What is in the box? Is it a riddle worth pondering over? Fighting over even? The man’s mind does know what is in the box, and while I may as easily purchase another of it— certainly to a man who disdains arisen complications and wasting his time— it is undeniably a better solution to this fruitless fight with one extremely stubborn planetary weapon.
It’s more logical, and what is Vincent Valentine if not logical? Yet, remaining as I am I have discovered myself. As words of defiance were uttered from his lips, so had a consonance sounded in counter left mine— point per point. Is the box that important? A tiny part of me that continues to remain a nuisance to the mind that has always denied himself of the humanity he still carries seems to whisper in encouragement. For any man, the content therein usually symbolize a certain sort of sentimental value; and whilst this man may have wished to deny it, he can rarely say no to a delicacy of such sweetness. It did hold a sentimental value. Where cuspate teeth are sunk into the cardboard’s fold, tearing out a chunk, interlaced through a hiss of shredded paper is a sharpness of breathe stirred in mine. With dual claret orbs narrowing down, I shift my face forward, dulcet tone a warm mist upon the planetary weapon’s lips as a ‘request’ is sounded.
“Leave it, squire.” This man knows it’s really not what’s in the box that interests Chaos. The trouble, however, is to truly figure what the real issue is.
Of course, granted…that I truly care.
What is in the box? The box is absolutely not the question at this point, whether there is anything of use in the box or not he cannot care one single iota, he does not care if he ruins what is in the box or if he hands it over, what he cares is getting what he wants from the host. Is it so much to ask for a little now and then? Is it so much to want use of their body, the host treats him like a simply voice in the back of their head, but he is another entity of his own will and power, is it so much to ask for a little freedom a little say in their meshed lives? Is it so much to ask for a little recognition?
The box is certainly not the question it simply happened to come about at a boiling point and being seized upon as a bargaining tool Chaos is simply being petulant and moody. Oh, he is always such a terrible creature, a ferocious thing, isn’t he, doesn’t he always cause harm and mischief to the host, and those near by, is he not some powerful weapon of destruction. Aye it is that he is all these things, but a creature is more than simply one path, there is such a multitude of experiences and thoughts, desires and aversion, within him, an accumulation of eons and lives contained within a singular identity, he is so many things simultaneously can he not want as they do, can he not be pleased by such small offerings as a simple treat now and then. True it is that his nature is vicious, yet does he not protect, does he not carry his own duty and burden, where would the host be if it weren’t for him, this man that disdains him so. Chaos refuses to back down when his sights are set on an end no matter the means.
“Is it really so much to let me have anything host, do I not serve you some purpose? I will not give you what you want, what you need, any longer without demanding in return my own.”
A woman was left guard of God’s granted box. In an elegantly carved container spoke the temptation; personal curiosity preceded the need for caution. With the mind that should have known better, she opened the box and from within its depth sprung all manner of nightmares and woes possibly ever conceived. The woman’s name …is Pandora.
What is in the box?
Is it still about the box?
Mayhaps Chaos is ferocious. Mayhaps the exiled taint is vile. Mayhaps it had been by those despicable proviso the creature earned its name and thus the ravenette’s regard, or mayhaps it is something else entirely, similar in how a box is no longer one. Passive, gloved hand appeared, placed upon the carton’s lid regardless of the destruction the other’s determine to wrought…Yet to think that the planetary weapon’s action held no pricitipation toward the crimson enshrouded gunner would have been a mistake. Even therein the silence after the weapon’s threat has came to its conclusion, the quiescence in itself is that of a compressed spring awaiting for released. Minisculy, cuspate pair of carmine narrowed down. Blood red iridescence burned vividly in lambant light. An answering to the other’s sulferous hue, what there is to be said?
“There’s a difference between what is granted and what’s forcibly taken.” A nature of utmost simplicities I’ve never thought I have to voice aloud. “You, yourself, should know better than all.” Chaos, Gaia’s exiled taint to which men who dared defy the rules of nature had sought to collect and it was into men the entity became bound. Do I still recall my first awakening? By his daring gaze, did he still? Firm in my resolution, gauntlet arm is raised ascent, joining my others below the torn carton. I shifted my weight to the side. A minute change in motion, overflowing from turning ankle toward wisting hips lent force to intention and I extracted the box from his grasp. Three steps it took for the item to be placed back upon the table top. “I can share…but I do not stand threat. Neither do I stand blackmail.” That, too, should not have to be voiced aloud. Annoyed, a soft tsk parted from beneath maroon cowl before glance was casted back. “If you wished to eat, get the plates and the utelsils out. Make yourself useful.”