[ He clenches his jaw with enough force to chip a tooth before erupting into a full-throated scream. His feet fall on the table, the stumps of his legs only don’t fall because he stiffens in agony. His blood spurts, he’s dizzy with the shock -
And then the ache in his mouth soothes away. The blood slows and he slumps, breathing heavily. The stumps of his legs are twitching and rippling as slowly, painfully, his flesh starts to regrow.
It takes too many painful minutes as he flops there for his feet to reform. ]
[ Squalo lets out a little sadistic laugh, apparently quite pleased with the scream, though to his credit he stays true to the contract and doesn't injure the other further. He's got half a mind to simply leave, really, but that rippling catches his attention. It's not every day you get to see something as fucked up as that. ]
[ So he lingers right where he is, casually wiping the sides of his sword against the couch as he watches the would-be legstumps shift and mold in real time. ]
[ It’s hard to tell at first what’s the pain of regrowth and what’s the pain of an unnatural growth, but as soon as he’s got most of a foot he pulls his legs up onto his thigh so he can watch the growth of his sole, palpating the area as it forms ]
… No… Why didn’t that work?! [ He spits a number of incredibly gauche curses in Arcadian, the sort his mother used to clip him round the ear for copying off of her, and flung himself fuming back on the cushions ]
That should have worked! My feet should have grown back in their original form! My body isn’t supposed to change.
[ He sits up as abruptly as he’d flung himself down, grabbing for one of his old severed feet ]
Do you have a knife? I need to see the internal changes they’ve inflicted on me
Yeah? [ It's not an uncommon reaction by any means, but Squalo still taps two fingers against one of his own horns with a crooked smile. ] You think I'm wearing this 'cause I like it?
[ He considers asking for something more in return again, but this is actually turning kind of fascinating. He digs around in his jacket and tosses a folded pocket knife at L.L. ]
Some guys have actually compiled DNA analysis a while ago. You can probably look it up... I think his name was Fitz. [ shrug. ] Whatever it is, it's apparently altering us on the mollecular level.
[ He’s sure he can do this autopsy. Why not? He’s seen men die, he’s seen men mutilated, their bodies torn and spattered, and he’s been covered in the blood of people he’s killed. He cuts into the heel beside the the horn, sectioning away a hunk of flesh as efficiently as if he were preparing raw meat for a stew, but as he flips away what was his own meat to reveal the first of the bones underneath his stomach turns.
His blood is still fresh. He swallows against the nausea, trues to ignore his sudden realisation that the foot is still warm as he cuts in further, looking to see if horn is joined to bone ]
[ You know what? Squalo was going to leave at this point, but this has just gotten interesting again. Is this guy fucking insane enough to dissect his own foot right after he got it chopped off? He elegantly sits down on the clean part of the couch, a safe distance away just in case L.L's stomach can't handle it after all, lamenting the fact that he has no popcorn with him, and watches. ]
[ He draws a deep breath, steadying himself back to detachment. This is nothing, this is a task coroners and surgeons perform every day, he has Geassed far more gruesome acts and he can handle actually cutting through the meat himself for once ]
Ahh… it appears that the horn is growing directly from the calcaneum - the heelbone. Rather than the horn be a distinct growth, the heelbone itself is changing colour and consistency across the entire bone…
[ He scrapes the knife against the bone, thinking to look deeper, but something about that wet noise and the friction finally turns his stomach completely. He drops his foot and the knife and scrabbles away from the table, grimacing hard as he fights back the sudden wave of nausea. He nearly clamps his hand over his mouth - but no, it’s covered in his own blood and flesh - and bolts for the bathroom on his tiptoes.
Very soon comes the sound of him being noisy sick into the sink ]
You must've really fucked up, though. Those things are usually practical.
[ You hear that, L.L? You're worse at sinning than the contract murderer. At least all of the growths he received were a non-obstacle at worst and a functional weapon at best. Bone stillettos, though? That will be cumbersome every time he needs to run. ]
[ And then L.L. gags and rushes off. So much for that. Squalo makes a disappointed nose and picks himself off the couch, stretching with a yawn and heading for the door. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
And then the ache in his mouth soothes away. The blood slows and he slumps, breathing heavily. The stumps of his legs are twitching and rippling as slowly, painfully, his flesh starts to regrow.
It takes too many painful minutes as he flops there for his feet to reform. ]
no subject
[ So he lingers right where he is, casually wiping the sides of his sword against the couch as he watches the would-be legstumps shift and mold in real time. ]
no subject
… No… Why didn’t that work?! [ He spits a number of incredibly gauche curses in Arcadian, the sort his mother used to clip him round the ear for copying off of her, and flung himself fuming back on the cushions ]
That should have worked! My feet should have grown back in their original form! My body isn’t supposed to change.
[ He sits up as abruptly as he’d flung himself down, grabbing for one of his old severed feet ]
Do you have a knife? I need to see the internal changes they’ve inflicted on me
no subject
[ He considers asking for something more in return again, but this is actually turning kind of fascinating. He digs around in his jacket and tosses a folded pocket knife at L.L. ]
Some guys have actually compiled DNA analysis a while ago. You can probably look it up... I think his name was Fitz. [ shrug. ] Whatever it is, it's apparently altering us on the mollecular level.
no subject
[ He’s sure he can do this autopsy. Why not? He’s seen men die, he’s seen men mutilated, their bodies torn and spattered, and he’s been covered in the blood of people he’s killed. He cuts into the heel beside the the horn, sectioning away a hunk of flesh as efficiently as if he were preparing raw meat for a stew, but as he flips away what was his own meat to reveal the first of the bones underneath his stomach turns.
His blood is still fresh. He swallows against the nausea, trues to ignore his sudden realisation that the foot is still warm as he cuts in further, looking to see if horn is joined to bone ]
no subject
How's it look?
no subject
Ahh… it appears that the horn is growing directly from the calcaneum - the heelbone. Rather than the horn be a distinct growth, the heelbone itself is changing colour and consistency across the entire bone…
[ He scrapes the knife against the bone, thinking to look deeper, but something about that wet noise and the friction finally turns his stomach completely. He drops his foot and the knife and scrabbles away from the table, grimacing hard as he fights back the sudden wave of nausea. He nearly clamps his hand over his mouth - but no, it’s covered in his own blood and flesh - and bolts for the bathroom on his tiptoes.
Very soon comes the sound of him being noisy sick into the sink ]
no subject
You must've really fucked up, though. Those things are usually practical.
[ You hear that, L.L? You're worse at sinning than the contract murderer. At least all of the growths he received were a non-obstacle at worst and a functional weapon at best. Bone stillettos, though? That will be cumbersome every time he needs to run. ]
[ And then L.L. gags and rushes off. So much for that. Squalo makes a disappointed nose and picks himself off the couch, stretching with a yawn and heading for the door. ]