022 | Goldenrod City | Video / Action;

[usedlaserbeam]

[So here's an idyllic scene for you: Yagyuu, back in Goldenrod City (wait a minute, how did he get to Goldenrod, he was just in Cerulean a minute ago—) and hanging out in the grass near the Tennis Haus, which has miraculously recovered from the wear and tear it took from the influx of garbage for this temporary weekend and looks as spiffy and well-kempt as ever. The paint job is clean, the grass is trimmed, the tennis court is spotless, and Yukimura's garden is flourishing — and currently inhabited by one rather large levitating man-eating plant, scaring off humans and animals alike who might try to trespass into the domain it's guarding.

And then there's Yagyuu himself, surrounded by a veritable swarm of seven Eevees, one Espeon, one Umbreon, and one Flareon, all of whom are happy and rambunctious and look like they may very well pick him up and carry him off if he should happen to let his guard down.

(Somewhere in the background, a Slowpoke duct-taped to a skateboard with model rocket engines attached to it goes hurtling by, making a noise that sounds suspiciously like eeeeeeeeeeeed.)

Needless to say, Yagyuu is a little perplexed.]

...Ah. How did I—

[But then he looks down again, and double-takes, because those seven Eevees have all just evolved in the blink of an eye, and he is now sporting two Flareons, a Vaporeon, a Jolteon, a Leafeon, a Glaceon, two Espeons, an Umbreon, and one very dopey Eevee who seems to have failed at evolving in general.

He's almost afraid to look away from them again, for fear that more of them might crop up.]

...It's going to be one of those days again, isn't it.


[OOC: COME HIT HIM UP! Anytime, anywhere, he's in Goldenrod by the Haus but he can easily move wherever you'd like him! COME TO ME, FOURTH-WALLERS, I WANT YOU IN THIS POST. ♥]

Comments

[usedlaserbeam]

Not when you try my patience.

[What a flagrant lie that is, Yagyuu.]

You couldn't think of anything more interesting to do with your newfound talent than to irritate me?

[He lets his fingers catch beneath Niou's chin and lightly but firmly begins to tip it up, applying just enough pressure to make him tilt his head back — and bare his throat.]

[tricky]

[ Try as he might, Niou can't stop himself from swallowing. It isn't easy, either, with his head tipped back; the motion rides hard down the length of his throat. ]

There's literally nothing more interesting in the world, Yeeeeahgyuu.

Besides, I had to test it out somehow.

[usedlaserbeam]

[Be careful, Yagyuu. He wants to push a little, as much for Niou's benefit as for his own, but there's a fine line to walk here and he's determined not to cross it.

He keeps his tone light, casual. Effortless. Like this is nothing out of the ordinary, like they do this every day.]

I can think of at least one thing.

[He doesn't take his eyes off of Niou.]

Show me another trick, Niou-kun.

[tricky]

[ Niou locks eyes with him, then, searches his expression and thinks of every possible trick he could pull that might fit the criteria of 'another' while still being not exactly what Yagyuu wants. He thinks about Rise, surprisingly, and considers whether he could do it, whether he could have bright enough eyes or put enough of himself (enough of her) into a smile.

In the end, though, the shift he makes is effortless, right beneath Yagyuu's fingertips: the faintest change in skintone, the subtle rearrangement of features, the bleeding of warm colour into his hair. The easiest part, as natural as breathing, is the way his expression morphs, guarded nerves like the scrabbling of an animal in a cage giving way to the calm calculation of the predator that put it there. His shoulders relax, his chin lifts just so, almost enough to come free from Yagyuu's grasp, and his glasses shine briefly in the sunlight. ]

Will this do?

[usedlaserbeam]

[Artist is by far the most appropriate word for Niou, Yagyuu muses, watching the transformation take place before his very eyes with more than a touch of fascination. It's always been addicting to watch him work, even without these newfound hokey gay Jesus powers as his disposal, and always altogether far too easy to believe in the tricks he's shown, even when he knows the secrets behind them.

(He always knows, rationally, that Niou is Niou and not the mask he's wearing at any given time, but his partner makes it so easy to forget.)

He lets his hand drop, pleased and yet somehow unsurprised by what he's been given, and smiles — an expression that for a moment, looks oddly out of place on his face.]

Haven't I seen this one before?

[Provocation.]

[tricky]

[ It's unfortunate that Niou can be so easily provoked, a weakness that he relies on his partner to exploit and to cover. He won't snap, but he bends under this sort of deliberate and cleverly-applied pressure, making it a simple task for someone who knows him as well as Yagyuu does to manipulate him.

He passes his hand over his own face, obscuring it for only an instant, but when it comes back into view, it's different — drastically different.

Without the assistance of the eyes-playing-tricks shift from before, he's gone from Yagyuu to a much less familiar face: the angles and lines of Hyoutei's coach, from the touch of flint in his eyes to the beginnings of silver in his hair.

He speaks with a hard undertone and a swift eloquence, words clipped and level. ]

Have you seen this one before?

[usedlaserbeam]

[It's a concession in their game, perhaps, the way that Yagyuu's expression clouds as he starts backward, both from the abrupt transformation and from the choice of persona. The others, he could at least make rational guesses as to why Niou had chosen them — the ghost because he's afraid of them, Atobe because of their history at imitating him, himself because of too many complexities and neuroses that he's not entirely comfortable with considering.

But this?

He knows, vaguely, the identity of Hyoutei's coach, and some of the superficial details about him courtesy of Yanagi-kun's briefings. But there's no explanation for how Niou's managing to impersonate him, no connection to him for why he's chosen this mask, and it's —

He's not sure what it is that's keeping him off-kilter about it, really: the wondering why Niou's chosen this man's face, or the sudden shift in the power roles he's perceiving, from facing himself with touches of Niou bleeding into his character to suddenly feeling constricted, restrained, examined and found lacking under the microscope of that steely gaze and polished refinement.]

I haven't.

[It's all he can do to keep his instincts in check, to bite his tongue to keep from saying, No, sir.]