(atrocious)

[banquetofjustice]

[ it's the depths of night and he's wandering--searching--hunting when the starlight goes stale.

he has to stop, briefly; turn, survey his surroundings, try to decipher why all the shadows are so washed out and why the road under his feet isn't the same one he was walking on not a moment before.

(his first thought, before he can stop it: it's dead max's fault)

(recalling hiding behind the same hero identity back when he wasn't robin but then again it feels so much more real now) ]

Where--?

[ half a demand question posed to the sparse few silhouettes parading past him and falling on deaf ears--nobody doing so much as casting a glance at the boy in the cape and the mask.

(and he gets the feeling that they're all brainwashed, and maybe he's been put here for a reason) ]

Comments

[tachyondragon]

[ The starlight is definitely stale, because Mizael can't hear a thing from the stars in this--whatever this place is. It's quiet, and empty, and hollow and he can't stand this serene scene.

(he wants to hear the song of the stars flowing through his veins but he can't because he is enveloped by this human meat and even with his lapis hanging so boldly across his neck there is nothing)

But there's--something. He hears something.

(not the stars he wishes for, but)

A quiet song. A familiar one--one that brings out himself. The hunter. And even this weak song is enough. ]

Number.

[ He doesn't even address it by name. He can see its--motherly?--tendrils floating lazily in the air around the human, and he knows this is the source of the faint music.

(he wants it because it is his duty to collect these numbers and Mizael is as loyal to his duty and his mission as a dog is to its master, but also because it's familiar and it hums and a Numbers is much better than this stinging silence)

Without thinking, he already has his duel disk out, the bandages wrapping around his hands are another comfort he can partake in. ]

Human, relinquish your Numbers.