epidemiology | if you’re smart you’d run and protect yourself from the demon living in the dark

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if you’re smart you’d run and protect yourself from the demon living in the dark

CHARACTERS: Urahara and some people who are gonna have a Bad Time
DATE: 3/20 to 3/24
WARNINGS: ~~PWOOM BROKEN SPINE~~ oh you know terrifying shinigami with limited control over his casual bloodlust + all those great infected symptoms.
SUMMARY: Despite coming closer to a cure, Urahara's stressed out and kinda slowly Losing His Mind. And this is why he's been very careful about who gets around him.

But you know, best laid plans...

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[despite everything, it's a quiet night at the hospital. tensions are still high, but everyone is too exhausted to flit hither and yon. the infected are sedated and left alone, most of the patients this evening are complaining of normal things unrelated to attacks or potential infection. if the dread in the air didn't hang so heavy, one might almost think nothing bad was happening at all.

and then there's Kisuke Urahara, holed up in his office, eyes glazing over as he looks over the results he's compiled from Sonia's research on Giovanni's samples, trying to analyze the best possible strategy. except he can't focus. the trashcan in the corner holds every indication of why- overfilled with takeout boxes and wrappers and vending machine bags picked clean of even the crumbs. and still he feels empty. his patience is running thin, as well. even the simplest solution seems beyond him.

he can't even remember the last time he felt this awful- even in his most agonizing days of his exile, he never felt so helpless.

the knock on the door only further reminds him that his head is killing him and he runs a hand over his face to cover an agitated grimace.] Go away.

[it's cold, biting- likely to frighten any nurse who might have slipped past Olivia's determination to keep people away from him. it doesn't even occur to him that it could be Olivia, herself... or perhaps it does and the sentiment holds true to her as well.]

[Urahara has a collection of bad habits and occasionally smoking is not the worst of them at all. it's one of those things he picked up from Kukaku back in the day (to relax and unwind and only occasionally- it's more or less an indulgence than a true habit) and while he'd rather have a fucking pipe and actually decent tobacco, he doesn't always get his way. so it's one cigarette bummed off a nurse on his way out the door, smoked listlessly on the sidewalk an acceptable distance away from the hospital.

and it does absolutely nothing to wind him down. not that anything does except for oxytocin, taken liberally in injections when he can and from Olivia when he isn't anxious to be around her. that part is getting harder, and that's never been more clear as he watches people pass by on the street, invasive thoughts about how easy it would be to just...

he's distracted momentarily by someone in his peripheral vision- not a stranger, but someone he's familiar with, which is both a blessing because it's a distraction from what he was currently thinking of and a curse, because not thinking about that gets even harder when people are nearby. And thinking about eating your friends tends to put you out of the mood for pleasant conversation.]

Did you know, Jin-san, that today's the first day of spring? [yes, that is exactly what Jin expected an exhausted, pallid, very clearly ill Urahara to say as he finishes the last drag of a cigarette and crushes it out under his shoe. well, it's Urahara. if he were predictable, people would be less inclined to keep wandering back to him.]

It was still winter when we first came here.

[he's probably going somewhere with this.]

[when not at the hospital, Urahara stays at the quarantine, rather than going back to his apartment. it's... safer. and he's already had enough supplies moved to allow him to keep working, long after his patience with the hospital has run its course.

Also it's easier to sneak oxytocin injections to keep his symptoms at bay here, though that supply seems to have depleted and the only thing worse than feeling this awful is when he has a moment of relief and it all keeps flooding back...and even the oxytocin can't alleviate the hunger.

the other reason the quarantine is useful is at least there's always food around from the healthy team members bringing it over, and- probably more importantly- a steady supply of people willing to alleviate the symptoms of their teammates. Urahara's avoided that for awhile, preferring Olivia to anyone since she can at least defend against him somewhat, but when desperation calls, you have to take what you have, and he's not going to be able to continue to work without doing something.

he's almost to the door of the school science lab he's commandeered for his purposes when he notices someone go by, and a quiet relief washes over him- he won't have to go very far at all then. ] Maya-san?

[if someone had told him years ago he'd be sick as the proverbial dog with a disease that mimics almost all the worst symptoms of Hollowfication without the actual sundering your soul part, and that the best relief came from hand-holding, he'd have burst into laughter.

especially given the fact that he's most dangerous when people are in that close proximity to him. (right now anywhere in view is too close- he can flash step after all.) the risks are many.

but what choice does he have?]

[the riots have mostly stopped now, but less-than-peaceful protests have a tendency to pop up, especially ones started by people with a vehemently religious mindset, some even calling for a purge of the infected. it's barbaric and brought on by fear and as Urahara leaves the hospital, he can see one being calmly dispersed by the authorities- some members he recognizes. he hangs back a bit, observing from a safe and unobtrusive distance from the mouth of an alley, fully intending to have a chat with them before he goes back to the quarantine.

he's absorbed in the arguing between the police and the protesters that he doesn't notice someone behind him until he feels a hand snake into his pocket, quick and barely perceptible if he weren't so on edge.

but he is and he snatches the hand at the wrist and spins the would be thief around, slamming them against the wall with enough force to wind them and bloody up their face, but not enough to seriously injure- he's still capable of restraining himself. he holds the man there, arm pinned behind his back, and to give him a taste of his own medicine, idly rifles through his jacket pockets, producing a few wallets and valuables that probably don't belong to him unless he is five different people

it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened here. when he speaks, his tone is dispassionate, almost bored.] You were picking their pockets while they were protesting, weren't you?

[he lived in the Rukongai. he knows the type.] And then you got greedy. [he sighs, drearily, grip tightening.] That was a mistake. [normally, he would let the man (almost a kid, really- somewhere in his twenties) go with a few bruises and a bloody nose, but the problem is he's not fully in control and he's hungry and some bit of leftover morality browbeating his darker instincts back has conceded to a very noteworthy bit of compromise- this person is the sort who preys on the suffering of others to sate his greed. if you have to hurt someone, why not someone who deserves it?

it's infallible, really.

the sudden loss of control registers in a way that ripples through the alley and weighs heavily on the human (and less heavily on the non-human in the bunch) police and protesters who feel the weight on their chests. it's heavy, but not so heavy as to kill- his seals would have snapped into play if it were. all it really does now is make it possible to let the thief go while handicapping him just enough to keep him from getting too far.

like a cat letting a wounded mouse try to run away.]

[ it is olivia, and while that tone might have scared her away any other time, today it has only become more of a reason to continue pushing forward. carefull, she opens the door just a crack so she can slip in. it is shut tight right behind her, and her hand remains upon it long after she has already settled inside. in the other is a cold tupperware wrapped in a kerchief. ]

You haven't yet eaten, [ she says in a quiet, but even tone. gentle yet firm, and resolved in a way she so rarely is. ] It's been hours, Urahara. You need to take a break.

I have. It just doesn't help. [He's never been the sort of person to get angry- his anger has always burned very cold, a remnant from another time when having a temper would have labeled him an unruly Rukongai brat who ought to be sent to the streets. For a noble to have a temper, it's one thing- it's another thing entirely for a foster.

So when he bothered to get angry, it was always ice cold, and that's what he's left with now on his worst moments. He isn't going to refuse her- he's too hungry to even try to deny it, so he shoves his work aside.]

Sonia-san gave us a workable sample, but we're still in the preliminary stages. It's still going too slowly.

[The way people turn on one another when paranoia has set in isn't new to Haise. In Tokyo, the same phenomenon tended to crop up every time someone was confronted with the terrible truth. Their neighbor was a ghoul. Their friend or classmate. Someone they believed to be perfectly normal, human, safe. And suddenly that surety was gone, and nothing in the world was quite so secure anymore, and everyone was a potential demon with a terribly convincing mask.

He'd seen whole neighborhoods descend on individuals they singled out for some harmless peculiarity or another, convinced there was a demon in their midst. This, in comparison to that, is eerily similar. The crowd outside the hospital has at least been relatively peaceful so far, but the uneasy energy in the air leaves Haise uncertain as to how long that will truly last. At some point, that bubble might just pop again, giving rise to another riot.

Although he hopes against it, all he can do is try to keep things calm and peaceable. The difference between the Tokyo he knows and Woodhurst is vast; the infected might yet be cured. Ghouls would forever be what they are, regardless of how much they might wish otherwise. Regardless of how others might wish otherwise.

He finds himself thinking on this subject when he hears what might be a scuffle not far off, above the din of agitated protesters. Of course, it's only his sensitive ears that make it audible to him. No one else seems to quite notice.

Frowning, his strides carry him toward a nearby alleyway, ducking into the shadows only to find a familiar face. And a not so familiar, bloodied, terrified one]

...Urahara-san?

[The man's countenance is entirely different...]

It doesn't help the way you want it to, [ she corrects in that same even tone. ] But it does help.

[ she refers, of course, to the sort of results he's aching for with all these tests; eating helps to quell the symptoms, but only in minuscule amounts. not enough to really make a noticeable difference, at least not to a mind lost to the frenzy of solutions.

but to those on the outside looking in, even just a little goes a long way.

carefully, she sets the tupperware of food down where he's cleared room. she lingers there, perhaps too close to be safe, but it does not occur to her to leave, either. ]

[there's at least some gratitude in his tired eyes as he pulls the tupperware closer. he gives her a look and, realizing she isn't leaving, turns the chair around so she doesn't have to watch him voraciously devour the food like someone half-mad. he has his pride and his dignity, after all.

it might be interpreted as a dismissal and he should dismiss her, but on top of needing isolation to keep people safe, the loneliness is hard to deal with. despite being unpleasant to the average person, he's a social creature. he doesn't like being alone, and the people who can tolerate him know better than to let him be alone when he's like this- not half-mad with hunger and infection, but in the middle of a breakthrough that he's forsaken everything to accomplish.

so to keep her from believing he's ignoring her, he tries to talk between mouthfuls.] I appreciate you not losing your patience with me, Olivia-san. I know I've been... unpleasant.

[in a much worse way than he usually is.]

[indeed it is. Urahara is normally a relaxed ball of energy, the kind of person you'd never expect to be a lethal weapon at best and a borderline nuke at the very worst. standing ramrod straight with an impassive look at the man on the ground, the weight of his spiritual pressure humming in the air, he looks like a completely different person.

at the sound of his name, some part of him returns, though only moderately. the pressure diminishes and Urahara casts a look over his shoulder, hazy-eyed and smirking in a way that doesn't imply amusement.] Good afternoon, Sasaki-san.

[he lilts the words and it's a bastardization of the way he occasionally lilts playfully to accentuate his "persona" of an affable shopkeeper. there is none of that affability now. it's all dark mischief and burning intensity to kill.] I actually wanted to speak with you, but you'll have to excuse me for a moment.

[the thief is trying to get to his feet and lightning fast, Urahara catches him by the collar and shoves him back towards the wall to hold him there and prevent him from getting away. the thief notes Haise's uniform and looks at him with pleading eyes, too scared to even speak.]

[Luckily for him, and maybe not so much for her, Maya's perfectly willing and able to hang out with infected people. She's at the quarantine often, dropping off whatever supplies she can scrounge up (especially gummy, sticky foods--- if an infected person's mouth is busy, they can't bite!) and offering physical contact to any of the infected who seem like they particularly need it.]

Oh! Um... Mr. Urahara, right? [They've spoken once, but she thought she saw his name mentioned before. Hopefully she's right.] Did you come to visit? How's the cure going?

[She hasn't noticed any signs of infection just yet, so she assumes he's here as a courtesy call, like she is. Or to announce progress on the cure]

[he knew it was going to happen- they'd talked about it before things escalated to this point- but with the news about Sonia and his own isolation wearing on him, he needs her now and more than ever.

and he can't reach her.

he's sitting in the corner of his makeshift lab at the quarantine, cane in his lap, already knowing that he can't reach her even when he tries. he's asked her to wake up several times now, and the cane remains as it is. they're not in sync. he can't borrow her power, which is good for the safety and well-being of this city, but not so good for a shinigami who now lacks the grounding presence of his Zanpakuto.

after one more failed attempt to reach his inner world, he lets out an inhuman sound of fury that for a moment he doesn't believe is actually coming from him, until the silence settles again, and he realizes he's holding onto the cane with white knuckles.

the room feels too small and too confined. he gets to his feet, unsteady only due to exhaustion, and moves towards the door. he'll just go out- take a walk, clear his head, and then he can go back to work without worrying too much about Benihime. it'll be fine.

he makes it five feet from the door before he slumps against the wall and covers his face with his hand, a half-mad choked laugh-sob escaping him. dear god, he's falling apart, and the last part of himself that could hold him together is not within reach.]

[The chance in the tenor of Urahara's voice is a marked thing, a sound that has heretofore not entered into his experience with the man. And the smile is no better, building tension between his shoulders as he considers just what would change him this severely. It doesn't take very long to guess, but he hastily shoves the thought aside. He doesn't want it to be true.

Instead, he steps forward, purposefully slow in placing a hand on Urahara's arm. It comes with little weight, suggesting one of two things. Either he anticipates needing to withdraw from that contact quickly, or he's very concerned.

The right answer of course is that both are true]

If something happened here, perhaps I should handle it.

[There was no missing that pointed look at his uniform, and for some time now Haise has suspected that Urahara must be reasonably strong. Back in Perdition's Rest when all hell was breaking loose, he doesn't recall having seen a scratch on him. Here and now, he doesn't doubt it. The way the air felt heavier and then lighter seemed to correspond with his associate's response to his arrival. If he doesn't hold back, Haise doesn't want to imagine what could happen to the man]

Edited 2017-03-24 10:29 (UTC)

[nothing happened to be worth this much violence, but Urahara can't rationalize that much now. anything can be worth violence if you justify it enough or if you just want an excuse to draw blood.

he wants an excuse to do.. just a little... more than that. just enough justification to make it seem like this was a focused effort and not a genuine loss of control. in the stories that he and Yoruichi read in their youth, thieves always lost their hands as punishment.

there's a thought.

the touch causes a jolt through him, enough to bring just a bit of clarity to his eyes, but he draws back immediately from the too-gentle press of flesh on flesh, not willing to take anything that would cool the heat in his brain when he's so close to satiating his hunger.]

I can handle it, though you might not want to watch... [he moves his free hand not currently holding the man to the wall to grab his wrist, fingers digging hard into the tendon just below his palm. hm. he didn't bring his blade with him. more's the pity. this could get very unpleasant.]

[his expression falters into awkwardness, that half-beat between lying and being honest that always swings to the hard left when at all possible. she hasn't noticed- of course not, he does his best to hide his symptoms due to the hospital's conditions and most of the worst of it can be passed off as him being tired and underfed during his work.

he could easily pass it off as nothing. he could easily...

he grimaces, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep from following the logic.] I've been working here to stay in close proximity. [not even a lie. that's one of the reasons he's here.] It's coming along fine. We have some very good samples now, and... ah...

[he trails off, attention fading.]

[Haise thinks he sees where this is going — injury, that is. He doesn't want to imagine beyond that, setting his jaw as he steps a little closer. Plants his hand on Urahara's arm again because this is not going in a good direction no matter how he looks at it. And he doesn't want their cover to be blown, or someone to be seriously hurt when they need not be.

Whatever is going on here, Urahara doesn't seem like his usual self. He's certainly got some presence of mind, but he's accustomed to something altogether different out of this man]

I'll have to insist. That is my role here.

[He says the word very pointedly. Role. Because they're all playing a role in this place, all pretending to be something in order to fit in and help the people of Woodhurst. Urahara likewise has his part to play, and he can't do that if he gets himself into trouble.

At the very least, he doesn't see it ending very well for anyone involved]

[ That inhuman sounding fury is what leads Arima away and towards where Urahara is positioned. He knows the other man was infected from their prior conversation and just the fact that many within their ranks were. He's not sure what to do beyond trying to keep surrounding damage down and to a minimum.

He was strong but obviously not superhuman or magically strong.

So hearing that noise from behind the door makes he pause before he opens in and finds Urahara in the state he's in. ]

Are you still yourself? [ There's not even a shred of emotion in his voice as he asks that. His hand gripping the handle of the suitcase at his side. ]

[She'll clue in soon enough, but considering all of team science was running themselves ragged even before most of them were infected, it's not that far of a stretch in her mind to assume that, like, most, he's just not taking care of himself.]

That's pretty smart..... [As long as he doesn't get infected, too! Rimshot.] My offer still stands, you know! If there's anything I can do...

[But as he trails off, so does she. She tilts her head to get a better look up at him] Mr. Urahara? Is something wrong?

[Is he just noticing how tasty she looks?]

[ there is a wry twist to her lips when he speaks, punctuated by a soft sound in the back of her throat that may or may not be a rueful snort. she does not mind his need for privacy too much, knowing she had already encroached on enough of it by entering when he didn't want her to in the first place. and so this compromise works out just fine for her. ]

You are hardly the worst I've had to deal with, [ she says, rather ambiguously. though he, like many (but not all) of the others, does seem to enjoy thinking themselves the exception. ]

Besides... I promised to take care of you.

[ it may not have been with so many words, but the sentiment had definitely been there from the start. ]

[he scrapes the bottom of the container, having devoured all of that impossibly fast, and it's like it didn't do a damn thing at all. his fingers curl around the fork, dark thoughts swimming underneath the surface, barely formed. he does well to chase those shadows away when they cross his mind, especially in the presence of someone he doesn't want to see hurt.

but if it were easy to dismiss them entirely then they wouldn't be here, would it? he's thought this could be controlled like the Visoreds control their inner Hollows, but it's not true at all. there's no Hollow inside of him- just him. the only barriers being broken down are between his conscious mind and the darker subconscious below.

he remains with his back to her, the silence stretching on through what feels like infinity before he says, in a tone devoid of real emotion:] I guess someone has to.

[look... maybe...

he tries to dismiss the thought- really, he tries, but it's been getting more and more difficult. and once you've stabbed one of your best friends through the hand with a fork, you've already crossed a line somewhere.

dismissing it outright and trying to play it off are two different things- the latter is a predator's technique.] Hm? Oh... I'm just tired, I guess. [he smiles lopsidedly. what did he even call her in here for. it surely wasn't because he was thinking a bite out of her.

...ah right. the symptoms.] There's one thing you can help with... if you would be so kind, Maya-san.

[and he awkwardly extends his hand to her, not... wanting to say it. it's still a sore subject, one he's disinclined to just come out and say to everyone.]

[role.

Urahara's grip loosens, the heat cooling, the urge to kill dwindling just enough to release the man and let him go. for a second in the dead silence, punctuated by the chatter out on the street and the sound of the panicked man's heavy footfalls as he tries to put as much distance between the two men as he can, nothing happens.

and then Urahara laughs coldly.] Sasaki-san... What exactly is my role again?

[the soothing nature of physical contact eases him back into his head a bit, but not quite. not enough for the situation to be safe. under Haise's hand, Urahara is a spring pulled too tightly. if anything, the balance has shifted and Urahara's growing frustration and hunger is working its way towards a new target.]

[the half-choked laugh bubbles up again.] Halfway...

[Shinigami joke. Hah. As if a shinigami can truly be their whole self without their Zanpakuto spirit. to the uninitiated, it just looks like he's making wry commentary about how far he's gone and how close he is to the edge.

his eyes go to the suitcase briefly before flicking back up to Arima's face.] That's still a bit too close for comfort though, isn't it? We just can't know what might happen when I lose control.

It must be tough, dealing with bacteria and blood and all the time... [It's true; she's delicious, anyone would be distracted. There's barely any meat on her bones, though, so she doesn't make too good of a meal; more like a delicacy, really]

[Maya's a very trusting person --- probably a little too trusting, as evidenced by the fact that she automatically gives him her hand without a single question, before it even clicks why he needs it]

Um, sure, but why do you...

[aaaaand now it clicks]

Oh.... Oh no! You too? That's awful! [How many people in team science are affected, this is getting ridiculous]

[Haise's biology makes him a predator, however benign his nature is. He feels that tension in the air, a palpable unease that he can't shake, boring down to instincts he so often pushes himself to deny. Around a teammate, he doesn't want to think himself unsafe...but he suspects that he ought to tread lightly. Urahara is not alright. Not himself.

At the least, enough so that he can't maintain his usual demeanor. As a man who so often obfuscates behind a cheerful veneer, Haise thinks he can recognize the attitude he's become accustomed to for what it is, now]

As I recall...you're looking for a cure, as so few of us can.

[For his part, he maintains a calm, measured tone. He's far too practiced in pretending he's anything but afraid, no matter how high the tide of terror might rise within him. And truly, no one inspires more fear in him than the man he views as his father. No other represents for him the certainty of death that Arima Kishou does.

And so, his tension is easily buried]

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if you’re smart you’d run and protect yourself from the demon living in the dark

OLIVIA ⚛ you’re a angel with a haunted heart

JIN ⚛ i’m the devil’s son straight out of hell

MAYA ⚛ nothing but failure follows me

HAISE ⚛ overcome by shame

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ARIMA ⚛ it’s nothing to be gained

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