Out of retirement? No, not really, just bored. All the same, enjoy.
Storm Cloud
By Grey Anderton aka BalthierFan6828
Balthier hadn't spoken a word in nearly three hours. He knew the minute he opened his mouth he was going to scream and curse and probably cry, so he continued his silence, his hand shaking slightly as already pressure whitened fingers gripped a plastic spoon with enough force to nearly break it. He didn't want to eat. Nevertheless luke warm eggs starred back at him from a plastic tray accompanied by dry toast and watered down coffee he had gotten with no intention of drinking. He could feel eyes watching him, waiting for him to dare to try and just leave without eating.
He would. And it wouldn't go well.
There was no escaping the prying eyes he feel burning a hole in his back, waiting. There's no missing the bright red hospital bracelet loosely dangling from his right wrist. Red means suicidal, and that means being watched like a hawk twenty-four hours a day. He glances up to meet the eyes watching him and smirks defiantly, fuck these people. It had already not been the best day…
Earlier that Morning-7:00 AM
He's already in a bad mood. Sleep doesn't come easily when you're tied down for the night on your back, sweaty and uncomfortable and scared shitless of things that have happened to you in the dark before. He'd woken up to bright rays of sun in his eyes, sore, wrists throbbing from struggling against his bonds during the fit of a nightmare. They are shadowed with light bruises as his eyes are shadowed with dark circles of despair.
He's barely untied before they are shoving pills and a plastic cup of water at him. Down the hatch and they wait until he's proved he's swallowed them before letting him up. He sits up slowing, rubbing his sore wrists and cursing a god he doesn't believe in. Not anymore.
The morning is full of pain. His bones crack and pop and ache from years of abuse, his head throbs as voices threaten to drown out his thoughts. A shower lifts his spirits a little. The soapy warm water cascading down his scarred and broken body soothes his aches and clears his head. He wants nothing more than to lie down under the hot spray and never move, let it wash away his fears and all the pain. He thinks briefly of Vaan, his blonde little angel, thousands of miles away. He should be awake by now, yawning and eyes half closed as he tumbles out of bed, vaguely grumpy and still half asleep.
Drawing in a sharp breath he shakes the vision away and grim reality sets in. Vaan is not here, and he won't be seeing him for a very long time. The water has cooled and no longer offers the comfort it had, so Balthier dries himself and dresses, wishing already the day was over instead of barely begun.
To Be Continued?