princeship | 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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"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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happy birthday hazama :3

hazama thanks you for the belated birthday wishes

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