![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
eternal sin 2
starts from here
Exorcisms are long and arduous things, for the determined demon. Some cut their ties early, when they sense that the struggle isn't worth the pain. Others, most in fact, drag it out for as long as possible from often nothing more than simple brilliant spite. Regardless of which, exorcists of all sorts must do more than one confrontation. Often, such things can't be rushed...
...So Mukuro finds himself justified in letting his vanity be stroked when Chikusa Kakimoto does just that.
Oh, he knows it's not only for that reason which spurs the quiet haste of the young priest's words. There's a joke about it, he thinks. A religious man drowning in the ocean, refuting all help offered to him because he was so certain that God would save him. So of course, when he inevitably drowned, he tried to lay blame on God only to be told that help had been offered many times, obviously. With all his years behind him, Mukuro has watched the exact same kind of people live out their lives and found them to be the easiest to take advantage of when they're inevitably disappointed God doesn't do all the work for them.
It'd be too easy, too boring, if Chikusa Kakimoto was like that. Instead, he finishes what is left of the prayers and blessings for an exorcism before dropping to his knees. Dully, keeping his presence hidden and muffled, Mukuro watches him. He's careful but efficient, looking over his mentor's vitals. The good book soon gets shut. While it may or may not be capable of a lot of things, basic first aid is not one of its qualities.
How fortunate that Mukuro's young priest isn't that blinded by his faith.
Predictably, the teacher is dazed and tired from how Mukuro had used his body perhaps a little carelessly. Demonic possession is probably the least of the man's problems in the end. Chikusa Kakimoto acts promptly, calling for assistance once it's certain the cleansing seems to have taken effect. Other priests and nuns hurry in, none of them distinguishable to the demon especially with his lack of interest in them. Humans, after enough centuries, all start to blur together. Yet what's truly curious to Mukuro's eyes is how the old man is helped into the car to be whisked away to the hospital...
...And his young priest stays behind at the church.
Ah, so perhaps sparing him wouldn't endear Mukuro to the young priest as well as he had previously believed.
He shadows Chikusa's routine after that, taking in everything, missing nothing. As the young man goes to his knees to pray, no approaches him. No one checks up on him after exorcising a powerful demon. No one takes him aside to tell him to be careful. Even when after he's finished receiving blessings to cleanse himself- surely he can't believe it'll save him if Mukuro comes for him, so he wonders if it's stubbornness- Chikusa Kakimoto is given a wide berth as he tends to the church grounds. The mystery of such aloofness ensnares Mukuro's attention. Before he knows it, the day is done, and it's still with only himself (and an unseen demon) that the young priest heads for home with a rosary wrapped around his wrist.
Do people fear him as much as the demons do?
Mukuro stays with him all the way home on light steps, whereupon Chikusa Kakimoto immediately sets to blessing his own home. It stings- burns, in fact, but Mukuro has faced much harsher fires. Staying, he busies himself with looking around the small apartment. Nothing is attached to the walls, no photos or reminders on the fridge- it's a complete lack of personal items which speaks volumes. This could have been an apartment he had just moved into, not a place he had lived for years. Mukuro had been in ruins that had more personality of its owners, and that was after treasure hunters had stripped everything dry.
By the time he's finished up his inspection through the priest's room, Chikusa is at a small table by the window with his dinner before him. Mukuro barely takes stock of the plain ingredient, because there's something else of far more interest in front of the priest as well. As he eats with one hand, the other stands posed over a small journal with perfectly white pages. Already the beginnings of a head sketch have been laid out. Mukuro can recognize the person immediately: Chikusa Kakimoto's teacher. Only.... not quite. With unabashed amusement, he watches as Chikusa Kakimoto sketches out his own heterochromic eyes with great care.
Good to know that even if he hadn't charmed his young priest as he had wanted, he's still managed to ensnare his attention as much as Mukuro's own has been.
When Chikusa Kakimoto finally drifts away to sleep, a cross around his neck, Mukuro settles on the end of his bed and watches him... before turning away. There are others to pursue after all, even if this young priest is his current preference.... And besides, he doesn't want to be too predictable.
He'd give him a week.
[Chikusa POV]
Despite how he's prepared for his humble abode to be turned upside down... Nothing more happens that day. In fact, with each one passing by much the same as the one before it, Chikusa could almost be mistaken that his life is going to continue on as it always has. He knows better, of course. Demons, or at least the ones that pose such severe threats to the church, are creature which have lived centuries. If any creature could beat a human in patience, then it's a demon.
Yet what else can he do? Chikusa won't let himself fall prey to cowardice, hiding away in his room and biting his nails. He has work, and the church is ever busy. So he continues living his life with only a minor adjustment: he prays even more.
It's one of the only stable things in his life he still possesses, after all.
His childhood certainly doesn't count. He'd been a single child to first generation parents in a foreign country, their only son, and he'd been so very young when a disastrous accident had left him on his own. It's... hard to forget it all, even now. The sound of tires screeching, metal crunching, his own cries drowned out- and then pitch black all the way until he'd woken up blearily in a blindingly white room alone. Row after row of adults- some in dull nurse's clothing, others in stiff suits- visited them then, but he hadn't understood any of it, not really. It had taken some patience, both for his recovery and the fact that he was a child, until someone finally got through to him that he was completely and utterly without family.
The row of foster homes that had come after had left him adrift, unanchored. For so many, he was only there for a month or two- barely enough to get to know his foster family. One or two stretched out for maybe a year. It took months and months of smashed hopes until he was finally taken in by someone who lasted. By that point... Chikusa supposes he would have accepted anyone. So much religious fervor thrived in one household. To a child's eyes, it felt like it could have probably kept a hundred demons out. While the other children in that home had never cared for such strictness, Chikusa had welcomed it. It had moored him when he couldn't find any such thing with his peers, too quiet and distant to easily make friends. In many ways, not much has changed in that regard.
So... There's something reassuring in knowing that merely bowing his head and believing will have his words become heard to someone who cares. Anyone.
All he has to do is a live a virtuous life, serve the Lord well, and his voice will always be heard. His soul will always be safe. So Chikusa does his duties at the church well as the week passe by, tasks that he doesn't have to think twice about, and inevitably return to his humble apartment at the end of the evening. It's not the most extravagant place, but it doesn't have to be, does it? He's never wanted for much, and that includes his living space. It's fine if it's small- he's the only one living in it. It's fine if the decor is plain or nonexistent- that leaves less for him to worry about it. He reminds himself of such things often, especially on the many nights where he fixes a simple dinner for himself to eat by his window.
No one would ever make a movie of his life, even with the parts where he exorcises demons, but Chikusa has long accepted that. There's little excitement, little wonder, that would come from watching him, at least that he's sure of. The only thing that might add color to his black-and-white life... are the drawings he occasionally does. He's filled book upon book by this point, often with idle sketches of a particular individual who'd caught his eye during church, or sometimes scenes from his window.
While it might seem distasteful to say it, he admits that the demon, peering from the eyes of his mentor, had been one of those individuals. Heterochromia is a notable trait, one to keep an eye out for. Perhaps if he runs into the creature again, after all, he'll be able to take notes for future reference and exorcists.
Despite his diligence, however, with every night that passes by peacefully, he can't help but wonder... Were the demon's words merely a bluff, to hide weakness that wasn't immediately apparent?
With no evidence one way or the other, all he can do is wait.
Patience rewards him one night when he awakes far before he normally does, vision blurry and head swimming. His room is still dark, the gloom cut only by his window letting in a ray of moonlight. Nothing, as far as he can tell, has changed. His books are still arrayed on the shelves neatly. As always, his desk is clear save for a single laptop quietly recharging. Not a sound disrupts the quiet of his apartment.
So why does he feel so strange and distant?
It's hard to explain. At some points throughout his life, he's had similar experiences: as if the world is only half there, foggy and distant. As best as he's been able to puzzle out, it's often been a side effect of particularly adrenaline filled moments although it's happened beyond them as well. Still, it's nothing that would normally wake him up... Let alone get him out of bed for. Feeling confused and uneasy, he carefully removes the covers from his legs. He shakes his head as he set his feet upon the floor, hoping that it might help and nothing changing. All he can do is shuffle out of his bedroom and out into the rest of his apartment on silent steps. And as he comes around the corner, into his living room...
There's someone nestled near the windows.
Moonlight streams in, framing his distinctly cut hair in a silver soft sort of halo, and a thin ponytail is draped over his shoulder that reaches his waist easily. It's a youthful looking man with fair skin, a wicked grin... and mismatched eyes. He's almost beautiful, if Chikusa hadn't already been introduced to his true nature a week ago.
Ah. Things make sense now.
He's humming as he flips through Chikusa's sketchbook, amusement curling his lips upwards.
"Everything you imagined, Chikusa Kakimoto?"
Chikusa's hand falls from where it had been ruffling messy hair, and he observes the demon for a moment longer. Even from a distance, he can't miss the shine of red and blue. "I suppose it's not surprising, considering how you were when we first met." Even as he makes his way into the kitchen area, he cautiously keeps an eye on the demon, unblinking.
The demon laughs, soft and peculiar. "A demon?" he asks, almost idly, as he continues flipping through the sketchbook. Chikusa can't quite tell, so far away, but if he didn't know any better... He'd say it really is completely his down to the minute details in each sketch.
However, he does know better. That's why he asks, quietly, "This isn't real, is it?"
The observation makes the demon look up, gaze sharp and amused. "Is anything you know real? That book you cling to so fervently, those prayers you know by heart, the god you supposedly pray to?"
This sort of thing again... In the familiarity of a place so much like his own home, Chikusa has to actively resist the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he responds dryly, "It's a bit late to try that when it worked so well on you, isn't it?" Coming to a stop, he rests his hands on the counter overlooking the little room.
Never before has he had to deal with this kind of dream- which is surely what it is for how much the demon had skipped around giving a straight answer. There's no sign of break in, no one else who has the keys to his home, and it certainly explains the feeling in the air and in his head. So what kind of protection does he have here? Does the cross work, does holy water? It's hard to say... But treating this lightly can't be an option. At a loss for what else to do, he asks, "Is a theological discussion all you came to have?"
"Are there any other kinds you know how to have?" the demon counters dryly. Hopefeully that means the sting of holy water is still memorable after a week's worth of time. "You didn't seem to like flattery or flirtation." He closes the book decisively, getting up to stretch as if having had to do something he hadn't in some time. Strange, considering all he does is wander a bit closer with his head canting to the side as he smirks. "Or have you been isolated for so long you can't remember how to have a proper conversation?"
The words leave him quietly, but undeniably immediate. "I'm not isolated." Just... on his own.
But it's fine, he reminds himself firmly. He's still living a good life. For now, he focuses on the demon on the other side of an imaginary counter space as he comes to a stop. Leaning against the counter, it's so much easier to see the details of his face despite how he's away from the moonlight: the smooth curve of his jaw, how brilliantly his eyes seem to glow, even the elegant curve of one eyebrow.
"Are you so certain? Despite agreeing to be visited by a demon, there are no other priests to accompany or protect you here. No one has come to check up on you since the exorcism. Your apartment has little sign of anyone coming here but you." A pause, and a smirk starts to curl at the edge of his lips. "Well, except perhaps me."
Having the utter hollowness of his life picked and prodded at draws an immediate reaction out of him. Nothing obvious, more subtle- a tension gathering in his shoulders, pale eyes no doubt going dark, and his arms cross over one another. It's an attempt at seeming authoritative but it's only half successful. Instead, he knows, it must more give off the impression that he's holding himself together. "...Everyone has been concerned with Father Morgan's condition. I can tend to myself."
But it's not what he truly wants. It never has been. Yet admitting such weakness to a demon is only asking for trouble.
Sure enough, so soft that it could be gentle, the demon murmurs, "Liar." Before Chikusa can say a thing or react in any way, he continues. "We both know your mentor will make a full recovery. Still, it is admirable of your clergy, knowing full and well that a demon has taken interest in you, are trying to distance themselves further from you. I hadn't thought it possible."
Demons lie. Demons will say whatever they need to in order to drag humans down into sin. Believe in nothing a demon says.
They're lessons he's listened to and committed to heart for years. Every time he face such creatures of sin, those lessons are the ones he always makes sure to recite. So why do the words still dig in like nails on the back of his neck? Why can't he fight off how his innards twist as if something had taken them in a vice? There's no escaping to compose himself with the demon right there, only a counter separating the pair of them. As with so many times before during exorcisms of the past, he has to stay in such a position as he closes his eyes. Hail Mary, full of grace... That's right. More important than his lessons, there's something else he needs to remember. Slowly, his shoulders straighten out, and he opens his eyes again to meet that eerie stare.
"It doesn't matter if other humans distance themselves from me. " He has someone who will never leave him. No matter what.
That doesn't seem to be what the demon wants to hear, judging by his response. "A martyr, then?" It's not obvious, but just that enough makes Chikusa wonder if such a title means he would be difficult. Well, he'll have no pity for a demon, especially one that thought to go after a priest and an exorcist.
"I'm hardly deserving of a title like that." All he does is his duty, and he tries not to complain. Sometimes it's not completely successful, but that's just a sign of how young and inexperienced he is, isn't it? "Is talking all you came to do? I'm disbelieving that is all a demon would want."
There's a small chuckle at his incredulity, and the demon props his chin up with an upturned palm. Closer, just a little, but Chikusa stays where he is on the other side of the counter. As much as he wants to distance himself, he's not going to be chased off in his own home, even a dream of it. "Are there other things you're willing to offer me then, Chikusa Kakimoto?"
"The only thing I agreed to was to let you visit me. I have no desire to give you anything else.
Pushing himself away from the counter, the demon begins to saunter about the room although he glances back at him with an amused smirk. In the moonlight, his red eye glows ominously. "Do you really value your company so little?"
"Do you think flattery will get you anything?" Feeling a little more sturdy, crossed arms and all, Chikusa quirks up an eyebrow. "Especially after calling me a liar... Can a demon really make that sort of accusation and expect to be taken seriously?"
With a light sigh, the demon turns away from him and starts to drift off into his bedroom. That's enough to finally make a move to follow him, frowning a little. Dream this might be, and demons don't exactly care about privacy or personal space, but that doesnt' mean he has to like it snooping around in there. Especially since, in comparison to the rest of his apartment, there's a little more there. Sketchbooks that have been filled to the brink are nestled in-between holy texts. Another small shelf has its own collection of books on psychology. And perhaps most embarrassingly... Near the door hangs a rarely touched rack of varying hats.
"Shouldn't that be taken more seriously than anyone else's word?" the demon asks as Chikusa trails after him. "A demon would know a liar better than anyone, wouldn't they?"
"And a demon can't be relied on to tell the truth," he counters, "so accusations from one such as yourself are inherently untrustworthy."
There's a small pause as the demon turns back to smirk at him, lashes lowered. "Because all men are known to be completely honest?" he asks. "Or are you just picking and choosing what to believe, like so many of the faithful? So quick to label us beyond saving, and yet you forget we were angels once, too." With that, he turns back to step into Chikusa's room, acting as if unaware or unknowing of how he's still being followed.
Because, lips pursed tightly together, of course Chikusa still is. "Perhaps you were once angels. However, that does not get rid of the fact that, whenever your kind interact with humans, you attempt to drag them into sin. That is the difference between believing you, and believing a fallible human."
Browsing over things casually, the demon pauses at Chikusa's bookshelves. He runs his hands gently over the spines of each of the books, taking in the titles. All he pauses for is to look at Chikusa, mouth curled in amusement again in contrast to how his eyes are sharp. "My, my, then what are your beliefs, Chikusa Kakimoto? What do you believe you deserve? To be ignored by your unhearing lord? Shunned by your fellow man?" A wicked glint in his eyes. "To be haunted by a demon?" Plucking a sketchbook seemingly at random, he goes to settle down on Chikusa's bed and appears to ignore the way the priest's eyes go cold.
"Please don't act like you inviting yourself into my life is by any means something I requested, thank you..."
"Didn't you?" He pauses in his perusing of the sketchbook to look up at Chikusa, one eyebrow delicately raised. "You have dispatched more of my brethren than any has in your generation. Yet instead of being hailed as a saint or savior, you're feared and shunned."
"I hardly think I'm feared..." Yet perhaps he can't deny 'shunned' in the end. Before he can finish composing any further response in his head, the demon is already letting the book snap shut. Startled, Chikusa watches him stand up and step closer- close enough that he could reach out and touch him if he felt like. Having the demon so close is setting something inside of him completely on edge- like static electricity prickling in the air, feeling an earthy smell fill his lungs before a storm. Perhaps the demon can sense it as well, leaning forward as his lip quirk slightly at the corners.
"I merely help grant wishes that are held quietly in the human heart. Most were grateful to know that someone had heard their prayers and cared enough to respond. Are you sure it's not in human nature to 'sin' and be forgiven in endless cycles? What joy is there to be had to be alone and righteous?" Then, so quickly it could be a time turn, the demon adds, "You're rather talented." Raising up the sketchbook, he waggles it for a moment before he turns to return it to its rightful place.
The whiplash leaves Chikusa off-balance. "Thank you," he murmurs, blinking but able to breathe again with the demon no longer in his space. While he says the words, he wonders at the sincerity of the compliment.
Letting out a small laugh, the demon plucks out a textbook. "You're welcome. Have you shown these to others?"
"No.... I haven't." There's never truly been anyone to show them to, now that he's become an adult.
To his surprise, that makes the demon frown slightly as he meets his gaze once more. "A pity. Not even your beloved mentor?"
Unable to stop himself this time, Chikusa shifts with perhaps the faintest trace of uneasiness. "My teacher is a busy man. I shouldn't bother him with trivial things like that." What a strange conversation. Not only because it's happening in the middle of the night, or because he's never had it before, but who would expect a demon to lead such along? It's uncharted territories in more ways than one, so Chikusa tries to steer it back onto what he knows. "Can you really say what your kind does is out of 'caring'...?" He's seen too many possessions to believe that.
"Can you really say so certainly that you're not feared?" The demon clicks his tongue. "Those who have crossed your path once are not eager to do so again. Still, I can no more speak for all of demonkind than you could mankind. I have never had any who complained about my methods." He shakes his head, almost as if in dismay of Chikusa's perfectly reasonable doubt. Really... The priest doubt there's been no complaints, not unless the demon had cut their tongues out. Talk about an insult, to think he would buy into the most blatant lie of all...
Still. The question has him shifting uneasily, and he finds he doesn't much care to follow its trail. Instead, turning his head away with a frown but not enough to take an eye off of the demon, he murmurs, "For that kind of track record, it seems like you have a lot of spare time if you're investigating the sketches of a simple human who's only done them in his own..."
"Kufufu are you inviting me to come back and look at them more?" He puts the textbook back in its place, and takes out the newest sketchbook to flip through its pages. Chikusa knows it well enough to recognize when he goes back to the pictures that were drawn of him. "Still, it is as you say." His shoulders roll in a careless shrug. "You humans talk about eternity with no real understanding or comprehension to the word. I have lived a long, long time, and it feels like any reason to continue is hard to come by." A pause interrupts his words as he sits back down on the bed, laying back with his hair fanning out around him as he flips through the book further. "It was no lie when I said you were a rare human, enough to pique my interest. It will be a pleasant way to pass the time, getting to know you."
Honeyed words. A feeling of importance. Chikusa reminds himself that this is how demons work, even as he steps further into the room so that he might finally take a seat at his own desk. "And what wold you do instead of continuing on?" he asks, curiosity fueling his words. After a second, he clarifies, "If I wasn't here for you to bother, that is."
Really, why wouldn't he be curious? Humans such as himself can't kill demons. That's not within the meager amount of power that they possess, and even then only when granted by a higher power. All a human exorcist can do is chase a demon out.
But can demons die completely? Just waste away? He doubts he'll get an honest answer... but it's worth trying anyway, while the demon is feeling talkative.
Chuckling lightly, the demon sits up again, tracing the sketches that had been made of him with a glove hand. "I've already said far too much for tonight," he murmurs. "Allow me to visit you again tomorrow and I might tell you."
Just like that, Chikusa closes himself off and withdraws with his usual blank expression sliding into place. Already, he might be going too far. To give a demon one's consent... Well. There are reasons demons try to cajole humans into doing things of their own free will, all lies and deception. Even with how much he's been trained, Chikusa still hasn't found an answer to why, and yet if demons only needed willpower to rule over humanity, he suspects there'd be far more bloodshed in the world.
"I don't have much interest in things that might happen," he says, rejecting the weak promise. Still, credit where credit is due: 'might' means that if the demon decided not to do something, it would still be perfectly within its bounds.
"Even if I agreed to it, would you trust the word of a demon? You seemed not to put much stock in it only minutes ago." Mukuro cants his head to the side, lashes lowered. "Should I tell you 'yes' then to get what I want?"
There's no immediate answer. Chikusa leans back in his chair, fingers grinding against cheap plastic, and thinks. Honestly, tempting fate is probably going to be one of this worse decisions, but his curiosity is still tugging at him. "...Tell me something I can find out and prove is truthful on my own, and I'll put more stock into you telling the truth."
There. That should dissuade the demon a little, or at least make him hesitate. Truth isn't the usual currency of a demon, and he's met many of their kind who've preferred holy water flung into their faces than to speak it.
Yet instead, the demon leans back on his elbows, and smiles like his teeths are fangs.
"Your beloved foster parents are divorcing. Your foster mother has been emotionally unfaithful some time with one of the ministers of the clergy. He's leaving the faith as well to be with her."
When Chikusa stares this time, it isn't the expectant patient stare of a priest willing to wait out a demon. Now, it's one of pure silent shock, something which robs him completely of breath. He'd been expecting something unpleasant- a demon couldn't be trusted to give anything else. Yet he'd thought it would be morbid, or revolting. Mocking, perhaps.
Not... this close to home.
As quickly as he can, even knowing it won't be much use, he schools his expression again with his lips thinned. "...I see." If nothing else, this will be easy enough to disprove.... or validate. "I'll find that out for myself, then. If it's true... you can visit me again."
The demon must find his shock delicious with how easily he stands up from Chikusa's bed, and he surely must be able to tell how he struggles to keep his emotions locked away. But... That he was unaware of such a large change in his own family.... Sauntering past him, the demon heads to the doorway, and smirks at him over his shoulder.
"Whenever you're ready, call for me and I will come for you."
He winks, and Chikusa wakes up.
[cut shit]
That astute observation made Mukuro look up, amused, gaze sharpening. This one was an intelligent one, but not one of the humans who boasted about it like it was such a great thing. No, this one seemed to know the price of what intelligence brought. Isolation. Loneliness. Nothing but trouble. Though, perhaps Mukuro was contributing more to the last than anything else.]
[Earlier, when Chikusa had assumed his teacher to be weak, Mukuro had wondered what sort of weakness he had seen in the man. And what sort he saw in himself. That shallow posturing screamed weakness, cracks in Chikusa's armor that Mukuro could slither into and extort. Maybe he would, gently and almost lovingly. Tearing a person apart required a delicate hand, especially if Mukuro wanted to piece him back together. So, he only let out a small chuckle, leaning back away from the counter to saunter around the room, taking it in.]
[Which had been what had caught Mukuro's interest in the first place. While he did not fear or respect many other demons, there were some he has listened to with interest or followed out of boredom. To keep hearing the name Chikusa Kakimoto amongst them was a warning to many, but for Mukuro it had been an invitation.
Besides, if he was going to visit as often as he wanted to, Chikusa would still need to have some sleep or else the signs of a demon visiting him might become apparent far earlier than what Mukuro would like.]
Yet, Chikusa had said only a truth he could 'prove'. It didn't have to be one that was a good or nice truth. Mukuro was tempted to tell him of the genocides of old, where to find the bodies of civilizations long dead and forgotten. Of how hot hellfire was, how it could consume the whole world and turn it into ashes in less than a minute. He could reveal the answers to mysteries long since gone cold, but having those verified would take time.
Exorcisms are long and arduous things, for the determined demon. Some cut their ties early, when they sense that the struggle isn't worth the pain. Others, most in fact, drag it out for as long as possible from often nothing more than simple brilliant spite. Regardless of which, exorcists of all sorts must do more than one confrontation. Often, such things can't be rushed...
...So Mukuro finds himself justified in letting his vanity be stroked when Chikusa Kakimoto does just that.
Oh, he knows it's not only for that reason which spurs the quiet haste of the young priest's words. There's a joke about it, he thinks. A religious man drowning in the ocean, refuting all help offered to him because he was so certain that God would save him. So of course, when he inevitably drowned, he tried to lay blame on God only to be told that help had been offered many times, obviously. With all his years behind him, Mukuro has watched the exact same kind of people live out their lives and found them to be the easiest to take advantage of when they're inevitably disappointed God doesn't do all the work for them.
It'd be too easy, too boring, if Chikusa Kakimoto was like that. Instead, he finishes what is left of the prayers and blessings for an exorcism before dropping to his knees. Dully, keeping his presence hidden and muffled, Mukuro watches him. He's careful but efficient, looking over his mentor's vitals. The good book soon gets shut. While it may or may not be capable of a lot of things, basic first aid is not one of its qualities.
How fortunate that Mukuro's young priest isn't that blinded by his faith.
Predictably, the teacher is dazed and tired from how Mukuro had used his body perhaps a little carelessly. Demonic possession is probably the least of the man's problems in the end. Chikusa Kakimoto acts promptly, calling for assistance once it's certain the cleansing seems to have taken effect. Other priests and nuns hurry in, none of them distinguishable to the demon especially with his lack of interest in them. Humans, after enough centuries, all start to blur together. Yet what's truly curious to Mukuro's eyes is how the old man is helped into the car to be whisked away to the hospital...
...And his young priest stays behind at the church.
Ah, so perhaps sparing him wouldn't endear Mukuro to the young priest as well as he had previously believed.
He shadows Chikusa's routine after that, taking in everything, missing nothing. As the young man goes to his knees to pray, no approaches him. No one checks up on him after exorcising a powerful demon. No one takes him aside to tell him to be careful. Even when after he's finished receiving blessings to cleanse himself- surely he can't believe it'll save him if Mukuro comes for him, so he wonders if it's stubbornness- Chikusa Kakimoto is given a wide berth as he tends to the church grounds. The mystery of such aloofness ensnares Mukuro's attention. Before he knows it, the day is done, and it's still with only himself (and an unseen demon) that the young priest heads for home with a rosary wrapped around his wrist.
Do people fear him as much as the demons do?
Mukuro stays with him all the way home on light steps, whereupon Chikusa Kakimoto immediately sets to blessing his own home. It stings- burns, in fact, but Mukuro has faced much harsher fires. Staying, he busies himself with looking around the small apartment. Nothing is attached to the walls, no photos or reminders on the fridge- it's a complete lack of personal items which speaks volumes. This could have been an apartment he had just moved into, not a place he had lived for years. Mukuro had been in ruins that had more personality of its owners, and that was after treasure hunters had stripped everything dry.
By the time he's finished up his inspection through the priest's room, Chikusa is at a small table by the window with his dinner before him. Mukuro barely takes stock of the plain ingredient, because there's something else of far more interest in front of the priest as well. As he eats with one hand, the other stands posed over a small journal with perfectly white pages. Already the beginnings of a head sketch have been laid out. Mukuro can recognize the person immediately: Chikusa Kakimoto's teacher. Only.... not quite. With unabashed amusement, he watches as Chikusa Kakimoto sketches out his own heterochromic eyes with great care.
Good to know that even if he hadn't charmed his young priest as he had wanted, he's still managed to ensnare his attention as much as Mukuro's own has been.
When Chikusa Kakimoto finally drifts away to sleep, a cross around his neck, Mukuro settles on the end of his bed and watches him... before turning away. There are others to pursue after all, even if this young priest is his current preference.... And besides, he doesn't want to be too predictable.
He'd give him a week.
[Chikusa POV]
Despite how he's prepared for his humble abode to be turned upside down... Nothing more happens that day. In fact, with each one passing by much the same as the one before it, Chikusa could almost be mistaken that his life is going to continue on as it always has. He knows better, of course. Demons, or at least the ones that pose such severe threats to the church, are creature which have lived centuries. If any creature could beat a human in patience, then it's a demon.
Yet what else can he do? Chikusa won't let himself fall prey to cowardice, hiding away in his room and biting his nails. He has work, and the church is ever busy. So he continues living his life with only a minor adjustment: he prays even more.
It's one of the only stable things in his life he still possesses, after all.
His childhood certainly doesn't count. He'd been a single child to first generation parents in a foreign country, their only son, and he'd been so very young when a disastrous accident had left him on his own. It's... hard to forget it all, even now. The sound of tires screeching, metal crunching, his own cries drowned out- and then pitch black all the way until he'd woken up blearily in a blindingly white room alone. Row after row of adults- some in dull nurse's clothing, others in stiff suits- visited them then, but he hadn't understood any of it, not really. It had taken some patience, both for his recovery and the fact that he was a child, until someone finally got through to him that he was completely and utterly without family.
The row of foster homes that had come after had left him adrift, unanchored. For so many, he was only there for a month or two- barely enough to get to know his foster family. One or two stretched out for maybe a year. It took months and months of smashed hopes until he was finally taken in by someone who lasted. By that point... Chikusa supposes he would have accepted anyone. So much religious fervor thrived in one household. To a child's eyes, it felt like it could have probably kept a hundred demons out. While the other children in that home had never cared for such strictness, Chikusa had welcomed it. It had moored him when he couldn't find any such thing with his peers, too quiet and distant to easily make friends. In many ways, not much has changed in that regard.
So... There's something reassuring in knowing that merely bowing his head and believing will have his words become heard to someone who cares. Anyone.
All he has to do is a live a virtuous life, serve the Lord well, and his voice will always be heard. His soul will always be safe. So Chikusa does his duties at the church well as the week passe by, tasks that he doesn't have to think twice about, and inevitably return to his humble apartment at the end of the evening. It's not the most extravagant place, but it doesn't have to be, does it? He's never wanted for much, and that includes his living space. It's fine if it's small- he's the only one living in it. It's fine if the decor is plain or nonexistent- that leaves less for him to worry about it. He reminds himself of such things often, especially on the many nights where he fixes a simple dinner for himself to eat by his window.
No one would ever make a movie of his life, even with the parts where he exorcises demons, but Chikusa has long accepted that. There's little excitement, little wonder, that would come from watching him, at least that he's sure of. The only thing that might add color to his black-and-white life... are the drawings he occasionally does. He's filled book upon book by this point, often with idle sketches of a particular individual who'd caught his eye during church, or sometimes scenes from his window.
While it might seem distasteful to say it, he admits that the demon, peering from the eyes of his mentor, had been one of those individuals. Heterochromia is a notable trait, one to keep an eye out for. Perhaps if he runs into the creature again, after all, he'll be able to take notes for future reference and exorcists.
Despite his diligence, however, with every night that passes by peacefully, he can't help but wonder... Were the demon's words merely a bluff, to hide weakness that wasn't immediately apparent?
With no evidence one way or the other, all he can do is wait.
Patience rewards him one night when he awakes far before he normally does, vision blurry and head swimming. His room is still dark, the gloom cut only by his window letting in a ray of moonlight. Nothing, as far as he can tell, has changed. His books are still arrayed on the shelves neatly. As always, his desk is clear save for a single laptop quietly recharging. Not a sound disrupts the quiet of his apartment.
So why does he feel so strange and distant?
It's hard to explain. At some points throughout his life, he's had similar experiences: as if the world is only half there, foggy and distant. As best as he's been able to puzzle out, it's often been a side effect of particularly adrenaline filled moments although it's happened beyond them as well. Still, it's nothing that would normally wake him up... Let alone get him out of bed for. Feeling confused and uneasy, he carefully removes the covers from his legs. He shakes his head as he set his feet upon the floor, hoping that it might help and nothing changing. All he can do is shuffle out of his bedroom and out into the rest of his apartment on silent steps. And as he comes around the corner, into his living room...
There's someone nestled near the windows.
Moonlight streams in, framing his distinctly cut hair in a silver soft sort of halo, and a thin ponytail is draped over his shoulder that reaches his waist easily. It's a youthful looking man with fair skin, a wicked grin... and mismatched eyes. He's almost beautiful, if Chikusa hadn't already been introduced to his true nature a week ago.
Ah. Things make sense now.
He's humming as he flips through Chikusa's sketchbook, amusement curling his lips upwards.
"Everything you imagined, Chikusa Kakimoto?"
Chikusa's hand falls from where it had been ruffling messy hair, and he observes the demon for a moment longer. Even from a distance, he can't miss the shine of red and blue. "I suppose it's not surprising, considering how you were when we first met." Even as he makes his way into the kitchen area, he cautiously keeps an eye on the demon, unblinking.
The demon laughs, soft and peculiar. "A demon?" he asks, almost idly, as he continues flipping through the sketchbook. Chikusa can't quite tell, so far away, but if he didn't know any better... He'd say it really is completely his down to the minute details in each sketch.
However, he does know better. That's why he asks, quietly, "This isn't real, is it?"
The observation makes the demon look up, gaze sharp and amused. "Is anything you know real? That book you cling to so fervently, those prayers you know by heart, the god you supposedly pray to?"
This sort of thing again... In the familiarity of a place so much like his own home, Chikusa has to actively resist the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, he responds dryly, "It's a bit late to try that when it worked so well on you, isn't it?" Coming to a stop, he rests his hands on the counter overlooking the little room.
Never before has he had to deal with this kind of dream- which is surely what it is for how much the demon had skipped around giving a straight answer. There's no sign of break in, no one else who has the keys to his home, and it certainly explains the feeling in the air and in his head. So what kind of protection does he have here? Does the cross work, does holy water? It's hard to say... But treating this lightly can't be an option. At a loss for what else to do, he asks, "Is a theological discussion all you came to have?"
"Are there any other kinds you know how to have?" the demon counters dryly. Hopefeully that means the sting of holy water is still memorable after a week's worth of time. "You didn't seem to like flattery or flirtation." He closes the book decisively, getting up to stretch as if having had to do something he hadn't in some time. Strange, considering all he does is wander a bit closer with his head canting to the side as he smirks. "Or have you been isolated for so long you can't remember how to have a proper conversation?"
The words leave him quietly, but undeniably immediate. "I'm not isolated." Just... on his own.
But it's fine, he reminds himself firmly. He's still living a good life. For now, he focuses on the demon on the other side of an imaginary counter space as he comes to a stop. Leaning against the counter, it's so much easier to see the details of his face despite how he's away from the moonlight: the smooth curve of his jaw, how brilliantly his eyes seem to glow, even the elegant curve of one eyebrow.
"Are you so certain? Despite agreeing to be visited by a demon, there are no other priests to accompany or protect you here. No one has come to check up on you since the exorcism. Your apartment has little sign of anyone coming here but you." A pause, and a smirk starts to curl at the edge of his lips. "Well, except perhaps me."
Having the utter hollowness of his life picked and prodded at draws an immediate reaction out of him. Nothing obvious, more subtle- a tension gathering in his shoulders, pale eyes no doubt going dark, and his arms cross over one another. It's an attempt at seeming authoritative but it's only half successful. Instead, he knows, it must more give off the impression that he's holding himself together. "...Everyone has been concerned with Father Morgan's condition. I can tend to myself."
But it's not what he truly wants. It never has been. Yet admitting such weakness to a demon is only asking for trouble.
Sure enough, so soft that it could be gentle, the demon murmurs, "Liar." Before Chikusa can say a thing or react in any way, he continues. "We both know your mentor will make a full recovery. Still, it is admirable of your clergy, knowing full and well that a demon has taken interest in you, are trying to distance themselves further from you. I hadn't thought it possible."
Demons lie. Demons will say whatever they need to in order to drag humans down into sin. Believe in nothing a demon says.
They're lessons he's listened to and committed to heart for years. Every time he face such creatures of sin, those lessons are the ones he always makes sure to recite. So why do the words still dig in like nails on the back of his neck? Why can't he fight off how his innards twist as if something had taken them in a vice? There's no escaping to compose himself with the demon right there, only a counter separating the pair of them. As with so many times before during exorcisms of the past, he has to stay in such a position as he closes his eyes. Hail Mary, full of grace... That's right. More important than his lessons, there's something else he needs to remember. Slowly, his shoulders straighten out, and he opens his eyes again to meet that eerie stare.
"It doesn't matter if other humans distance themselves from me. " He has someone who will never leave him. No matter what.
That doesn't seem to be what the demon wants to hear, judging by his response. "A martyr, then?" It's not obvious, but just that enough makes Chikusa wonder if such a title means he would be difficult. Well, he'll have no pity for a demon, especially one that thought to go after a priest and an exorcist.
"I'm hardly deserving of a title like that." All he does is his duty, and he tries not to complain. Sometimes it's not completely successful, but that's just a sign of how young and inexperienced he is, isn't it? "Is talking all you came to do? I'm disbelieving that is all a demon would want."
There's a small chuckle at his incredulity, and the demon props his chin up with an upturned palm. Closer, just a little, but Chikusa stays where he is on the other side of the counter. As much as he wants to distance himself, he's not going to be chased off in his own home, even a dream of it. "Are there other things you're willing to offer me then, Chikusa Kakimoto?"
"The only thing I agreed to was to let you visit me. I have no desire to give you anything else.
Pushing himself away from the counter, the demon begins to saunter about the room although he glances back at him with an amused smirk. In the moonlight, his red eye glows ominously. "Do you really value your company so little?"
"Do you think flattery will get you anything?" Feeling a little more sturdy, crossed arms and all, Chikusa quirks up an eyebrow. "Especially after calling me a liar... Can a demon really make that sort of accusation and expect to be taken seriously?"
With a light sigh, the demon turns away from him and starts to drift off into his bedroom. That's enough to finally make a move to follow him, frowning a little. Dream this might be, and demons don't exactly care about privacy or personal space, but that doesnt' mean he has to like it snooping around in there. Especially since, in comparison to the rest of his apartment, there's a little more there. Sketchbooks that have been filled to the brink are nestled in-between holy texts. Another small shelf has its own collection of books on psychology. And perhaps most embarrassingly... Near the door hangs a rarely touched rack of varying hats.
"Shouldn't that be taken more seriously than anyone else's word?" the demon asks as Chikusa trails after him. "A demon would know a liar better than anyone, wouldn't they?"
"And a demon can't be relied on to tell the truth," he counters, "so accusations from one such as yourself are inherently untrustworthy."
There's a small pause as the demon turns back to smirk at him, lashes lowered. "Because all men are known to be completely honest?" he asks. "Or are you just picking and choosing what to believe, like so many of the faithful? So quick to label us beyond saving, and yet you forget we were angels once, too." With that, he turns back to step into Chikusa's room, acting as if unaware or unknowing of how he's still being followed.
Because, lips pursed tightly together, of course Chikusa still is. "Perhaps you were once angels. However, that does not get rid of the fact that, whenever your kind interact with humans, you attempt to drag them into sin. That is the difference between believing you, and believing a fallible human."
Browsing over things casually, the demon pauses at Chikusa's bookshelves. He runs his hands gently over the spines of each of the books, taking in the titles. All he pauses for is to look at Chikusa, mouth curled in amusement again in contrast to how his eyes are sharp. "My, my, then what are your beliefs, Chikusa Kakimoto? What do you believe you deserve? To be ignored by your unhearing lord? Shunned by your fellow man?" A wicked glint in his eyes. "To be haunted by a demon?" Plucking a sketchbook seemingly at random, he goes to settle down on Chikusa's bed and appears to ignore the way the priest's eyes go cold.
"Please don't act like you inviting yourself into my life is by any means something I requested, thank you..."
"Didn't you?" He pauses in his perusing of the sketchbook to look up at Chikusa, one eyebrow delicately raised. "You have dispatched more of my brethren than any has in your generation. Yet instead of being hailed as a saint or savior, you're feared and shunned."
"I hardly think I'm feared..." Yet perhaps he can't deny 'shunned' in the end. Before he can finish composing any further response in his head, the demon is already letting the book snap shut. Startled, Chikusa watches him stand up and step closer- close enough that he could reach out and touch him if he felt like. Having the demon so close is setting something inside of him completely on edge- like static electricity prickling in the air, feeling an earthy smell fill his lungs before a storm. Perhaps the demon can sense it as well, leaning forward as his lip quirk slightly at the corners.
"I merely help grant wishes that are held quietly in the human heart. Most were grateful to know that someone had heard their prayers and cared enough to respond. Are you sure it's not in human nature to 'sin' and be forgiven in endless cycles? What joy is there to be had to be alone and righteous?" Then, so quickly it could be a time turn, the demon adds, "You're rather talented." Raising up the sketchbook, he waggles it for a moment before he turns to return it to its rightful place.
The whiplash leaves Chikusa off-balance. "Thank you," he murmurs, blinking but able to breathe again with the demon no longer in his space. While he says the words, he wonders at the sincerity of the compliment.
Letting out a small laugh, the demon plucks out a textbook. "You're welcome. Have you shown these to others?"
"No.... I haven't." There's never truly been anyone to show them to, now that he's become an adult.
To his surprise, that makes the demon frown slightly as he meets his gaze once more. "A pity. Not even your beloved mentor?"
Unable to stop himself this time, Chikusa shifts with perhaps the faintest trace of uneasiness. "My teacher is a busy man. I shouldn't bother him with trivial things like that." What a strange conversation. Not only because it's happening in the middle of the night, or because he's never had it before, but who would expect a demon to lead such along? It's uncharted territories in more ways than one, so Chikusa tries to steer it back onto what he knows. "Can you really say what your kind does is out of 'caring'...?" He's seen too many possessions to believe that.
"Can you really say so certainly that you're not feared?" The demon clicks his tongue. "Those who have crossed your path once are not eager to do so again. Still, I can no more speak for all of demonkind than you could mankind. I have never had any who complained about my methods." He shakes his head, almost as if in dismay of Chikusa's perfectly reasonable doubt. Really... The priest doubt there's been no complaints, not unless the demon had cut their tongues out. Talk about an insult, to think he would buy into the most blatant lie of all...
Still. The question has him shifting uneasily, and he finds he doesn't much care to follow its trail. Instead, turning his head away with a frown but not enough to take an eye off of the demon, he murmurs, "For that kind of track record, it seems like you have a lot of spare time if you're investigating the sketches of a simple human who's only done them in his own..."
"Kufufu are you inviting me to come back and look at them more?" He puts the textbook back in its place, and takes out the newest sketchbook to flip through its pages. Chikusa knows it well enough to recognize when he goes back to the pictures that were drawn of him. "Still, it is as you say." His shoulders roll in a careless shrug. "You humans talk about eternity with no real understanding or comprehension to the word. I have lived a long, long time, and it feels like any reason to continue is hard to come by." A pause interrupts his words as he sits back down on the bed, laying back with his hair fanning out around him as he flips through the book further. "It was no lie when I said you were a rare human, enough to pique my interest. It will be a pleasant way to pass the time, getting to know you."
Honeyed words. A feeling of importance. Chikusa reminds himself that this is how demons work, even as he steps further into the room so that he might finally take a seat at his own desk. "And what wold you do instead of continuing on?" he asks, curiosity fueling his words. After a second, he clarifies, "If I wasn't here for you to bother, that is."
Really, why wouldn't he be curious? Humans such as himself can't kill demons. That's not within the meager amount of power that they possess, and even then only when granted by a higher power. All a human exorcist can do is chase a demon out.
But can demons die completely? Just waste away? He doubts he'll get an honest answer... but it's worth trying anyway, while the demon is feeling talkative.
Chuckling lightly, the demon sits up again, tracing the sketches that had been made of him with a glove hand. "I've already said far too much for tonight," he murmurs. "Allow me to visit you again tomorrow and I might tell you."
Just like that, Chikusa closes himself off and withdraws with his usual blank expression sliding into place. Already, he might be going too far. To give a demon one's consent... Well. There are reasons demons try to cajole humans into doing things of their own free will, all lies and deception. Even with how much he's been trained, Chikusa still hasn't found an answer to why, and yet if demons only needed willpower to rule over humanity, he suspects there'd be far more bloodshed in the world.
"I don't have much interest in things that might happen," he says, rejecting the weak promise. Still, credit where credit is due: 'might' means that if the demon decided not to do something, it would still be perfectly within its bounds.
"Even if I agreed to it, would you trust the word of a demon? You seemed not to put much stock in it only minutes ago." Mukuro cants his head to the side, lashes lowered. "Should I tell you 'yes' then to get what I want?"
There's no immediate answer. Chikusa leans back in his chair, fingers grinding against cheap plastic, and thinks. Honestly, tempting fate is probably going to be one of this worse decisions, but his curiosity is still tugging at him. "...Tell me something I can find out and prove is truthful on my own, and I'll put more stock into you telling the truth."
There. That should dissuade the demon a little, or at least make him hesitate. Truth isn't the usual currency of a demon, and he's met many of their kind who've preferred holy water flung into their faces than to speak it.
Yet instead, the demon leans back on his elbows, and smiles like his teeths are fangs.
"Your beloved foster parents are divorcing. Your foster mother has been emotionally unfaithful some time with one of the ministers of the clergy. He's leaving the faith as well to be with her."
When Chikusa stares this time, it isn't the expectant patient stare of a priest willing to wait out a demon. Now, it's one of pure silent shock, something which robs him completely of breath. He'd been expecting something unpleasant- a demon couldn't be trusted to give anything else. Yet he'd thought it would be morbid, or revolting. Mocking, perhaps.
Not... this close to home.
As quickly as he can, even knowing it won't be much use, he schools his expression again with his lips thinned. "...I see." If nothing else, this will be easy enough to disprove.... or validate. "I'll find that out for myself, then. If it's true... you can visit me again."
The demon must find his shock delicious with how easily he stands up from Chikusa's bed, and he surely must be able to tell how he struggles to keep his emotions locked away. But... That he was unaware of such a large change in his own family.... Sauntering past him, the demon heads to the doorway, and smirks at him over his shoulder.
"Whenever you're ready, call for me and I will come for you."
He winks, and Chikusa wakes up.
[cut shit]
That astute observation made Mukuro look up, amused, gaze sharpening. This one was an intelligent one, but not one of the humans who boasted about it like it was such a great thing. No, this one seemed to know the price of what intelligence brought. Isolation. Loneliness. Nothing but trouble. Though, perhaps Mukuro was contributing more to the last than anything else.]
[Earlier, when Chikusa had assumed his teacher to be weak, Mukuro had wondered what sort of weakness he had seen in the man. And what sort he saw in himself. That shallow posturing screamed weakness, cracks in Chikusa's armor that Mukuro could slither into and extort. Maybe he would, gently and almost lovingly. Tearing a person apart required a delicate hand, especially if Mukuro wanted to piece him back together. So, he only let out a small chuckle, leaning back away from the counter to saunter around the room, taking it in.]
[Which had been what had caught Mukuro's interest in the first place. While he did not fear or respect many other demons, there were some he has listened to with interest or followed out of boredom. To keep hearing the name Chikusa Kakimoto amongst them was a warning to many, but for Mukuro it had been an invitation.
Besides, if he was going to visit as often as he wanted to, Chikusa would still need to have some sleep or else the signs of a demon visiting him might become apparent far earlier than what Mukuro would like.]
Yet, Chikusa had said only a truth he could 'prove'. It didn't have to be one that was a good or nice truth. Mukuro was tempted to tell him of the genocides of old, where to find the bodies of civilizations long dead and forgotten. Of how hot hellfire was, how it could consume the whole world and turn it into ashes in less than a minute. He could reveal the answers to mysteries long since gone cold, but having those verified would take time.