dirk is not aware of a lot in that moment. It's so fast, and he feels something tense in his chest uncoil--even while something else in his groin flushes hot and tightens--but he's not really turned on so much as simply responding to the new, faster speed of his own pulse. The yellow-white of bone and cartilage is barely visible for all the reds, both bright and so dark it's tinting black, but there's something else.
Something that he knows doesn't belong, because he knows what a decapitation looks like--something thin, and blue, and yellow, and white, and metal. Like worms, but they're not worms.
"--I fucking knew it."
Did he? It feels true when he says it. Either way, he knows exactly what he's looking at now.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-08-03 11:02 pm (UTC)The truth is much, much worse than that.
But it's a problem with Dirk that Ranboo won't need to pick apart until some day far in the future. For now, Dirk watches with barely-contained impatience as Ranboo handles the liminal corpse with undue care--it's only by holding his literal breath that he keeps his thoughts on this perimortem hypersensitivity to himself. The deep breath he takes beforehand, however, might still give him away.
"Are you done?"
Ranboo's closed eyes are going to have to be answer enough. Dirk isn't waiting any longer. Not when she could wake back up any moment.
Bracing himself in the tub, he grips the hilt of his katana in both hands and raises it over her--
Just like a video he watched in his younger years--
And brings it down in one smooth, swift stroke.
There's resistance, of course. It's not like he's cutting only through skin and muscle and meat this time. But that video was the subject of his fantasies for so long--and he can see the ridge of the first thoracic vertebrae at the top of her shoulders, before the narrower, tighter cervical vertbrae. He knows where the skull ends. And with enough strength--strength he's worked for, sweated for, ached for--and a sharp, well-crafted blade, he cuts her head off clean.
It's so fast that it's almost a surprise--just like in the video, but it feels even faster when it's real life. The gout of blood that he's expecting from her neck is smaller--it's a shorter spray, and there's less of it, but her head comes off into Ranboo's hands and her already-limp body sags down into the tub as more of that hot arterial flow pours down the side of the bleach-white fiberglass to run towards the drain.
Dirk is not aware of a lot in that moment. It's so fast, and he feels something tense in his chest uncoil--even while something else in his groin flushes hot and tightens--but he's not really turned on so much as simply responding to the new, faster speed of his own pulse. The yellow-white of bone and cartilage is barely visible for all the reds, both bright and so dark it's tinting black, but there's something else.
Something that he knows doesn't belong, because he knows what a decapitation looks like--something thin, and blue, and yellow, and white, and metal. Like worms, but they're not worms.
"--I fucking knew it."
Did he? It feels true when he says it. Either way, he knows exactly what he's looking at now.
More wires.