1 This God-Awful Place[Private] Sat Apr 19, 2014 5:09 pm
Fūten
D-rank
The never-ceasing scent of sweat, and the fresh scent of blood caressed Fūten's nostrils as he sat, cross-legged upon the bed-side table in which he had just used to swiftly end the life of someone whom could be worded as none other than a nuisance. An annoying worm which pokes to the surface too soon, amongst a murder of crows. Fūten was meditating, and visualizing in a wonderful flashback, all of the men he had slain in this place. The most recent came forth to him immediately. His mind brought it all to him with great speed. It went a little something like this.
___________________________
Fūten sat, legs crossed, eyes closed, within his cell. His cell mate was grunting loudly, using a side table as a bench press. It was beginning to annoy Fūten. This was his fourth cell mate in the past month. The guards had taken to placing bets on each one they threw in with him, knowing that he has no tolerance. They threw pedophiles and rapists in with him for the most part, caring little about their fate.
Fūten uncrossed his legs in irritation.
"Aargh, uuuh" the man grunted some more.
Fūten raised his leg above the side table, which was heavy enough to cause the plebeian to struggle with, then slammed down with impressive force in a guillotine drop. The table crushed the mans head with relative ease, but the kick was finely tuned enough that the table was unharmed. Fūten climbed up on top of the table, which blood was running out from beneath, and continued his meditation.
this.
___________________________
That had only been about twenty minutes ago. The guards were all disappointed. They traded bet money, and then opened the cell door. The one who had lost and didn't have the ryo to pay up was the one who had to enter the cell. He was terrified. Fūten could see the fear in his eyes, even being armed with the heavily destructive equipment, the man knew terror when he saw it. And Fūten was terror.
The man quivered and stammered. "115, p..please stand up and back up toward me slowly. Regular procedures."
Fūten grinned and obeyed, moving very slowly and almost with belligerence. He wanted the man to feel uncomfortable. He wanted these people to understand. To comprehend. He wanted to leave this place and serve a true purpose. The untimely demise of patient 227 would have to be looked over by the three supervisors. They lifted the side table and as they did, small fragments of gore and skull dripped from the bottom, like lifting a shoe from a smashed insect.
Fūten began to speak to them.
"When will you release me? How many more have to die? Can you not hear it in my voice, can you not see it in the writing on the walls? I am not insane, I am just not destined to remain here. I would do better at the side of an important official, not a pedophile, or rapist who lost his mind long ago. You need consult your Kage on what to do with me, as I will be leaving here one way or another very soon. Bring him to me as soon as possible."
Fūten turned around, his chains now unlocked and his hands free. He stood and watched them, not moving. They cleaned up the floor of the cell with a suiton technique, and removed the body. Slowly latching the sell door behind them.
Fūten returned to the bedside table. Sitting down upon it, and crossing his legs. Meditating. This was what he often did, it was an easy way to allow time to pass around oneself, rather than pushing oneself through time.
[WC:637]
___________________________
Fūten sat, legs crossed, eyes closed, within his cell. His cell mate was grunting loudly, using a side table as a bench press. It was beginning to annoy Fūten. This was his fourth cell mate in the past month. The guards had taken to placing bets on each one they threw in with him, knowing that he has no tolerance. They threw pedophiles and rapists in with him for the most part, caring little about their fate.
Fūten uncrossed his legs in irritation.
"Aargh, uuuh" the man grunted some more.
Fūten raised his leg above the side table, which was heavy enough to cause the plebeian to struggle with, then slammed down with impressive force in a guillotine drop. The table crushed the mans head with relative ease, but the kick was finely tuned enough that the table was unharmed. Fūten climbed up on top of the table, which blood was running out from beneath, and continued his meditation.
this.
___________________________
That had only been about twenty minutes ago. The guards were all disappointed. They traded bet money, and then opened the cell door. The one who had lost and didn't have the ryo to pay up was the one who had to enter the cell. He was terrified. Fūten could see the fear in his eyes, even being armed with the heavily destructive equipment, the man knew terror when he saw it. And Fūten was terror.
The man quivered and stammered. "115, p..please stand up and back up toward me slowly. Regular procedures."
Fūten grinned and obeyed, moving very slowly and almost with belligerence. He wanted the man to feel uncomfortable. He wanted these people to understand. To comprehend. He wanted to leave this place and serve a true purpose. The untimely demise of patient 227 would have to be looked over by the three supervisors. They lifted the side table and as they did, small fragments of gore and skull dripped from the bottom, like lifting a shoe from a smashed insect.
Fūten began to speak to them.
"When will you release me? How many more have to die? Can you not hear it in my voice, can you not see it in the writing on the walls? I am not insane, I am just not destined to remain here. I would do better at the side of an important official, not a pedophile, or rapist who lost his mind long ago. You need consult your Kage on what to do with me, as I will be leaving here one way or another very soon. Bring him to me as soon as possible."
Fūten turned around, his chains now unlocked and his hands free. He stood and watched them, not moving. They cleaned up the floor of the cell with a suiton technique, and removed the body. Slowly latching the sell door behind them.
Fūten returned to the bedside table. Sitting down upon it, and crossing his legs. Meditating. This was what he often did, it was an easy way to allow time to pass around oneself, rather than pushing oneself through time.
[WC:637]