井上 織姫 INOUE ORIHIME (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
faeth) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2012-10-04 12:57 am
faeth) wrote in damned_institute2012-10-04 12:57 am
Night 66: F1-F10 Hallway
[ F2 ]
True enough, the intercom sounded off like clockwork. The doctor spoke, all pretenses were shed, and Orihime sat in her bed feeling simultaneously refreshed and nauseated by it, by the fact that they were little more than caged animals scrutinized beneath an indifferent eye. After spending the better part of the day distrusting strangers (the nurse that had followed her, the infamous head doctor), it was both a relief and a dread to witness the reality of it for herself – to understand, with an uncharacteristic yet self-aware sort of bitterness, that she had more than enough reason to dislike these people straight off the bat.
Orihime listened, fingers pressing indents into her mattress and trembling as she kept her composure, as she refused to let the careless message (if you don’t die) get to her. It was, still is, a learning process: she learned how to worry without so much of the weeping and the unnecessary bemoaning wails, the prying when she figured that her presence would be more of a hindrance than a help. And so it occurred to her that she should say something, to try to reassure Flora-san before she headed out (a high-five, perhaps? thumbs up?), but there wasn’t very much she could – can – do.
There wasn’t very much to say, was the thing. How horrible and what a heartless person were on the tip of her tongue, but she had no confidence that her voice wouldn’t shake (stammerwhisperbreak) if it committed to such loaded statements. Instead, she jumped out of bed the moment the door unlocked, grabbing her flashlight from underneath her pillow and pulling open her closet for a pair of sneakers, swallowing down the uneasiness that had clumped in the middle of her throat. The cold sweat was unavoidable though, even as her sweatshirt served as some form of comfort, even as she pretended that it was OK to let herself get away with it – with the sense of new hero empowerment that came with the responsibility she had assigned herself for the night. Pretending she didn’t know better.
“I’m sorry I can’t stick around. There are some people waiting on me,” she said, keeping her tone perfectly neutral even as she wondered to herself when exactly she’d picked up such a nifty trick. “But we’ll meet back here later, right, Flora-san? We will, and then we’ll-“ We’ll have a slumber party, we’ll have a pillow fight, I’ll teach you the secret of playing Monopoly.
Because we’ll be alive and okay.
She smiled, facing her new roommate. “We’ll get to know each other even more.”
With her flashlight in hand and her pins tucked along the right side of her hair, she ventured forth, opening the door and heading out into the hallway without a faltered step, a hesitant look back, even as the darkness swallowed her whole.
[ to here. ]
True enough, the intercom sounded off like clockwork. The doctor spoke, all pretenses were shed, and Orihime sat in her bed feeling simultaneously refreshed and nauseated by it, by the fact that they were little more than caged animals scrutinized beneath an indifferent eye. After spending the better part of the day distrusting strangers (the nurse that had followed her, the infamous head doctor), it was both a relief and a dread to witness the reality of it for herself – to understand, with an uncharacteristic yet self-aware sort of bitterness, that she had more than enough reason to dislike these people straight off the bat.
Orihime listened, fingers pressing indents into her mattress and trembling as she kept her composure, as she refused to let the careless message (if you don’t die) get to her. It was, still is, a learning process: she learned how to worry without so much of the weeping and the unnecessary bemoaning wails, the prying when she figured that her presence would be more of a hindrance than a help. And so it occurred to her that she should say something, to try to reassure Flora-san before she headed out (a high-five, perhaps? thumbs up?), but there wasn’t very much she could – can – do.
There wasn’t very much to say, was the thing. How horrible and what a heartless person were on the tip of her tongue, but she had no confidence that her voice wouldn’t shake (stammerwhisperbreak) if it committed to such loaded statements. Instead, she jumped out of bed the moment the door unlocked, grabbing her flashlight from underneath her pillow and pulling open her closet for a pair of sneakers, swallowing down the uneasiness that had clumped in the middle of her throat. The cold sweat was unavoidable though, even as her sweatshirt served as some form of comfort, even as she pretended that it was OK to let herself get away with it – with the sense of new hero empowerment that came with the responsibility she had assigned herself for the night. Pretending she didn’t know better.
“I’m sorry I can’t stick around. There are some people waiting on me,” she said, keeping her tone perfectly neutral even as she wondered to herself when exactly she’d picked up such a nifty trick. “But we’ll meet back here later, right, Flora-san? We will, and then we’ll-“ We’ll have a slumber party, we’ll have a pillow fight, I’ll teach you the secret of playing Monopoly.
Because we’ll be alive and okay.
She smiled, facing her new roommate. “We’ll get to know each other even more.”
With her flashlight in hand and her pins tucked along the right side of her hair, she ventured forth, opening the door and heading out into the hallway without a faltered step, a hesitant look back, even as the darkness swallowed her whole.
[ to here. ]