musubi | twenty-fourth breath ✧ voice/action

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luceti

twenty-fourth breath ✧ voice/action

[Filtered from Naoki - 50%]

Sso.

So.

Firs'... a salute, no - toast, to th'fine men an' women curren'ly serving in the draft. Hats off, motherfuckers.

[Isamu has been holed up since the draft started. Clearly, he hasn't been doing anything productive.]

Should've... should've fuckin' volunteered, maybe.

...Had a second point. Forgot what it was.

[Action is open to the few people who might want to make this their business.]

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[Isamu has done basically nothing but drink, sleep, and wallow in his own misery for the past couple days. Both he and the house reflect this.

At least the door is unlocked.]

[For the first time in probably...well, ever, Raph enters Isamu's house quietly. First thing he thinks when he sees the mess is Yep. Been there, done that. It only gives him more reasons to turn his life around. And then there's a pang of guilt that hits him harder than the smell of stale beer. He's partially responsible for this, isn't he? Introducing Isamu to this shit. Son of a bitch.]

Isamu? Yo, where you at?

[Raph wasn't Isamu's introduction to alcohol, and if the latter knew the turtle was feeling guilty over that he might have laughed.

As it is, he's just sitting on the sofa in the living room, quiet and bleary eyed.]

Nowhere, man.

[Shut up. He's blaming himself. You're ruining the effect.

Raph finds Isamu on the couch, and just stands a few feet away, hands around the pommel his sheathed sai and trying his best to look together. But the truth is, he's not much better off than Isamu, and the smell of alcohol is making him want to hurl.]

Real fine mess you got here.

You like it? It was a work in progress.

[Though he has a feeling that progress has just been forcefully halted.]

Funny. What's your problem?

[Isamu squints at the green blur in front of him.]

I went an' fucked shit up big time, s'what.

[Raph just sighs and looks for a garbage can or some shit. He can't be around this crap anymore. Needs to at least get rid of the empties...and probably any full stuff too.]

Yeah, yeah. Hold on, whimpy. I'm cleain' the place first. Then we'll play Dr. Phil.

[He murmurs some acknowledgment and slumps back into the seat.]

[Yeah, definitely throwing out anything that reminds him of alcohol. He gathers all the crap up in a garbage bag he snatched out of the kitchen trash can. Once it's done he just... opens the door and throws it in the yard. He's just cool like that. Plus he just doesn't want to smell it.

When that's done, he plops on the couch next to Isamu, but doesn't say anything.]

[Isamu, for his part, just leans over against Raph's side.]

S'not even right, man.

[And Raph just lets him.]

You're tellin' me.

Everything here. A-an' I jus' made it... make it... worse.

[Raph falls silent. Maybe if he lets the kid babble, he'll start making sense eventually.]

I'm such an idiot...

Already treadin' on thin ice, an'... I took a hammer to it.

[He nudges Isamu gently with his shoulder.]

You the only one here, bro?

'Course I'm the only one here. That's really how it should fucking be, isn't it?

[Firmly:] No, it ain't. That's why I'm here.

[Isamu let's out something like a chocked sob.]

Hey. [Shit.] Quit that.

[But he puts his arm around his friend. Fuck you, Isamu. You're breaking his heart and he doesn't even know what you're so upset about.]

You're tougher than that, right?

Hell no. Jus' look at me.

[Tough? Hardly.]

Eh, you're right. You're a fuckin' mess. But that don't mean you're no wuss either. You just gotta toughen up a little.

Heh... Yeah. 'Cause toughening up'll fix all this shit...

I didn't say that.

[He thumps Isamu's shoulder, then takes his arm back.]

So what do you want me to do, huh? I don't know what's goin' on, and I ain't good at this stuff anyways.

Never asked you to do anything.

There's nothing you can do.

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