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Greystone, a mental health hospital. [J-rock RPG]

Kyo : Garden. Open to all.

Greystone, a mental health hospital. [J-rock RPG]

Kyo : Garden. Open to all.

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Kyo was persistent in believing that he was one of the most intelligent men that had ever set foot in the hospital.
And it was true, he was certainly one of the most intelligent of all patients. Even some of the doctors, he was sure, couldn't match up to his mental abilities. Like his psychiatrist, who after two years and two months, hadn't done a thing. Not that any of this was important to Kyo, there was nothing wrong with him. He didn't need some 'cure' or medicine. He needed understanding, for these people to realise that he was, indeed, God.

Most of the time, he was left alone by both patients and staff due to his occasional outbreaks. But recently the young man had been well behaved, quiet almost.
The voices had been distant, and it almost annoyed him. Kyo was sure that it was just their way of plotting something, trying to ruin his prophecy.

The morning when they came back, he was almost delighted. It meant that he had to cleanse himself now, carve prophesies into his body to keep the devils away.
This, too, wasn't a problem. By two years, he had quite a collection of sharp objects, ranging from razorblades, to stanley knives, to simple cutlery. Some things he stole from staff, others he'd found.
Now, he was quite happily sat underneath a large green tree in the garden. It was the quiet time, the personal time. The time for him to get the doubters, the unbelievers out of his body.

Without hesitation, he pressed the blade of a razor into his already scared arm, outlining a 'p', in English. The blood quickly started to flow.
  • "What are you doing?" Question as easily slipped as the razor cutting your veins or better yet making claim to things he hadn't yet to understand because it was all held in the eyes of a child. Peter Pan syndrome to match the exaggerated movements he'd made in name of all that was innocent and untainted. Curiosity getting the better part of him considering he hadn't quite made the initiative fo find familiar faces or lulling voices that seemed to call out over broken sound waves. The other patients found him almost intimidating if not highly reasonable to get along with but he would have guessed it had only been due to his freedom of self expression.

    Fingers slowly traced the outlining of black scriptures in the form of permanent ink sketched on his skin before he'd taken the initiative to seat himself near the man. They'd said he was dangerous, unstable maybe but what words had come to confirm weren't much use when you could have seen for yourself if rumors were true. Miyavi hadn't thought they had the right to judge when most of the staff had been tainted by the money and sex that lied locked within concrete walls.

    • Brushstroke eyelashes framed brown hues that didn't look up at all at the presence, or the question. He knew perfectly well that he was being spoken to, and he'd felt the presence with what he'd figured to be his supernatural senses.
      Maybe he'd simply spotted approaching shadows, but Kyo, the true God, the Prophet, was certainly convinced that his ability to sense another human being was due to his heightened powers.

      "I'm writing," he said simply, almost sounding simple in his speech. But he was concentrating, the obsessive compulsive part of him insisting that the carving be perfect.
      And it was in the end. The word 'Prophet' and the careful engraving wasn't visible due to the blood, but that didn't seem to bother Kyo. He let his numb arm hang limply, and gazed up at the other.
      He'd known of this patient, and how others avoided him. They avoided Kyo, too.
      "And I'm enjoying the nice, summer afternoon," he lied, giving a crooked smile.
      Now that the message was in his arm, he felt much, much better.
      • [Sorry I took such a long time to reply, I've been out of town.]

        "Oh." Words barely visible over air that hadn't seemed as clean as the breeze that hit walls high enough to touch the heavens or at least crumble under the touch of dirty demons. Painted red substance something like cotton candy from an opened wound or so he would have thought if the circumstances of self mutilation had been knowledge amongst a child. Colored strings and black wire would help stitch the wounds amongst your arm but even then the demons would find a way to tear away the imperfections granted on your skin.

        Fingers sought out the dip in his pants where they'd been granted pockets to fish out a collection of band-aids, things the nurses gave him because he'd always managed to hurt himself one way or another. Only accidental causes because the need for self inflicted injury had never been brought up unless he'd heard it by word of mouth by doctors. Eyes locked on wound before he wiped away at the liquid with his mandatory uniform, sky blue like medical patients had they not been permanently housed in a mental facility. Hadn't even asked for permission to touch but it was something he had never considered because he truelly was naive when it came to personal boundries.

        "Which band-aid do you want, I think you'll need all of them to get the blood to stop but you never know?"
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