The sound as the head hits the tub is... blunt, duller than Dirk was expectting. It's still heavy--as heavy as a human head can be, anyway--but there's so much more soft flesh than on a cow's head. Her blood smears along the tub before the head comes to rest by the drain.
And Ranboo--
Dirk was expecting him to leave. Considering the way he looked, Dirk had fully intended to force him to at least sit down out of the way--because of course Dirk had already run the possibility that Ranboo changed his mind about leaving through his mental arithmetic.
But he didn't entirely expect for Ranboo to stumble out of the tub in a panic, acting like he was about to hurl. He races into the hall, leaving blood on the floor, his retreat soon followed by the sound of gagging and heaving. He hears Ranboo gasping for breath, and does some unintentional maths on the last time Ranboo had anything to eat or drink, but...
He doesn't know why he does that.
He can't do anything about it. Not right now. He looks down at himself and at the corpse--her body is still draining into the tub. Good. But his legs and front are wet with blood. His hands are equally bloody, his arms are spattered, his face and neck wet in spots, and he can't know whether it's blood or sweat without looking in the mirror. Which would require him to step out of the tub. Which he knows he can't do.
It's just him and the body, then.
Carefully, he lays his katana down on the edge of the tub--he's been gripping it so ttighttly that his arm hurts. It smells so much like blood on top of the normal shower smells that he's starting to feel a little weird. Like he's nauseous from hunger, but also he's going to puke if he tries to eat anything. So, another problem about which he can do nothing.
Unlike Ranboo, he's not experiencing an overwhelming monsoon of emotion, nor is he struggling to keep his connection to the world.
He just feels... weird. Like he knows there's a point after this point in time, and that he's not there yet. But he feels like he is, and he's looking back on this, and he should know the next events already. Like the moment he's in is his memory of it, maybe because it's so empty of other information? But anything he does now is what happens next, and as long as he doesn't leave this tub, it doesn't matter what he does. He can do literally anything. He just has to do something.
He's hot. He realises that finally.
His skin is flushed and he can feel it in the way his shirt sticks to him; he's sweating and he doesn't like it. So the first thing he does is strip off his shirt.
The time elapsed between setting down the katana and taking his shirt off is maybe ten seconds, tops. If that.
The head, resting by the drain, is where he starts.
Picking it up is an empty act; he almost takes it in his hands, like a ball, but instead he puts some distance in between him and the object she is by grabbing a fistful of hair and lifting it one-handed. Like the way you pick up a cow's head, by the ear or horn. It makes him feel like he's pretending to be some kind of barbarian warlord. It's very juvenile, and he doesn't like it. So he jerks his hand, using physics and the loose length of her hair to transfer it properly into his hands.
Like he once did with his own brother, he holds her by the sides of the head and looks into the face.
Is it lighter than Hal's head was? Because it's smaller? If it is, the difference isn't noticeable. His brain only informs him, helpfully, that it feels light compared to a cow's head. He didn't really need to pick it up to know that.
The lips are dark with blood, the eyes mostly closed and hair plastered to any place that blood has touched. Strands stick to the mouth, clump at the neck, and lay in the eyes where the lashes stick to them. It's in her mouth, too. Stuck to the tongue and teeth, probably.
Already she's got that pallor. He remembers Hal being cooler to the touch, but she's already a bit cool. He turns her in his calloused hands, studying her until he suddenly feels a surge in his gut--revulsion, bile that sours his stomach and burns his throat. As he pushes it down, he realises why.
He didn't choose to have to deal with a woman's corpse. That's just what happened. He doesn't need this shit right now.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2024-08-04 01:51 pm (UTC)And Ranboo--
Dirk was expecting him to leave. Considering the way he looked, Dirk had fully intended to force him to at least sit down out of the way--because of course Dirk had already run the possibility that Ranboo changed his mind about leaving through his mental arithmetic.
But he didn't entirely expect for Ranboo to stumble out of the tub in a panic, acting like he was about to hurl. He races into the hall, leaving blood on the floor, his retreat soon followed by the sound of gagging and heaving. He hears Ranboo gasping for breath, and does some unintentional maths on the last time Ranboo had anything to eat or drink, but...
He doesn't know why he does that.
He can't do anything about it. Not right now. He looks down at himself and at the corpse--her body is still draining into the tub. Good. But his legs and front are wet with blood. His hands are equally bloody, his arms are spattered, his face and neck wet in spots, and he can't know whether it's blood or sweat without looking in the mirror. Which would require him to step out of the tub. Which he knows he can't do.
It's just him and the body, then.
Carefully, he lays his katana down on the edge of the tub--he's been gripping it so ttighttly that his arm hurts. It smells so much like blood on top of the normal shower smells that he's starting to feel a little weird. Like he's nauseous from hunger, but also he's going to puke if he tries to eat anything. So, another problem about which he can do nothing.
Unlike Ranboo, he's not experiencing an overwhelming monsoon of emotion, nor is he struggling to keep his connection to the world.
He just feels... weird. Like he knows there's a point after this point in time, and that he's not there yet. But he feels like he is, and he's looking back on this, and he should know the next events already. Like the moment he's in is his memory of it, maybe because it's so empty of other information? But anything he does now is what happens next, and as long as he doesn't leave this tub, it doesn't matter what he does. He can do literally anything. He just has to do something.
He's hot. He realises that finally.
His skin is flushed and he can feel it in the way his shirt sticks to him; he's sweating and he doesn't like it. So the first thing he does is strip off his shirt.
The time elapsed between setting down the katana and taking his shirt off is maybe ten seconds, tops. If that.
The head, resting by the drain, is where he starts.
Picking it up is an empty act; he almost takes it in his hands, like a ball, but instead he puts some distance in between him and the object she is by grabbing a fistful of hair and lifting it one-handed. Like the way you pick up a cow's head, by the ear or horn. It makes him feel like he's pretending to be some kind of barbarian warlord. It's very juvenile, and he doesn't like it. So he jerks his hand, using physics and the loose length of her hair to transfer it properly into his hands.
Like he once did with his own brother, he holds her by the sides of the head and looks into the face.
Is it lighter than Hal's head was? Because it's smaller? If it is, the difference isn't noticeable. His brain only informs him, helpfully, that it feels light compared to a cow's head. He didn't really need to pick it up to know that.
The lips are dark with blood, the eyes mostly closed and hair plastered to any place that blood has touched. Strands stick to the mouth, clump at the neck, and lay in the eyes where the lashes stick to them. It's in her mouth, too. Stuck to the tongue and teeth, probably.
Already she's got that pallor. He remembers Hal being cooler to the touch, but she's already a bit cool. He turns her in his calloused hands, studying her until he suddenly feels a surge in his gut--revulsion, bile that sours his stomach and burns his throat. As he pushes it down, he realises why.
He didn't choose to have to deal with a woman's corpse. That's just what happened. He doesn't need this shit right now.