Post by Dazai Osamu on Jun 7, 2017 8:48:18 GMT
人間失格。
「 human failure. 」
{ tag: @username }
「 human failure. 」
{ tag: @username }
He wakes in a field of flowers.
Dazai Osamu is not one who is easily stumped. Rather, the opposite — he is the one who stumps others. Somewhat a bit of an enigma to his subordinates and even his friends, he is always fooling someone. Right now, though, he feels much like the fool. The light hurts his eye, so he raises a palm to the sky to shield it. He squints to adjust, thankful for the bandages over his not-so-useful eye. The scent of grass and various flowers mixing together fills his nostrils as he rolls his head to the side. Red camellias are to his immediate left. The demon prodigy smiles a fox-like smile, sitting himself upright and plucking a flower from its stem.
Mori had taught him a thing or two about the language of flowers, and when Mori talks, he listens. He recognizes the many (some conflicting) meanings of a red camellia. The flower is raised to his lips, sweet nothing filling his nose to the brim. Bruised fingers handle the delicate flower with quite a bit of grace, as though he truly doesn't wish to harm the poor thing. Abruptly, he tosses the scentless flower carelessly over his shoulder without a second thought and stands, brushing himself off. The mafioso is dressed nicely, as a proper mafioso should be dressed, though now the bandages wrapped tightly around his neck and wrists are stained lightly with the green of the grass. Dazai looks toward his former resting space, toward the black trench coat laying neatly in the grass. He leans over to deftly pluck it from the ground, dust off any stray grass, and drape it back over his shoulders with a fluid motion, arms outside of the sleeves. He shakes his head like a wet dog to get rid of any blades of grass that may be stuck in his hair.
Dazai tries to recall the last thing he did, but he simply cannot remember. With this, he throws his head back and smiles directly at the sun, eyes narrow and smile wide. He laughs a hearty laugh, arms outspread. "This is it! I've finally done it! I've left the dreadful plane of existence that was my dreary life. This is the afterlife, isn't it? I must have died in my sleep to achieve this. It's not stylish, but it'll do!" He spins a bit, oddly excited at the idea that he may have died to arrive here. Twisting and turning and spinning in a clumsy near-waltz with himself, he trips over his own feet and falls onto the ground once more, still laughing. After a bit of laughter, it fades into wistful sighting, and then blank staring up at the sky. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realizes something just awful.
Falling on his back hurt.
"Ugh. You don't feel pain in the afterlife, do you? So... I just must be really lost." Dazai laments out loud to himself, flattening himself to the floor and pouting a bit. He raises his hand to his head again and lets out a groan before asking a question he expects to be rhetorical: "Is anyone there?"
Mori had taught him a thing or two about the language of flowers, and when Mori talks, he listens. He recognizes the many (some conflicting) meanings of a red camellia. The flower is raised to his lips, sweet nothing filling his nose to the brim. Bruised fingers handle the delicate flower with quite a bit of grace, as though he truly doesn't wish to harm the poor thing. Abruptly, he tosses the scentless flower carelessly over his shoulder without a second thought and stands, brushing himself off. The mafioso is dressed nicely, as a proper mafioso should be dressed, though now the bandages wrapped tightly around his neck and wrists are stained lightly with the green of the grass. Dazai looks toward his former resting space, toward the black trench coat laying neatly in the grass. He leans over to deftly pluck it from the ground, dust off any stray grass, and drape it back over his shoulders with a fluid motion, arms outside of the sleeves. He shakes his head like a wet dog to get rid of any blades of grass that may be stuck in his hair.
Dazai tries to recall the last thing he did, but he simply cannot remember. With this, he throws his head back and smiles directly at the sun, eyes narrow and smile wide. He laughs a hearty laugh, arms outspread. "This is it! I've finally done it! I've left the dreadful plane of existence that was my dreary life. This is the afterlife, isn't it? I must have died in my sleep to achieve this. It's not stylish, but it'll do!" He spins a bit, oddly excited at the idea that he may have died to arrive here. Twisting and turning and spinning in a clumsy near-waltz with himself, he trips over his own feet and falls onto the ground once more, still laughing. After a bit of laughter, it fades into wistful sighting, and then blank staring up at the sky. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he realizes something just awful.
Falling on his back hurt.
"Ugh. You don't feel pain in the afterlife, do you? So... I just must be really lost." Dazai laments out loud to himself, flattening himself to the floor and pouting a bit. He raises his hand to his head again and lets out a groan before asking a question he expects to be rhetorical: "Is anyone there?"
{ notes: n/a }
