{OOC: This is a one-shot post. I am currently in basic training in the armed forces, and was given leave for Christmas. I have decided that I will return after basic training and reactivate Narashi Jo as my main character. Below is an explanation of Jo’s current status as it pertains to his inactivity based on RP’s by Takaki Saeko. I’m looking forward to RPing with everyone again. I’ll post in the OCR board as soon as I have reliable internet access and the ability to post on a regular basis. Until then, have a happy new year!}
Immurement was a special kind of hell. When one wished to hold someone indefinitely, but still retain the ability to revive their mortal flesh, immurement was the only option. Jo remembered only fleeting images of the process; he was heavily sedated the entire time. Not for his own protection, but to protect the medical and ANBU personnel from that which caused his imprisonment in the first place. He needed to learn to restrain the demon within himself, he had to stop it from hurting innocent bystanders and those he loved. He remembered a large spherical room, the walls, floor and ceiling underlit by low-level red light. In the center of the room was an elevated platform about a meter in diameter. Jo remember being led to the platform by four faceless ANBU guards, one of which removed the shackles from his wrists and ankles. Then, the platform descended into the carbonite freezing cylinder, and everything went black.
The effects of the sedatives immediately wore off as Jo slipped into his own subconscious, a prison in and of itself. He found himself standing in the middle of an infinite white room, dressed not in his bright orange prison jumpsuit, but wearing what he would’ve worn on any normal day; black leather boots, denim blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. A few minutes of confusion kept him occupied before a familiar voice broke the silence.
”Well, you did it… didn’t think you had it in you, but here we are…” The voice was rough, like gravel being ground by steel millstones, and so deep the fathomless darkness of the ocean couldn’t hope to compare. Jo turned around to see what appeared to be a mirror image of himself, only in grey scale. The only color that the other Jo emitted was the crimson iris’ of its eyes. ”We might as well make ourselves comfortable, we’re going to be here for a while.” The figure motioned to two blood red wing backed armchairs to Jo’s left that he hadn’t noticed before. Jo walked numbly over to them and plopped down in one, rubbing his head as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The figure sauntered over and sat in the chair opposite Jo, reaching over to a side table and picking up a crystal decanter and a rocks glass, pouring some of the amber liquid into the clear cup. ”Scotch?” Jo accepted the glass without question, bringing the edge to his lips and sipping. It was his favorite brand, aged 18 years in white oak barrels. As the other Jo began pouring another glass for himself, the real Jo began forming cohesive thoughts.
”Who… where… how…?” The colorless Jo chuckled, an decisively evil sound that sent shivers down real Jo’s spine. That’s when he realized who it was: By-Tor, the demon that had been sent to him as a “gift” from the Author, a diety who had told Jo that his life and the lives of those around him were actually the stories of an infinite number of other Authors. The demon had given him the power to survive an atomic blast on a top secret mission during the Marsh Wars. It had also taken over his body when recent events caused Jo to lean more and more on his strength to keep up with his duties as Hand of the Sennin and head of the Merces Letifer. It was he who had attacked Saeko and-
Jo leapt from the chair, the scotch completely forgotten as he flew at his nemesis. Hands locked around By-Tor’s throat as the armchair it was in toppled over. The being chuckled as if nothing was happening, his completely unaffected voice dripping condescension. ”Now really… didn’t we have enough of this in the Garden of Heroes? How about we sit down and have a conversation like civilized folk? I guess we could beat the ever-living hell out of each other for the rest of eternity, but it won’t get us anywhere.”</B><i></i> Jo’s enraged snarl shrank to an angry glare as he pried his fingers from around By-Tor’s neck and climbed off of him. By-Tor stood and dusted himself off, <B>”Now that’s a little better, isn’t it? Now, let’s take a seat, shall we?” Somehow the chairs were back on their feet, both glasses of scotch unscathed on the end table. Jo plopped unceremoniously back onto his chair, his hand reflexively reaching for his scotch and draining it in one swig before setting the glass back onto the side table.
”So, we’re in my subconscious? How’s all of this,” he motioned to the furniture and booze. ”How’s all this possible?”
”Pretty simple really,” By-Tor said, pouring Jo another glass and handing it to him. ”This is all based off of your memories. These chairs were in the Dragons Rest hotel, the scotch is your favorite brand, this side table was in your apartment. We can manifest any of your memories we want from here. From your childhood…” suddenly they were in the amphitheater with Ren watching Shakespeare. ”To your adolescence…” They were on top of that hellish mountain in Marsh, the snow flying thick, with Jo and the rest of the Merces Letifer waiting to unknowingly assault the nuclear research facility where the Kingslayers were building their weapons of mass destruction. ”To more recent events…” They were in Jo’s bedroom, and Saeko lay bloody and bruised on the floor.
”STOP!” Jo covered his eyes and the image vanished. His hands were shaking and his face pale. He never wanted to see that image again. It was already haunting his every other thought. It was what finally brought him to the conclusion that he had to turn himself in as an unregistered Jinchuuriki; it was the only way to protect those he loved from himself. ”Why are you showing me these things?”
”Because somewhere in your memories is the key to us getting out of here. The medics are monitoring your brainwaves and chakra activity. They’ll release us from this place once it shows you have control over me. So, the fastest way to do that would be to find something in your memories that can help us trick them into thinking you’re in control. Then we can get the hell out of here.” Jo’s face became set and determined, his hand uncovering eyes bright and fierce, the hazel orbs boring into By-Tors contrasting crimson.
”No. There will be no deception. We are going to have a long talk, you and I. We’re not leaving this place until we’ve come to an understanding.”
What transpired next was a lengthy discussion and debate, the details of which will not be imparted on the reader. Rest assured that it centered around values and vices, fate and free will, dominance and submission, the individual and the team, boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, and repercussions for infractions. All the while, the medical ninja’s watched their monitors with awe as data streamed across the screen, their newest subject frozen in silvery carbonite, mounted to the wall in a metallic frame, standing rigidly at attention, face frozen in grim determination.
Immurement was a special kind of hell. When one wished to hold someone indefinitely, but still retain the ability to revive their mortal flesh, immurement was the only option. Jo remembered only fleeting images of the process; he was heavily sedated the entire time. Not for his own protection, but to protect the medical and ANBU personnel from that which caused his imprisonment in the first place. He needed to learn to restrain the demon within himself, he had to stop it from hurting innocent bystanders and those he loved. He remembered a large spherical room, the walls, floor and ceiling underlit by low-level red light. In the center of the room was an elevated platform about a meter in diameter. Jo remember being led to the platform by four faceless ANBU guards, one of which removed the shackles from his wrists and ankles. Then, the platform descended into the carbonite freezing cylinder, and everything went black.
The effects of the sedatives immediately wore off as Jo slipped into his own subconscious, a prison in and of itself. He found himself standing in the middle of an infinite white room, dressed not in his bright orange prison jumpsuit, but wearing what he would’ve worn on any normal day; black leather boots, denim blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket. A few minutes of confusion kept him occupied before a familiar voice broke the silence.
”Well, you did it… didn’t think you had it in you, but here we are…” The voice was rough, like gravel being ground by steel millstones, and so deep the fathomless darkness of the ocean couldn’t hope to compare. Jo turned around to see what appeared to be a mirror image of himself, only in grey scale. The only color that the other Jo emitted was the crimson iris’ of its eyes. ”We might as well make ourselves comfortable, we’re going to be here for a while.” The figure motioned to two blood red wing backed armchairs to Jo’s left that he hadn’t noticed before. Jo walked numbly over to them and plopped down in one, rubbing his head as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. The figure sauntered over and sat in the chair opposite Jo, reaching over to a side table and picking up a crystal decanter and a rocks glass, pouring some of the amber liquid into the clear cup. ”Scotch?” Jo accepted the glass without question, bringing the edge to his lips and sipping. It was his favorite brand, aged 18 years in white oak barrels. As the other Jo began pouring another glass for himself, the real Jo began forming cohesive thoughts.
”Who… where… how…?” The colorless Jo chuckled, an decisively evil sound that sent shivers down real Jo’s spine. That’s when he realized who it was: By-Tor, the demon that had been sent to him as a “gift” from the Author, a diety who had told Jo that his life and the lives of those around him were actually the stories of an infinite number of other Authors. The demon had given him the power to survive an atomic blast on a top secret mission during the Marsh Wars. It had also taken over his body when recent events caused Jo to lean more and more on his strength to keep up with his duties as Hand of the Sennin and head of the Merces Letifer. It was he who had attacked Saeko and-
Jo leapt from the chair, the scotch completely forgotten as he flew at his nemesis. Hands locked around By-Tor’s throat as the armchair it was in toppled over. The being chuckled as if nothing was happening, his completely unaffected voice dripping condescension. ”Now really… didn’t we have enough of this in the Garden of Heroes? How about we sit down and have a conversation like civilized folk? I guess we could beat the ever-living hell out of each other for the rest of eternity, but it won’t get us anywhere.”</B><i></i> Jo’s enraged snarl shrank to an angry glare as he pried his fingers from around By-Tor’s neck and climbed off of him. By-Tor stood and dusted himself off, <B>”Now that’s a little better, isn’t it? Now, let’s take a seat, shall we?” Somehow the chairs were back on their feet, both glasses of scotch unscathed on the end table. Jo plopped unceremoniously back onto his chair, his hand reflexively reaching for his scotch and draining it in one swig before setting the glass back onto the side table.
”So, we’re in my subconscious? How’s all of this,” he motioned to the furniture and booze. ”How’s all this possible?”
”Pretty simple really,” By-Tor said, pouring Jo another glass and handing it to him. ”This is all based off of your memories. These chairs were in the Dragons Rest hotel, the scotch is your favorite brand, this side table was in your apartment. We can manifest any of your memories we want from here. From your childhood…” suddenly they were in the amphitheater with Ren watching Shakespeare. ”To your adolescence…” They were on top of that hellish mountain in Marsh, the snow flying thick, with Jo and the rest of the Merces Letifer waiting to unknowingly assault the nuclear research facility where the Kingslayers were building their weapons of mass destruction. ”To more recent events…” They were in Jo’s bedroom, and Saeko lay bloody and bruised on the floor.
”STOP!” Jo covered his eyes and the image vanished. His hands were shaking and his face pale. He never wanted to see that image again. It was already haunting his every other thought. It was what finally brought him to the conclusion that he had to turn himself in as an unregistered Jinchuuriki; it was the only way to protect those he loved from himself. ”Why are you showing me these things?”
”Because somewhere in your memories is the key to us getting out of here. The medics are monitoring your brainwaves and chakra activity. They’ll release us from this place once it shows you have control over me. So, the fastest way to do that would be to find something in your memories that can help us trick them into thinking you’re in control. Then we can get the hell out of here.” Jo’s face became set and determined, his hand uncovering eyes bright and fierce, the hazel orbs boring into By-Tors contrasting crimson.
”No. There will be no deception. We are going to have a long talk, you and I. We’re not leaving this place until we’ve come to an understanding.”
What transpired next was a lengthy discussion and debate, the details of which will not be imparted on the reader. Rest assured that it centered around values and vices, fate and free will, dominance and submission, the individual and the team, boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed, and repercussions for infractions. All the while, the medical ninja’s watched their monitors with awe as data streamed across the screen, their newest subject frozen in silvery carbonite, mounted to the wall in a metallic frame, standing rigidly at attention, face frozen in grim determination.