I hope you enjoy this, it is a bit more serious than my previous fictions
Megawatt lights, obnoxious voices, and blaring shrieks of music bombarded Ichigo's eyes and ears. The sickening smell of deep-fried powdered sugar and vomit from the rides made him want to hurl. In general, he hated going out anywhere the populous was, for his senses were hyperactive, and everything was incredibly loud and overwhelming. So, naturally, the worst place he could've been dragged (kicking and screaming, I might add) would be the carnival.
He'd been dragged from the quiet, dark confines of his room by an overenthusiastic father, and a shiny-eyed Yuzu. The dark scowl on his face did little to ward them off, and Karin's expression was little better than his... The mood dropped even lower after he had had to pull his hood up to keep from being annoyed by Keigo.
Currently, he was seated between an equally pissed off Karin, and a squealing, slightly green, Yuzu. The lights alone could induce an epileptic seizure, and the spinning, quaking of the ride told the orange-head exactly why his seat smelled like sick.
He closed his eyes, willing the suffering to end...it was not that he couldn't tolerate the ride- oh no, he quite enjoyed the violent thrashing about and twirling upside down-, but the agoraphobic side of him (that which gave him the hyperactive sensitivity) was forcing more adrenaline through him than really necessary, and he was going to be sick from the thought of how many people were surrounding him, and how bright and just plain obnoxiously loud everything was.
When the retreat from the crowds ended, he opened his eyes, and walked his sisters off the ride to a happily cry-squealing Isshin, spouting something about how grown up his little girls were... The happy (excluding Karin) group ran off towards the other end of the fair, and Ichigo took that as his cue for a break from humanity.
He avoided touching people, and pulled his hood up close, as he made his way to a near-by building the Carnies had set up close to. He found the fire escape and scaled it, far too used to doing the same within the city. He sighed as he reached the top, and perched on the rim of the building, laying on his back.
The orange-head pulled a cigarette stub from his pocket, lighting up, and taking a long calm drag, holding in the smoke, before breathing out a relieved, smoggy sigh. He didn't smoke routinely, just when he needed to calm down, take chill pill- so to speak- and feel the endorphins calm his mind from the anxiety of being around people.
He really could not stand being around large groups of people...and socializing was incredibly awkward...it was preferable just to be on his own most of the time.
When he reached the point of being mildly dazed, he rubbed out the nub, shoving it deep into his pockets.
Ichigo climbed back down the fire escape, jumping the last few rungs, and turned his head back to the lights of horror. As he started walking, a loud, angry, slurred voice irritated his ears,
"Y-yeww" the man (he assumed, unless it was a very deep-voiced woman) hicced, and slammed something down hard against...something, "fuh-er-ckin sonuva beetch" (fucking son of a bitch in drunken-slur-speak-a language I know well) Ichigo could tell, even with his lack in experience of human emotions and empathy, that the man was angry...and probably confused.
'As is most of humanity these days...and any other set of days...'
Just the drunken accent hurt the orange-head's ears, making him want to hit something. Then, his hypersensitive eardrum was shattered, as he heard something glass break and a grunt. He quickened his pace, now feeling unfamiliar concernment with whoever was on the receiving end of that.
The teen creeped up on the scene of a rather ugly, huge man...who was obviously disoriented and filled with drunken rage. In his meaty red hand, he held the neck of a broken glass bottle.
The heated aura of a damning hatred was emanating from someone out of view, whom Ichigo guessing the drunken man was slurredly screaming at. He glimpsed a pale, with black adorned nails, chipping off, and rather grimy. A different voice, the one of the other person he assumed, starting yelling at just as loud a decibel, though considerably less intoxicated, "I did'n' do anythin'! 'onest!"
The pale handed person's voice was high-pitched, and agitated, fluctuating between a growl and a shriek... although normally, something like this would've given Ichigo a migraine with his over-sensitive senses, it seemed ironically soothing...almost...in a weird way.
" –'ll teach ya ta-" hic" to...-" without finishing the though, the huge man swung his fist- still clenching the bottle- at the pale teen. Just as glass was about to collide with skin, the pale kid jumped out of the way, landing a kick to the drunken man's gut, and swearing profusely.
The orange head just watched with mild fixation, as his view of the paler teen was unobstructed; his fists were clenched tightly, the blue veins visible on his tight pale skin, and the black, skin-tight shirt accentuated his skinny form, the ribs visible, and giving him a sickly feminine curve. However, any thoughts of femininity from Ichigo were drowned out as the spiteful teen lashed out, grunting and throwing a punch, and a verbal insult,
"ya fuck'n' fat-ass, jus' you try...I'm sick o' yer damn bitchin' and hittin' all the time"
As he turned, he saw the vivid haired boy watching him, and winked, sparing a haughty smirk, as he just missed getting struck by sharp, jagged glass. Ichigo felt an odd sensation color his face, and a flare of mild guilt (because the albino had almost been hit while distracted leering at him).
"wha' is it this time, eh, Baraggan? Someone drink yer booze?" the pale teen glanced back at Ichigo, winking yet again, and biting his lip. Then, he turned sharply, hitting the man in the gut, pulling his arm back just in time to miss a cascade of beer laced vomit.
"sonuvabitch" a round of phlegm filled hacking coughs "- firs' ya mess with my son, an' now this, damn it '-Saki!"
"I tolja! I didn' do anythin' ta tha' asshole! He came onto m-"
"SHUT UP! ya drink my stuff, ya smoke my cigs, ya fuck with m'son, and ya mess with everythin'"
"ya're fergettin' who runs all o' this shit! Ya too damn drunk ta do any goddamn thing yerself!"
Ichigo felt confusion and awkwardness wash through him at being a third person to the argument. He pulled his hood closer and spun on his heel, away from the quarreling duo, but got no farther than a few feet before the yelling was stopped mid-swear by the undeniable squelching of glass in skin. He turned wide eyes to the two, and saw the younger falling from his knees to the ground face first, with blood streaming from the back of his neck. The angry booze-ridden man looked shocked and a shade paler from his burgundy red, and dropped the blood-tipped half-bottle, backing away from the unconscious body. Ichigo felt the mildest sense of horror twinge at him, and sprung into action as soon as the man labeled 'Baraggan' was out of sight. He flipped open his dinosaur cell-phone, and dialed his father's number, while putting a bit of pressure onto the bleeding.
How odd it was to just walk upon a potential murder scene, he thought. This was probably the first emotion –albeit one of mild horror- he'd felt in quite a while. The apathy went hand-in-hand with the agoraphobia (for him, anyway). The conversation was monotone with his father, on both ends; direct questions, simple one-word answers, just business.
Once his father reached the badly bleeding boy, he stepped back, taking notice of the gathering crowd. He could feel his nerves heat up, and his mind screaming at him to get away, to escape, or he'd smother... but he held his ground, fighting the feelings of an oncoming anxiety attack, and focused everything on the injured teen before him. He couldn't take his eyes off of him, something he'd never experienced before, the inability to pry his eyes away. Covered in blood, his pale skin looked even more exotic, staining his thin form, and the bit of taut stomach exposed from his hiked up shirt. There were small pink marks visible under the few smears of blood on his torso.
Bright red lights and sirens approached, finally driving Ichigo back to his senses, and away. He couldn't take the suffocating feeling any longer, and wished he'd thought to bring his hijacked inhaler (from the clinic of course). Paranoia gripped him, and he backed out of the mass of people, staring ahead, and making his way around the people.
Paramedics from the single ambulance that arrived reacted with bored sighs, nothing exciting really was clearly their shared expression. Ichigo watched his father climb into the back with them, already spewing directions, being the only clinic nearby, it was obvious as to where they were headed. Two familiar voices reached his ears, and he had already predicted that he would be driving his little sisters home tonight (as there was no room for anymore in the ambulance cab).
He blocked everything out as he drove. There was nothing but focus in his eyes, he would not slip up. There was no room for error...not again.
Wthey reached the back of the Kurosaki clinic, everyone was automatic. The girls took their places, though there was not much t be done. The orange-head could hear some of wat was being said once the EMTs had gone. The glass had severed all the way trough an artery, and through a bit of muscle tissue, and had most likely caused a concussion.
Although the injury was not nearly as bad as it had seemed, his father had deemed it necessary to sedate the pale being and keep him over night on a close watch.
Only a slight concern for the boy's wellbeing arose in Ichigo's thoughts, pestering him like nothing before. He'd never felt any sort of emotion for a complete stranger. Once everyone had left the room the still-unconscious boy was resting in, he padded down the stairs. The lights were out, and he was alone in consciousness, a feeling I quite enjoyed. There were a few people, but none were near him, none were speaking to him...he had company, but was alone.
His bare feet shifted along the floor until he reached the door to one of the three exam rooms. He heard soft breathing and mutterings from within, and it aroused his sense of curiosity like never before. He had never made many connections with people, because it was too painful, the betrayal, of someone you grew close to. But this, this sudden onset of strange conflicting curiosity and interest- why would his screwed up mind decide now of all times was the time for friends?
He'd been thinking, with his eyes shut and back against the door, for the past fifteen minutes, many things running through his mind. The concern was overwhelming compared to the usual mild sense of any sort of emotion, and he felt the need to check on the pale teen, on his condition.
The door squeaked audibly, and he could see the sheets rise with every intake of breath.
"onii-chan? Why are you..." his youngest sister's tired, drawn voice took him form his reverie, and he pasted his trademark reassuring smile on his face,
"Just making sure the kid's alive, Yuz, go back to bed."
The yellow pajama-clad girl wandered back up the stairs sleepily, and Ichigo composed himself. No attachment, he thought. No-thing. He annunciated each syllable in his mind.
Tiredly, he carried himself back up to his room, taking a short breath from the inhaler he'd taken a few months ago, calming himself and filling his lungs completely. Then he took to the only escape from people; Sleep.
The nightmare was back, as it usually was this time of the year. Shiro was far used to it, and used to no sympathy or comfort. Somewhere, in his slightly awake subconscious, he knew what had happened, and his fear from the repercussions was engulfing him in his sleep, worsening his dream. He could never tell what the dream was entirely of, there was just the suffocating rush of fear, frustration, confusion, and pure anger.
The only time he'd felt this level of intensity of these emotions was at that time. He couldn't even name it, could not envision it any more. That, and his refusal to behave and take it, was what had landed him with the only option of running away with the Carnival. There was no paper trail, no one knew him, or his name. there was no threat of...being followed. He was safe...and now, after the final straw had been burnt, he was not.
And his subconscious was not going to allow him ANY time of peace.
So, slightly more serious and 'darker' than my usual diction, so what do you think? Please tell me in a review. I truly love them.