[ Gon... knows this weirdo? Killua hadn't realized that. The realization has him even more baffled than what had just happened, which in his mind was some Cwyld-infected random creep lurking in the entertainment district near some of the seediest areas that stay open until daybreak. The whole robot thing was weird too, and almost guaranteed this person was a Mirrorbound since there's no one else in the city like that as far as Killua knows; he might not have lived here that long, but the machine parts stand out plenty.
What stands out even more is Gon's face, though. The way Gon looks at Mettaton with a mix of worry, betrayal, and-- is it fear? No, not fear exactly, not fear of the stranger in front of him. Fear of something else. An anxious, awful memory. Killua can't understand why, exactly, Gon looks like that, but he can see it. And, in the echo of their Bond, he can feel Gon's distress.
It immediately overtakes his annoyance with what had just happened. He's free now, the weirdo has no arm, and Gon is here. If this is a friend, they can figure out what's wrong with him and take him to the Coven even if he does put up a fight.
Taking a step forward, Killua begins to reach out. He opens his mouth.
The words don't come; the paralyzing spell works instantly.
For a moment, Killua stands there, eyes wide, lips half-parted, awake and completely unable to move or make a sound. He feels the magic working, senses it taking hold, but he's too late to resist. With the commotion of others milling about nearby, trying to peer in on what happened, he'd dismissed the steps coming up behind him and focused too hard on the feeling of the Bond inside, trying to understand Gon's expression and act to soothe him. It's an ill-timed mistake, and an unlucky case of wrong-time-wrong-place.
The Witch standing behind him is an older man, grey haired with fine, distinguished lines beneath his angular glasses, which flash beneath his drawn-up hood. After a night spent in the Entertainment District failing to find a good subject on street corners, night-houses and brothels -- where they're all too drunk, too weak or too old to withstand what he wants to test -- now he finds the perfect subject. He'd seen the boy rip off that other person's strange arm, seen the electricity.
Killua, having missed his chance to run, has no defenses against high-level magic from a master practitioner. He feels long, cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, squeezing tight, grabbed like a misbehaving kitten. Unable to move even his eyes, Killua doesn't see what happens next. A hand reaches into his pocket, where his watch is barely visible shining off the lights.
There's a crackle of magic that makes the hair on the backs of his forearms stand on end, and then he's yanked backward, hauled into the shimmering air behind the bespectacled man that blinks there for just a moment before -- they're gone.
The robed figure and Killua vanish into thin air, and the watch clatters to the floor. ]
no subject
What stands out even more is Gon's face, though. The way Gon looks at Mettaton with a mix of worry, betrayal, and-- is it fear? No, not fear exactly, not fear of the stranger in front of him. Fear of something else. An anxious, awful memory. Killua can't understand why, exactly, Gon looks like that, but he can see it. And, in the echo of their Bond, he can feel Gon's distress.
It immediately overtakes his annoyance with what had just happened. He's free now, the weirdo has no arm, and Gon is here. If this is a friend, they can figure out what's wrong with him and take him to the Coven even if he does put up a fight.
Taking a step forward, Killua begins to reach out. He opens his mouth.
The words don't come; the paralyzing spell works instantly.
For a moment, Killua stands there, eyes wide, lips half-parted, awake and completely unable to move or make a sound. He feels the magic working, senses it taking hold, but he's too late to resist. With the commotion of others milling about nearby, trying to peer in on what happened, he'd dismissed the steps coming up behind him and focused too hard on the feeling of the Bond inside, trying to understand Gon's expression and act to soothe him. It's an ill-timed mistake, and an unlucky case of wrong-time-wrong-place.
The Witch standing behind him is an older man, grey haired with fine, distinguished lines beneath his angular glasses, which flash beneath his drawn-up hood. After a night spent in the Entertainment District failing to find a good subject on street corners, night-houses and brothels -- where they're all too drunk, too weak or too old to withstand what he wants to test -- now he finds the perfect subject. He'd seen the boy rip off that other person's strange arm, seen the electricity.
Killua, having missed his chance to run, has no defenses against high-level magic from a master practitioner. He feels long, cold fingers wrap around the back of his neck, squeezing tight, grabbed like a misbehaving kitten. Unable to move even his eyes, Killua doesn't see what happens next. A hand reaches into his pocket, where his watch is barely visible shining off the lights.
There's a crackle of magic that makes the hair on the backs of his forearms stand on end, and then he's yanked backward, hauled into the shimmering air behind the bespectacled man that blinks there for just a moment before -- they're gone.
The robed figure and Killua vanish into thin air, and the watch clatters to the floor. ]