You broke your promise [COMPLETE]

[returntoeven.livejournal.com]

WHO: Millions Knives (returntoeven) and Robin III (123youreit)
WHERE: The beach.
WHEN: August 3rd, sometime around sunset.
WARNINGS: Knives and Gluttony bitchfest.
SUMMARY: Knives is reminiscing about things far away and dear to him when GLUTYOURGUT ROBIN interrupts. This can only end in tears.
FORMAT: AIM log.

Knives: He'd always enjoyed the final hours of the day. Even back home, where the heat of the twin suns had made the very air blister and dry, a certain coolness had always settled in, somehow relieving the harshness of the middling hours. It was calming, and though he hadn't appreciated it as much then, now he did. He needed it.

He closed his eyes, letting the cool ocean breeze wash over him, the lapping water a soothing sensation against frayed nerves. He'd barely been back in the City for two weeks, and already he was agitated. Really, it shouldn't have been surprising - this place never did allow him a moments peace, after all. Still, recent events being what they were, he thought he had reason to feel as he did.

How many more times would he have to be betrayed before the lesson finally sank in?

Opening his eyes again, Knives stared out across the sparkling waters, unconsciously sifting sand through gloved fingers as the now-familiar sensations of dissatisfaction and longing welled up inside - a silent wish for what he knew he could never have.

Tim: He had felt like moving - running, free. After his time with Ivy... heh. Leaving her wanting more, and he would come back to her, give her another taste, drive the craving for his touch deep into her bones, so that it would not soon be forgotten. That left him with time to do what he wanted, and right now, that meant moving fast. Too fast to track down easily, just another advantage he had now.

Then he saw a familiar figure, down on the beach. Their last conversation had gone so well... he smiled to himself and shifted direction, running down onto the beach and stopping just a few paces away.

"Knives."

Knives: He didn't bother to look, having heard the sound of Robin's feet against the sand moments before the possessed teen had stopped to say his piece. Granted, it was a relatively short greeting compared to the last - Knives might have expected more from the personification of Gluttony, but it seemed some things remained the same, even with things as they were. He didn't expect it to last, of course. Every single crisis he seen since arriving in this City had been resolved one way or another, and this time would be no different.

However, even knowing that couldn't prevent the tautness beginning to wrap its way around his chest. Wrath, perhaps, was the appropriate term for what he was feeling - that the child would dare to speak to him after their last conversation. He wasn't soft like the so-called 'heroes'; he would not allow himself to be played with.

On some level, though, it's more that. It was anger, yes, but also frustration and indignation. He did not appreciate his reverie being interrupted, especially of those things far away and dear to him.

He didn't react visibly, though, still sifting the sand through his fingers as he spared the boy a brief glance, his greeting as cold as his stare. "Gluttony."

Tim: Tim - Gluttony - allowed himself a short, quiet laugh at that. "As charmingly verbose as always, I see."

He hummed under his breath and looked out over the water. Seemingly endless... a suitable view for one who would never be full. And one he would have appreciated before, for its tranquility. He supposed that that was what Knives sought here, a sense of peace. As fleeting as anything else, of course - anything but the hungers that laid within him, always waiting, always whispering. He didn't even have to stir them up, now. He could hear them shifting in Knives already, and there was no need to prod them into excess.

Not now.

"A penny for your thoughts? Heh."

Knives: He shrugged. He had never been one to waste words, and he saw no reason to change that simply because Robin was suddenly uninhibited. Or so he thought, at any rate.

But Gluttony was right, of course - it was the sense of peace that Knives sought that drew him here. He knew it was temporary - few things in this life were permanent, except perhaps for the fact that things would always change. That was why, when she'd come for him, there had been no pain, merely a sense of relief. Something he would never have, so long as he lived this pathetic shell of a life. A mockery.

The sand spilled from his fingers. "Don't you know?"

Tim: He rolled his eyes - all four, which was something of an unusual expression. "I'm not a telepath, Knives. I can feel what you need, I can't read your thoughts." A slight smile, almost a normal expression for Tim. "If I could, conversation would be rather boring, wouldn't it?"

Knives: It was quite the sight, and Knives's mouth quirked slightly as a result - he couldn't help it really. The absurdity of the situation was almost too much to take as it was so that tiny smirk was really the only reaction that seemed to fit. "If I wanted to share my thoughts, I would have chosen somewhere else to have a reverie," he said, voice dry. As for the comment about his 'needs'...well. "There is a difference between 'need' and 'want', Gluttony. And since yours is the sin of wanting more, I very much doubt you understand what I 'need'."

Tim: He sighs and kicks at the sand idly. "A need so easily becomes something you want more of, you realise. Hunger is simply a symptom of the need to eat, to live. A basic instinct that can become something more, a craving. Something to be enjoyed and indulged in."

Knives: "Perhaps." He turned his head, staring once more across the sea, his expression inscrutable now, his tone even. "But not all indulgence requires excess. And excess is not necessary to have enjoyment. If anything, it only causes the opposite. To constantly want and never be satisfied - that is not freedom. It's a cage."

Tim: "Don't they say that the fun of the hunt is in the chase?" He shrugged and smiled slightly, unworried. "The sting in the tail to the promise of a craving fulfilled is that it will always return, of course. It's true. But that want, that need - it's a beautiful thing to see. Raw and powerful. Nothing is satisfactory without the anticipation building up to it."

Knives: He frowned, but didn't disagree. There was no point in it, and he had already made his views on the matter well known - that all of this excess was disgusting beyond anything he'd yet seen in all his 154 years. That was beside the point, though, so he took the moment of silence to scoop up another handful of sand, sifting quietly. A full minute passed before he bothered to answer. "What do you want with me?"

Tim: "I'm not Greed. My wants are thankfully specific, and not quite so... possessive." He was mildly reassuring, though the smile he gave Knives really wasn't, thanks to the eyes. "As I said - conversation. To know what you're thinking." Another shrug. "Something I want to do to pass the time until my sister needs me once more. The time for so much excess is over, you see - I'm sure you will appreciate that."

Knives: Again he didn't answer, the friction of grain against glove more reassuring than this Sin could ever be. It was Robin, and yet it wasn't. Gluttony had every memory Tim had, including the mess in May, and Knives didn't want to hand the Sin more ammunition than it surely had. He was vulnerable and knew it - no need to emphasize it.

"Still keeping poor company," he said finally, letting the sand filter through his fingers once more. "Some things never change." Another hard-to-read look. "How much do you want to know?"

Tim: Oh, he remembered it all, but he knew he had to be careful. Knives was far more in the territory of brother Wrath, or even Pride, and if he tried to stir up those hungers in him again, he would only be doing their work for them. He wasn't that interested in doing so - the opportunity had to be just right, or it would be a waste.

"My choice of company is always my own." Casual and just a touch prideful. None of the Sins were without their first. "If you ask, the answer will always be more, you know. Should I just start by saying everything?"

Knives: He smiled then, the expression almost obscene in its irony. "How the Sins do overlap," he remarked, his tone darkening considerably. "Always wanting and impatient. But that's fitting, isn't it?" His mouth pressed together, a thin severe, line as he stared at Gluttony, cold blue eyes piercing. "I'm not fool enough to tell you everything when you already know more than you should - more than anyone ever should." His eyes narrowed. "But you already know that, don't you?"

Tim: "Yes." He answered blithely, smiling again. "But I want to know more. Especially from someone who feels that they know so much already, about me and my siblings."

He twirled idly, an acrobatic maneuver for its own sake. "Or about who I was. Why don't you tell me why you liked me?"

Knives: The smile, tight and sarcastic as it had been before, turned ugly at that remark. "I've slaughtered hundreds of millions of people in my day, Gluttony. One doesn't spend 153 years partaking in such activities without learning a thing or two about one's tendencies. Pride. Wrath. I am more theirs than I'll ever be yours."

His lip curled, not quite baring back into a snarl but almost. "For reasons that have everything to do with him and nothing to do with you."

Tim: He stays amused, but there's something harder lurking behind it. Getting a little angry at being unable to lay claim to someone who was... close to him, before. Something he should be able to carry over from his time as a human, if he wanted to. Such a thing shouldn't be denied him.

Still. "Yes, I admit that. They have more of a claim to you. It's another reason I haven't wasted too much effort in using my power on you - nothing but a fleeting taste would be suitable for you."

He smiles unpleasantly, adding almost as an after thought. "Too bad he's gone, then."

Knives: He noted that hardness, so faint it was barely in evidence, but even with those glowing red eyes fixed so unnaturally on Robin's visage, Knives could still read him. He knew him too well, just as Tim knew him, far more than ever should have been possible. But this wasn't the person he'd known - just a cheap imitation, imbued with similar characteristics while being something else entirely. It sickened him, and yet he was unable to look away.

Without a word, he rose from his perch on a stone - the same stone he'd occupied all those months ago when he'd met Vash here, for entirely different reasons. An unmentionable intention had been born within him, the challenge in Gluttony's words making him consider something he'd already contemplated numerous times but never dared to do.

He towered over the Sin, and when he spoke his voice was no more than a whisper, but infinitely darker than any previous tone, with an edge to match. "Is he?"

Tim: Ohh, he felt that urge stirring. Again, it stank of wrath, but it was an urge, a primal thing that he could sense. Not one he wished to encourage, however.

"Well... no. That was a lie, in part. He's still here - I am him - but we're rather inextricably merged now. We are more, and better. Just like Raven always was, though she fought so hard to keep her weak human side in dominance." He smirks lightly. "This is no simple possession, whatever the arrogant priest and mystics of the City may think."

Knives: "'Better'?" He sneered the word. "Is that what you think? That personifying the one of the most disgusting impulses humanity has to offer and inflicting it upon them makes you in some way stronger than you were before? You think your human self so worthless that you needed four eyes and some demon bitch to croon sweet nothings in your ear to be something?" His lower lip curled with disdain. "Weak-minded fool."

Tim: Gluttony scowled, no pretense of amusement left. Perhaps it was an echo of how Tim looked in battle, serious and focused, coiled with readiness to strike that may have been overlooked by the untrained eye, or by those willing to underestimate him for his youth. But the burning red eyes and twist of blatant emotion on his face made it unmistakably Gluttony at the reins.

"You are the fool. You think he didn't fight, didn't resist? Of course - that precious control to hide behind, the mask, everything - he fought for it. Injured my dear sister before she could force some sense into him. To make us realize what we should be, to give us this power. Yes, it makes us stronger, better, than those weak, mewling humans whose cravings are only good as something to feed on. Cattle. And you, who hold yourself so superior, you're nothing better, a bag of weaknesses just like them. You gave into your urges even without the excuse of me or my brothers to cling to. You'll give in again, won't you? Because you crave it, their extinction - call it wrath if you like, cling to your pride and deny the addiction flowing through you, the hunger for their blood and screams, but you will break again. And I don't even need to force you to it, only wait and watch."

He sneers and steps back, mocking. "Pathetic. One hundred and fifty four years wasted on a thing like you, childish and stubborn, treating the persecution of your kind like an excuse to indulge in your own sick rage. And you convince yourself that killing him is necessary to get rid of me, when that's just your own bloodymindedness coming up again. How did he ever believe you worth the effort of his trust? Don't worry - I won't be bothering you any more. Not in person, oh, no. You're not worth my time."

He laughs, unpleasant and mocking still, and darts away over the sand.

Knives: He glared at the boy-turned-Sin, a fury unlike anything he'd ever known mounting with frightening speed as the hellspawn slung insult after insult at him. Rage and hatred, Wrath and Pride - the two Sins he most resembled began to broil in his veins, the air around him beginning to crackle with raw power. How dare this child speak to him this way. How dare he come here under the pretense of 'making conversation' when all the piece of shit had wanted was to manipulate him. And how dare he bring up those things he had no right to speak about.

A roar of sheer, unadulterated rage erupted from his chest, the blades emerging in less than a second as they cut through the afternoon air, chasing after the fleeing Sin even though he was already long gone. He didn't stop either, enraged beyond reason as the nearby water began to evaporate from the heat he was generating, the surrounding landscape decimated by his fury.

It was ridiculous, of course, his reaction to the demon bitch's plaything - a person who was no longer the one he'd known but something else. The child hadn't cursed him, hadn't even bothered to plague him with want and hunger, and yet he was acting as though he'd been thrown into a room with Wrath himself.

He couldn't help it, though. The rage was more than that, more than just an exhibition of 'bloodymindedness', Wrath, or Pride. There was pain, a hollow place that ached with a longing he could never satisfy taking root inside, and it had absolutely nothing to do with bloodlust or genocide. It was his family he craved, the comfort and familiarity of the sisters he would never see again. The rage merely masked it, hiding that one despairing wish beneath its flaming folds, even as a sensation that could only be described as heartbreak took hold.

What humans had done to Tessla had planted the seed of madness, true, but it was that betrayal, that loss of faith in humanity that had cost him and so many others a brighter future.

He wasn't sure when he stopped raging; he couldn't even figure how he'd somehow ended up on his knees in the sand. There was dampness on his cheeks, the spray of sea water drowning out each thickened breath he took. He couldn't explain the sensations he felt - he only knew that he hurt. He hurt so much.

And he wasn't sure if it would ever go away.