http://deathbymidget.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] deathbymidget.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] damned_institute2007-12-19 07:52 am

Day 29: Chapel

Hiei didn't give a damn about religious services, meditation, or pretending to be social. The always sudden waking after night put him in a bad mood, this one particularly so. Even with Kurikara licking him like some perverted moron, the warmth the dragon provided was welcome in Hiei's bed, and missing when he woke, giving the surrounding air a greater sense of chill.

But the perfect thing to relieve his anger might just be making an appearance that morning, and that at least gave Hiei hope for a decent day.

Hopefully Kurikara and Kurama both would be clever enough to figure it out for themselves. Without hesitation, Hiei demanded to be led to the temple, taking a seat in one of the rear pews. Humans had a way of overdoing things, and this place wasn't really much exception to that. Granted Hiei's limited knowledge prevented him from realizing there were much more outrageous churches, but to the demon, the colored pieces of glass and polished wood seemed to be much.

It didn't matter, however. Either could be turned into weapons, perfect objects to slice into that damned head doctor's throat or bash in his skull. That was a thought worth grinning about.



[Feel free to pester. Just, uh, be aware that he's not exactly nice.]

[identity profile] roger-hug.livejournal.com 2007-12-26 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
Bridget smiled warmly. "Really? Good." He reached over and very lightly poked Armand in the side. "Remember that for later then. You know, should your dignity be in trouble again, Roger and I are here."

It wasn't often that he was saving someone from embarrassment. He often caused it.
ext_203323: Malcolm Jamieson as Armand St. Just in The Scarlet Pimpernel looking down while outside with a tree in background (thoughtful)

[identity profile] secret-orchard.livejournal.com 2007-12-26 11:08 pm (UTC)(link)
With a nervous giggle that sounded like it was coming from someone much younger, Armand cringed back from the poke. "I'm very ticklish!" At least he used to be. He hadn't been tickled lately.

"I suspect the spectacle of a grown man crying isn't so odd here, but I'd rather not for fear of attracting the wrong kind of attention." Spoken of in the abstract, the subject of his dignity almost seemed comical. He could look at it like a wayward pet cat.