All right, here goes another short update. Ended up actually sleeping
instead of writing last night. Am also being forced to submit some of my
poetry for a contest. . .so that's making me a little grouchy now, prying
my writing away from me normally needs to be enforced with threat of
physical assault or in this case I was reminded that I'm broke. And yes,
I'm using my pen name/wardrobe in this story, because I couldn't think of
anything else to suit the character. Oh well, on with the fun.
Vesca- Would it be any fun if I told you? Jason- but she wouldn't be Kaoru if she were hard to read. Druid- yes you could, and he most likely would. Kard- As I told Vesca, would it be any fun if you knew the plot? (Not that I really know it myself though. . .)
Touched
The crack of splintering wood interrupted the unnatural silence that mocked Kenshin's feverish mind, and then the silence returned. Amber eyes stared blankly at the torn skin of his knuckle, watching thick crimson fill the split, and run in a growing stain over his skin. So much blood. It pooled on the hardwood floor around him, running down the walls, pouring out of the hold he had punched in the door, and raining from his fingers. So much blood. It was drowning him in uncertainty. Drowning him in guilt. So much blood, it reached up to embrace him. . .
The glass in his hand fell to the floor, shattering and sending a flood of opaque green alcohol to pool on the bare wood as Kenshin followed its example. His eyes were already closed before the cold wood embraced him, the absinthe's sweet poison corrupting his dreams. Dreams through which he writhed and clawed at the wood, fighting the dead faces that waited for him in the unguarded corners of his mind. Do many faces, so many lives he had ended. They accused him, screamed at him, and cried in lament. And somewhere deep inside he searched for a face he couldn't remember, secretly praying none of them were Kaoru's father.
That was how Aoshi found him Sunday morning. Lying unconscious on the floor, dried blood crusted on his hands, and the reek of stale alcohol surrounding him. This hadn't been the first time Kenshin had broken down, but it was one of the most frightening. Shaking his head, Aoshi knelt beside his fallen friend. There were rents scrapped in the wood floor, left behind to be unmistakable wittiness's to the hell that raged behind Kenshin's closed lids. With a sigh Aoshi dialed his cell phone, listening impatiently to message that answered him.
"Hi it's me, who are you, what do you want, and why should I care?" A thick prerecorded female voice echoed in his ear.
"Chandra, it's Aoshi. . ." he paused for a moment, "Kenshin fell again. I'm bringing him to your place. Be home." Hanging up the phone, Aoshi picked up his friend, slinging the dead weight over his shoulder he walked out of the apartment, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.
"Hey Kaoru!" Misao's exuberant voice called down the hallway.
"Oh, hi Misao." Kaoru said, forcing a smile to her lips to cover the listlessness in her voice as she turned to face her friend. It was Tuesday now, Sunday had come and gone with nothing to mark it's passing and she stayed home Monday rather than risk not seeing Kenshin at school. The bruises had begun to fade, and the make up he so carefully applied on her had washed off along with the scent of vanilla. The shirt, on the other hand, she wore that day, finding herself unable to part with its texture.
Misao blinked at the change in her friend, then grinned evilly. "Did Kenshin wear you out?" She asked, pointing at the shirt. "Aoshi told me you stayed at his house after you were mugged."
Kaoru simply shook her head, wondering briefly who this Aoshi was but grateful that some one had the sense not to tell her friend the whole truth. Misao was he best friend, but there were some things it was better to keep hidden from her, especially if you didn't want anyone to know about them.
With a shrug Misao continued, "I can't believe that happened to you? It's horrible, and yet sooooo romantic that Kenshin saved you. Not as romantic as my Aoshi though. . ." Misao rambled on is her happy oblivion.
"Hey, Misao. . .who's this Aoshi?" Kaoru asked, interrupting the ramblings professions of the man's perfection.
"Oh, he's a friend of Kenshin's. They used to work together or something." Misao answered with out pausing for air before she continued talking as they walked to class.
Vesca- Would it be any fun if I told you? Jason- but she wouldn't be Kaoru if she were hard to read. Druid- yes you could, and he most likely would. Kard- As I told Vesca, would it be any fun if you knew the plot? (Not that I really know it myself though. . .)
Touched
The crack of splintering wood interrupted the unnatural silence that mocked Kenshin's feverish mind, and then the silence returned. Amber eyes stared blankly at the torn skin of his knuckle, watching thick crimson fill the split, and run in a growing stain over his skin. So much blood. It pooled on the hardwood floor around him, running down the walls, pouring out of the hold he had punched in the door, and raining from his fingers. So much blood. It was drowning him in uncertainty. Drowning him in guilt. So much blood, it reached up to embrace him. . .
The glass in his hand fell to the floor, shattering and sending a flood of opaque green alcohol to pool on the bare wood as Kenshin followed its example. His eyes were already closed before the cold wood embraced him, the absinthe's sweet poison corrupting his dreams. Dreams through which he writhed and clawed at the wood, fighting the dead faces that waited for him in the unguarded corners of his mind. Do many faces, so many lives he had ended. They accused him, screamed at him, and cried in lament. And somewhere deep inside he searched for a face he couldn't remember, secretly praying none of them were Kaoru's father.
That was how Aoshi found him Sunday morning. Lying unconscious on the floor, dried blood crusted on his hands, and the reek of stale alcohol surrounding him. This hadn't been the first time Kenshin had broken down, but it was one of the most frightening. Shaking his head, Aoshi knelt beside his fallen friend. There were rents scrapped in the wood floor, left behind to be unmistakable wittiness's to the hell that raged behind Kenshin's closed lids. With a sigh Aoshi dialed his cell phone, listening impatiently to message that answered him.
"Hi it's me, who are you, what do you want, and why should I care?" A thick prerecorded female voice echoed in his ear.
"Chandra, it's Aoshi. . ." he paused for a moment, "Kenshin fell again. I'm bringing him to your place. Be home." Hanging up the phone, Aoshi picked up his friend, slinging the dead weight over his shoulder he walked out of the apartment, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.
"Hey Kaoru!" Misao's exuberant voice called down the hallway.
"Oh, hi Misao." Kaoru said, forcing a smile to her lips to cover the listlessness in her voice as she turned to face her friend. It was Tuesday now, Sunday had come and gone with nothing to mark it's passing and she stayed home Monday rather than risk not seeing Kenshin at school. The bruises had begun to fade, and the make up he so carefully applied on her had washed off along with the scent of vanilla. The shirt, on the other hand, she wore that day, finding herself unable to part with its texture.
Misao blinked at the change in her friend, then grinned evilly. "Did Kenshin wear you out?" She asked, pointing at the shirt. "Aoshi told me you stayed at his house after you were mugged."
Kaoru simply shook her head, wondering briefly who this Aoshi was but grateful that some one had the sense not to tell her friend the whole truth. Misao was he best friend, but there were some things it was better to keep hidden from her, especially if you didn't want anyone to know about them.
With a shrug Misao continued, "I can't believe that happened to you? It's horrible, and yet sooooo romantic that Kenshin saved you. Not as romantic as my Aoshi though. . ." Misao rambled on is her happy oblivion.
"Hey, Misao. . .who's this Aoshi?" Kaoru asked, interrupting the ramblings professions of the man's perfection.
"Oh, he's a friend of Kenshin's. They used to work together or something." Misao answered with out pausing for air before she continued talking as they walked to class.