princeship | Knifefight Ω Locked to informs

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Knifefight Ω Locked to informs

It had started out as a game, a demonstration of just what he could do when he got serious, when he ditched the playfulness and really let loose; if it could even be called that, because even while he lashed out with Ouroboros, chains of pure energy crackling through the air as it snapped out toward the informant's legs, there was still that ever-present smile firmly in place upon his face.

The reason for his attack was still unclear; it wasn't that Mr. Orihara was withholding valuable information from him, because Hazama had long since taken it upon himself to enforce the phrase "what Hazama wants, Hazama gets" personally, if he had to (it was so much more fun jumping into the fray rather than let his shitty minions handle his personal affairs, after all). Nor was it the fact that Mr. Orihara was considered one of the most dangerous men in the city.

Truthfully? Hazama was doing this because he could.

So he'll be reclining in the informant's chair for this very same reason, desk split in two before him but still standing enough for him to kick his feet up onto it, the Nox Nyctores Ouroboros finally retracting into the ether with a hiss and a crackle as he inspected his nails carefully. The room was in shambles as well, but it probably wasn't as bad as it could have been, all things considering.

"Well, well, well, wasn't that just a blast? And here I thought you youngsters didn't know how to have a good time." He smiled, all teeth. "But apparently I was proven wrong! Well done!" Here, Izaya, have some applause.

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"I wasn't aware that property damage could be considered fun... for intelligent people."

Izaya grimaces behind the slightly astounded grin on his face. His office is a disaster zone, with him standing at its epicenter. He hopes that this Hazama had the cash to pay for everything, and even if he were to be unwilling in giving it up, he will find a way to make him. There was a small comforting relief that the head so precariously sitting atop one of his shelves remains unscathed, but that alone doesn't do much.

Especially with the character of Hazama's knife. It is similar to Saika, in a manner that both are supernatural and beyond human comprehension, honestly. And yet here he is, standing with his own puny, pathetic-in-comparison, mortal flickblade in hand with only a few scratches on his person. Izaya glares at this invader, sitting so smugly and triumphantly in his throne, from where he rules the Tokyo underground. His stomach turns. No one does that. Just like no one mocks him with such deep irony. He knows, and this usurper knows that only one of them can get out of this situation with their powerbase intact.

"You are reimbursing me for this, at the very least." It wasn't a question, request, or even a statement. It was an order, and a declaration of war.

He chuckled again, eyes narrowed into slits. The effect served to make him look even more serpentine, but he still had a rather good-natured air floating about his person all the same. It was a stark contradiction to the bleak state of the room, but it was a safe bet to say that Izaya wouldn't be trusting him any time soon.

"Awww, you're such a stiff! Honestly," A glint of silver signaled the presence of a knife that seemingly materialized out of nowhere but, logically, probably came from within the confines of his sleeves. After twirling the stiletto within his fingers for a few moments, Hazama set to work idly picking at his nails with the blade. "Don't ya ever cut loose? Live a little, c'mon! Why so serious?"

"Most people would consider damage like this very serious." Even though normally he would be the one joking around about people's misfortunes, finding himself in that sort of situation turned out to be tiresome and a nuisance. It was almost worse than having Shizuo prance in and wreck the place... no, it was worse. This man had no intent of revenge or vindication. He was just doing it for the kicks, and that was what perturbed him the most.

Izaya decided to approach his stolen desk and dig his knife into it, right between his crossed ankles. Compared to the damage already done, the informant couldn't have cared less about a self-inflicted cut. "If you're done with your stupidity, leave."

"Really?" He cast a bemused look at the surrounding debris. Izaya's still standing lamp chose at that moment to suddenly collapse upon itself and hit the floor, bulb shattering upon impact and plunging the room into pitch-black darkness.

The only light in the room came from the eerily yellow glow of his eyes, which is at this moment focused right on the spot where Izaya's knife penetrated the desk.

"Oh, but Mr. Orihara..." The patch of inky darkness in front of him became even more darker, if at all possible, and a pair of glowing green eyes appeared from within the darkness.

"We're not quite done here." And then Ouroboros rips out of the ether and zips straight for the informant's face.

"So you like to play in the dark, huh... how cute." Darkness was nothing new to him, and it wasn't like that lamp wasn't replaceable. Izaya knew the layout of his home like the back of his hand, regardless of night or day. The way Hazama's eyes broke through the comforting sense of familiarity turned his stomach.

Ouroboros was almost too quick for him to notice, were it not for its telling, verdant eyes that provided the only other possible light in this murk. The informant was not an amateur by any means, and avoiding harm to his body was one of his areas of expertise. Granted, it was quick enough to leave a scathingly noticeable mark on his cheek, but he was not mortally wounded just yet. There was a slight misfortune in not having his blade on his person, but he figured that as he dodged, he could snap it right back up soon enough.

"And who's to say that, Hazama-san? This is my office."

"Don'tcha know? In complete darkness, 99% of the time human beings start to ... imagine things." The number was probably lesser than that, but there wasn't really any need for specifics. Not know, especially when Mr. Orihara was being a poor sport and refused to sit still for him.

The chain of Ouroboros snapped back into his hand, and though disappointed at the lack of body weight his little Nox Nyctores brought back with it, Hazama was nothing if not determined. Not too much, because it would be a damn shame if the game was over before it had even started, but it was enough to spur him to kick the desk upright and send Ouroboros blasting through the already splintered wood. The weapon curves out before making another beeline at Izaya's coat, the front snapped open wide.

"Don't you know how to be a good host, Mr. Orihara?"

Izaya shook his head lightly. An informant was the last person to present false facts to, and Hazama should have known better to even try to joke. That was all he could do, really, since the chained knife continued to slither around in the air, chasing after him. This was beyond the point of merely being monetarily reimbursed for the destruction before him. He'd get back at this intruder soon enough.

Thanks to his breaking of the desk, however, his own knife became dislodged from the wood, making it up for the grabs. He dashes for it, and sweeps it up as fast as he can.

"You aren't a very kind guest either."

"Well, maybe if you'd actually set out some snacks... deviled eggs? Anything! Who knows, maybe I'm just a little hungry." The emphasis on the word makes it seem like he's implying his hunger is for something else, but rather than elaborate on it further Hazama snatches Ouroboros back into his hand, and once again sends it reeling around the room.

The coils of the Nox Nyctores fall in waves around the room, and it's not until he gives another yank that the reasoning behind this becomes clear. By spreading Ouroboros throughout the room, the coils of the weapon become little more than a snare to catch Izaya's leg, should the informant not hop out of the way fast enough when the chain snaps taut.

"Why don't we hurry up and finish here? I think I left the stove on."

Instead of opting for the foolish thing and and jumping around endlessly, Izaya decides to stand his ground-- or at the very least, move only enough to avoid getting caught by the chains beneath him. Staying completely still is not an option. He's more dancing than anything, and Hazama is probably mentally berating him or thinking he has two left feet.

He considers for the most fleeting of moments to throw the knife straight at Hazama's face. But he's already proven how futile that effort would be. So he closes the knife and leaves it in his pocket. It didn't have much use now, and he doubted that it would have any use later. Between heaving breaths, Izaya replies, "I can't say that culinary arts are my specialty, and my hands-- rather, my feet-- seemed to be tied up at the moment."

Why not throw the knife at Hazama's face, Izaya, you'll give him a souvenir to remember this by. And honestly, he's seen better dancing from a cripple, so you're really not earning any points for being creative, there.

"A shame. Is that why you have a cute little secretary to cook for you? What was her name?" Even with the coils stretched taut around the room, Ouroboros does have enough slack to maneuver back to where Hazama stood and lift its grotesque head up to him. He stroked a finger over the edge of the grappler head and coos to it softly. "Namie, was it? A shame she couldn't join us tonight, I'll have to make sure to include her in the guest list for next time."

When the weapon retracts, endless coils of energy spilling out from seemingly everywhere to fill the room, Hazama spreads his fingers wide to reveal the assortment of stilettos filling the void between his fingertips. One eye closing in mock concentration, he aims one carefully at Izaya's form -- and then sends the entire assortment in his hand flying at Izaya's legs, shoulders and chest in a blur of movement.

"She's been on administrative leave as of recently." That was an outright lie, but if he had the chance to after this spat, Izaya's first course of action would be to call her and stay away from the office for a while. "So, I don't really have much besides TV dinners anyway. I do commend you for knowing that much, at least."

Again his eyes gape open, more taken aback by the sheer number of blades than from where they had appeared. Izaya finds himself with two choices, neither of which he is intent on following through with, but also has only nary a split second to decide. He figures the best course of action would be to let gravity do its work, falling to the floor. He rather much preferred being hurt by the blunt force of the chains than the pierce of the knives.

"We're in the same line of business, Mr. Orihara." He ran his fingers over the brim of his hat and tipped it a little in consideration. His eyes slit when he saw the man drop to the ground and right on the coils of energy scattered across the room.

Gotcha.

Immediately the grappler jolted around and snaked around Izaya's ankle, middle, upper body, throat, wrapping him as tightly as the coils of a serpent. For good measure the head clamped down on the hood of his furry jacket to prevent escape, and with a jerk of his wrist Hazama reeled the Nox Nyctores in sharply.

"Well, well, well.... Looks like I finally got you."

There was little he could do in his defense besides a sharp, hissing inhale of breath. Izaya's hand still clamped around his knife as tightly as these chains were to his body, though at this point clinging to it was futile. The particular constriction around his neck prevented any talking on his part. He did what he could, giving Hazama a good, long, frustrated furrow of his brow that seemed to say, "What is it you that really want with me?"

Finding himself unable to do much else, Izaya tries to fling his knife at his smug little face, but instead it falls limply to the floor.

"Aww, don't look at me like that!" Turning, Hazama chuckled at the muted ping of Izaya's knife hitting the ground. Funny, he thought the little man would have more than that.

"I just wanted to have a little bit of fun. You know, fun? You should try it sometime, I'm sure you'd really enjoy yourself.

Nah, I'm just fucking with you." And he hopped onto what still remained of the desk, one leg crossing over the other, and crooked a finger in Ouroboros' direction. The hook snapped forward with enough force to potentially give Izaya whiplash, and the excess coils began to disappear into the ether.

"Isn't this what you like? Playing games with your 'humans'?" He paused and cackled. "Well, I'm not really human in any sense of the word, so I can see why you're not having any fun."

"Ungh--"

The force that dragged him closer to the green-haired cretin was far too harsh to be healthy for anyone. With the chains dissipating, however, that gave him enough freedom to finally retort and not look as much a fool as he had been. His eyes lock onto his in anger, though Izaya is at a point where he feels confident enough to muster a smile-- a faded one, but it's smug enough to notice.

"Oh, I've tried to have fun with monsters like you before. But it turns out that it's not much fun when my opponent is less than human. A shame, really-- I would have never pegged you as some primal, inhuman creature incapable of being a little intelligent with your gameplay, Hazama-san."

Without much else in the way of taunting, Izaya risks a chance and spits at his face. In hindsight, it was a poor choice, but he was beyond tact at this point. Being thrashed around may have been a factor.

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Knifefight Ω Locked to informs

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SORRY

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happy birthday hazama :3

hazama thanks you for the belated birthday wishes

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