Day 40: Lunch

[whiny-egomaniac.livejournal.com]

*hobble wobble*

"Damn that SCOURGE!" Starscream cried out, the slowly-filling cafeteria producing a jarring echo of his raspy voice. His limping, already bad enough from not knowing how to properly use his crutches, was now exacerbated from the injuries he'd received the shift prior. Despite the gauges in his non-casted leg so lovingly provided by the aforementioned 'patient', Starscream could still put some weight on it, but not so much that he could really stop and rest; relieving the soreness under his arms was out of the question. The nurse that walked behind him with his tray, already upset at having to deal with yet another troublesome inmate, was growing rather impatient as his charge slowly made his way down the food line.

"Just...give me a standard serving of the aquatic creature's flesh, some of those fried potato slices, two bananas, and three bottles of juice," Starscream sighed, his anger from just a moment ago assuaged by the physical exertion needed to move the way he did. "I'm going to sit down here...bring it to me when you're done."

He was hardly surprised to find that one of the bananas was completely bruised along its inner curve, or that the handful of 'chips' on his plate were all on the small side. Tired and frustrated as he was, however, he could barely muster a 'damned flesh-creature' before moving his fingers to the plate, picking one of the longer 'chips' and shoving it into his mouth listlessly.

There was an unusually high concentration of sodium chloride crystals on it. Of COURSE.

[For Tony Stark]

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[notachick.livejournal.com]

"I wouldn't be here talking to you if I hadn't," Okita pointed out, folding his paper napkin into a square. He'd run out of food he wanted to eat and the things he had eaten were sitting heavily in his stomach. He wondered briefly if he'd eaten too much and then shrugged to himself, starting to make the napkin into a little paper iris. It would be nowhere near as colorful as the ones Homura liked, but maybe it would help solidify his loyalty to the war prince. "And no, I haven't. He hasn't tried to speak with me, either. I wanted to hear from you first before I tried to speak with him."

Which was a lie, but it was a good lie. Okita didn't know if he wanted to talk to a man who had so publicly told him to die. Even if the message hadn't been directed at him exactly, he had no guarantee about the sort of relationship his counterpart had with Hijikata Toshirou. Okita Souji didn't go walking into what could be his death just because a familiar name called him there. Homura was eating now, at least, and Okita had finished his flower. Reaching out, he laid it on Homura's tray and then looked to where the man was pointing.

Such a small boy... To think that he was a killer, too, was a sad thing indeed. Okita remembered taking his first life. The smell of that night and the feel of the blood on his hands still haunted him in his dreams. As did the man's face - that twisted, horrid vision of himself. Okita wasn't sure if he was the best example to show Nataku that there was more to life than death and killing, but he'd do as told. He'd play with the boy and make him smile and listen to him when he needed it - and then watch for his decision. Giving Nataku a friend within the History Club was coercion enough to bring him over to their side, perhaps, but as Homura wished, Okita would never actively try to recruit him.

"So you're sending me to show him there is more to life than death?" Okita laughed, the sound surprisingly light despite his words. "You certainly have a strange sense of humor, Homura-san. But I'll do as you ask. I'll show him how to play hide and seek. Maybe you'll join us?"