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thatdamnedninja.livejournal.com) wrote in
damned_institute2009-09-20 11:43 am
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Entry tags:
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Day 44: breakfast
Yuffie had died.
No, really. Seriously. She had actually died. Bleeding all over the place, making a horrid, sticky mess and scaring the hell out of Suzaku; she remembered it clearly. Kind of. Sort of. Through the blood loss, the pain, and the visions. Through Aerith's voice whispering in her ear, Cloud's stricken eyes, and her own panic. As bad nights went, it had been Bad, capital B and all the trimmings, and oh, god. She sat, trembling on the edge of her bed, eyes closed and hands pressed hard over her racing heart. The by-play between Landel—Landel!—and Lydia barely even sunk in. There was nothing in the whole world, any world, that could prepare you for something like…
Had it all been some kind of hallucination?
Had she imagined the whole thing?
No… She didn't think so. Nightmarish or not, Yuffie knew reality. But if it had been real, how was she alive now? That kind of pain wasn't something you could just cook up, was it? She thought about it all the way to the cafeteria, drifting behind her nurse without focus or intent. Maybe if she tried to stay clinical, tried to step back… But she'd never been good at that when things got personal. And every time she closed her eyes or blinked, she swore that the scenes played back to her, like an overused commercial on a crappy channel on a crappy TV, in a run-down dump of an inn that smelled like mothballs and yesterday's breakfast.
The scent of blood and damp, rotted wood clogged her nose. Disgusted, Yuffie shoved her bowl of cereal—handed to her by a clucking Plucky—off to the side so that she could melt into her chair, palm heels scrubbing against her eyes. Too much. This was… Too much. She couldn't even paste a plastic smile on her face to make herself feel better. Her usual shield, the white noise of inane babble that could filter out almost any crisis, was in tatters all around her. Five minutes, she gave herself.
Five minutes (not) to think, five minutes to get her act together, because there was no way she could let herself shatter here. No way…
[Closed to Sheena]
No, really. Seriously. She had actually died. Bleeding all over the place, making a horrid, sticky mess and scaring the hell out of Suzaku; she remembered it clearly. Kind of. Sort of. Through the blood loss, the pain, and the visions. Through Aerith's voice whispering in her ear, Cloud's stricken eyes, and her own panic. As bad nights went, it had been Bad, capital B and all the trimmings, and oh, god. She sat, trembling on the edge of her bed, eyes closed and hands pressed hard over her racing heart. The by-play between Landel—Landel!—and Lydia barely even sunk in. There was nothing in the whole world, any world, that could prepare you for something like…
Had it all been some kind of hallucination?
Had she imagined the whole thing?
No… She didn't think so. Nightmarish or not, Yuffie knew reality. But if it had been real, how was she alive now? That kind of pain wasn't something you could just cook up, was it? She thought about it all the way to the cafeteria, drifting behind her nurse without focus or intent. Maybe if she tried to stay clinical, tried to step back… But she'd never been good at that when things got personal. And every time she closed her eyes or blinked, she swore that the scenes played back to her, like an overused commercial on a crappy channel on a crappy TV, in a run-down dump of an inn that smelled like mothballs and yesterday's breakfast.
The scent of blood and damp, rotted wood clogged her nose. Disgusted, Yuffie shoved her bowl of cereal—handed to her by a clucking Plucky—off to the side so that she could melt into her chair, palm heels scrubbing against her eyes. Too much. This was… Too much. She couldn't even paste a plastic smile on her face to make herself feel better. Her usual shield, the white noise of inane babble that could filter out almost any crisis, was in tatters all around her. Five minutes, she gave herself.
Five minutes (not) to think, five minutes to get her act together, because there was no way she could let herself shatter here. No way…
[Closed to Sheena]
no subject
"You see, when the attack by the undead happened in Doyleton, my bodyguard and my friend was severely injured while protecting me. He was resting all of yesterday, and I suspect he'll be resting for a few days more unless he gets special attention.
"I suspect you know what I'm asking of you," he finished, folding his hands on the table. "If you had the time, I mean. If you have a previous assignment, I wouldn't want to take you away from it, but I'm limited in my movement until Haku is able to walk again."
Which was a nice, professional way to put it, but in Artemis' mind the sooner Haku had color in his cheeks again and was standing up, the sooner Artemis could breathe freely again. No doubt he'd be scolded for worrying so much, but he was scolded enough by Haku--and never harshly enough to discourage him from worrying.
no subject
"I, um, don't have any assignments for tonight yet..." And if he kept avoiding the bulletin board and the other shinigami, he hopefully wouldn't have anything to interfere with what he needed to do. "But I'd be happy to help no matter what. As much as I can, at least," he added, lest Artemis get his hopes up too far.
no subject
"Thank you, Hanatarou. This means a lot to me. Whatever you can do, I would appreciate.
"You remember which room I'm in? M47?" Artemis said, reminding Hanatarou in case he didn't remember--which Artemis wouldn't blame him for. So many assignments, so many meeting places...
"I won't be going anywhere, so you can take your time as well."
no subject
It was nice when he could do things to help people, especially when it was someone who'd been as nice to him as Artemis had. Although if "Haku" was the person he remembered, he still kind of wondered - it wasn't as though they'd assign a girl to room with a boy (he didn't think so, at least) but still...
Oh, well. It wasn't important.