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31_days2008-01-10 10:13 pm
sophiap.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2008-01-10 10:13 pm
[Jan. 10] [D.Gray-Man] End of Days, Part 10
Title: End of Days pt. 10
Day/Theme: Jan. 10/the simple and loving heart of childhood
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character/Pairing: Ensemble, with a few OCs.
Rating: PG-13.
Part 9
An Akuma would have been less fearsome. The nurse took one step forwards, forcing Komui to take two steps back.
"Leave."
"But..." The robot in his arms kept on singing, the soothing lullaby growing significantly louder and shriller with each iteration.
"And take that... thing with you!"
Komui stood up straight and puffed out his chest, never minding that dignity was not enhanced by holding a small robotic duplicate of himself (which was now belting out a lullaby in 5/4 time and at a pitch that sent a small crack spidering across his glasses).
"Are you telling me that I cannot give a gift to my sister? That I can't leave her with her favorite childhood melodies?"
GOOO TOO SLEEEP!!! GOOOOO TOO SLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!! MY! SWEET! LENALEE!
Lenalee had her head under the covers and did nothing to defend him.
The nurse backed him up another three steps. She was shorter than he was, but he was now leaning back so far that he was looking up at her.
"I'm telling you that you can't bring in a monstrosity that will keep my patients awake."
Komui made one last stab at doing his brotherly duty. He managed to straighten up a few degrees. "Might I remind you who is in charge of this Ord---"
The door slammed shut in his face. It knocked off one of the robot's arms.
"It wouldn't have kept them awake," he muttered, stroking the robot and cradling it as if it were an injured puppy. Although, he finally admitted to himself when he was halfway back to his office, Lenalee had been cringing visibly at the high notes. She even raised her hands a few inches once or twice, as if wanting to cover her ears.
Okay, so maybe the volume could use some adjusting.
But then again, Miranda had slept through it all. He stopped right there in the middle of the hall, fingers drumming on the robot's chest as he thought.
Miranda had stayed awake for five days straight, but Komui had learned that assumptions could be lethal when it came to his exorcists. For all they knew, that kind of sleep could be normal after Miranda exerted herself like that. Or, maybe it wasn't.
Komui abandoned the robot behind a pillar and headed back to the infirmary, his footsteps drowned by the sound of something that sounded like a madrigal sung by squirrels.
* * *
When it came time to give up her clothes, it was Jamie who took Dolores behind the partition in the examining room and unsmilingly and efficiently undid every button and lace. Jamie didn't speak. She tugged at Dolores's arm when it was time to pull off her jacket or undershirt, or grabbed her ankles so she could twist off a boot. She did move slowly and carefully when it was time to lift the stiff, silver-brocaded cuff over the burn. When that was done, Jamie gave her a linen nightshift and a look that said you're on your own. Then, she changed out of her own clothes, tossing them into a corner hard enough that Dolores flinched with each impact of silver or bootheel against tile.
She wanted to ask Jamie why she was mad, but she didn't want Jamie to be mad at her.
Dolores didn't cry. She kept her mouth closed and her shawl and her chin tucked tight to her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was someplace else. It wasn't home. There wasn't any more home. Not her first home, with its dusty roads and its olive trees and Mama brushing out her hair. Not her second home, the one she'd made with Tio Giuseppe and Jamie and Misha, the one where she'd learned she didn't have to be scared if she didn't want to be.
She had learned not to be scared, but all that had been forgotten again. Dolores hugged herself even tighter, whimpering when she accidentally pulled on the bandages covering her burned arm.
The sudden weight of a hand on her head startled a gasp out of her.
"I'm supposed to be the quiet one," Jamie whispered. When she whispered, her voice was only a little scratchy and it didn't sound as if it hurt her. Dolores looked up, and did what she could to push the corners of her mouth up into a smile.
The hand on her head stiffened squeezing just a little. "Don't do that. You don't mean it, and you shouldn't lie. Your Innocence won't like that."
Dolores tried hard not to stare at Jamie's neck, now uncovered. A bruise-colored, irregular lump filled and overflowed the hollow of her throat. Thick, raised tendrils of blue-black snaked up from the lump wrapping halfway around Jamie's neck before diving back under the skin.
For the first time, Dolores wondered if Jamie had done something to make her Innocence do that to her. She knew better, though, than to ask.
A nurse poked her head in to tell them that the doctors would see them now and look them over. She looked at the bandage on Dolores's arm and gave a soft, oh, honey, we'll look at that for you before leading her to the door.
Once they reached the door, Dolores froze and would not move until she had scanned every inch of it. Jamie was inching closer to one of her black moods and the nurse kept trying to baby her along, but Dolores would have none of it.
"You'll see Misha later," Jamie said, at normal volume. The nurse gasped and squeezed Jamie . "Not don't be a silly chit, and go on, do as you're told."
She did, because there was no one else in the room. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room as if she were stepping off the edge of a cliff. No one was there, she told herself, no one was there.
Dolores felt a brief flutter of shame as she passed the place where she had collapsed, pulling her innocence around her. She'd been surprised, though. Surprised, and taken by the memory of a man towering over her. The graying hair and the cold, heartless gaze directed down at her were not what she had actually seen earlier, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the memory of someone stern, someone scary, someone who loathed her for some reason she now would never know.
Part 11
Day/Theme: Jan. 10/the simple and loving heart of childhood
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character/Pairing: Ensemble, with a few OCs.
Rating: PG-13.
Part 9
An Akuma would have been less fearsome. The nurse took one step forwards, forcing Komui to take two steps back.
"Leave."
"But..." The robot in his arms kept on singing, the soothing lullaby growing significantly louder and shriller with each iteration.
"And take that... thing with you!"
Komui stood up straight and puffed out his chest, never minding that dignity was not enhanced by holding a small robotic duplicate of himself (which was now belting out a lullaby in 5/4 time and at a pitch that sent a small crack spidering across his glasses).
"Are you telling me that I cannot give a gift to my sister? That I can't leave her with her favorite childhood melodies?"
GOOO TOO SLEEEP!!! GOOOOO TOO SLEEEEEEEEEEEEP!!! MY! SWEET! LENALEE!
Lenalee had her head under the covers and did nothing to defend him.
The nurse backed him up another three steps. She was shorter than he was, but he was now leaning back so far that he was looking up at her.
"I'm telling you that you can't bring in a monstrosity that will keep my patients awake."
Komui made one last stab at doing his brotherly duty. He managed to straighten up a few degrees. "Might I remind you who is in charge of this Ord---"
The door slammed shut in his face. It knocked off one of the robot's arms.
"It wouldn't have kept them awake," he muttered, stroking the robot and cradling it as if it were an injured puppy. Although, he finally admitted to himself when he was halfway back to his office, Lenalee had been cringing visibly at the high notes. She even raised her hands a few inches once or twice, as if wanting to cover her ears.
Okay, so maybe the volume could use some adjusting.
But then again, Miranda had slept through it all. He stopped right there in the middle of the hall, fingers drumming on the robot's chest as he thought.
Miranda had stayed awake for five days straight, but Komui had learned that assumptions could be lethal when it came to his exorcists. For all they knew, that kind of sleep could be normal after Miranda exerted herself like that. Or, maybe it wasn't.
Komui abandoned the robot behind a pillar and headed back to the infirmary, his footsteps drowned by the sound of something that sounded like a madrigal sung by squirrels.
* * *
When it came time to give up her clothes, it was Jamie who took Dolores behind the partition in the examining room and unsmilingly and efficiently undid every button and lace. Jamie didn't speak. She tugged at Dolores's arm when it was time to pull off her jacket or undershirt, or grabbed her ankles so she could twist off a boot. She did move slowly and carefully when it was time to lift the stiff, silver-brocaded cuff over the burn. When that was done, Jamie gave her a linen nightshift and a look that said you're on your own. Then, she changed out of her own clothes, tossing them into a corner hard enough that Dolores flinched with each impact of silver or bootheel against tile.
She wanted to ask Jamie why she was mad, but she didn't want Jamie to be mad at her.
Dolores didn't cry. She kept her mouth closed and her shawl and her chin tucked tight to her chest. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was someplace else. It wasn't home. There wasn't any more home. Not her first home, with its dusty roads and its olive trees and Mama brushing out her hair. Not her second home, the one she'd made with Tio Giuseppe and Jamie and Misha, the one where she'd learned she didn't have to be scared if she didn't want to be.
She had learned not to be scared, but all that had been forgotten again. Dolores hugged herself even tighter, whimpering when she accidentally pulled on the bandages covering her burned arm.
The sudden weight of a hand on her head startled a gasp out of her.
"I'm supposed to be the quiet one," Jamie whispered. When she whispered, her voice was only a little scratchy and it didn't sound as if it hurt her. Dolores looked up, and did what she could to push the corners of her mouth up into a smile.
The hand on her head stiffened squeezing just a little. "Don't do that. You don't mean it, and you shouldn't lie. Your Innocence won't like that."
Dolores tried hard not to stare at Jamie's neck, now uncovered. A bruise-colored, irregular lump filled and overflowed the hollow of her throat. Thick, raised tendrils of blue-black snaked up from the lump wrapping halfway around Jamie's neck before diving back under the skin.
For the first time, Dolores wondered if Jamie had done something to make her Innocence do that to her. She knew better, though, than to ask.
A nurse poked her head in to tell them that the doctors would see them now and look them over. She looked at the bandage on Dolores's arm and gave a soft, oh, honey, we'll look at that for you before leading her to the door.
Once they reached the door, Dolores froze and would not move until she had scanned every inch of it. Jamie was inching closer to one of her black moods and the nurse kept trying to baby her along, but Dolores would have none of it.
"You'll see Misha later," Jamie said, at normal volume. The nurse gasped and squeezed Jamie . "Not don't be a silly chit, and go on, do as you're told."
She did, because there was no one else in the room. She took a deep breath and stepped into the room as if she were stepping off the edge of a cliff. No one was there, she told herself, no one was there.
Dolores felt a brief flutter of shame as she passed the place where she had collapsed, pulling her innocence around her. She'd been surprised, though. Surprised, and taken by the memory of a man towering over her. The graying hair and the cold, heartless gaze directed down at her were not what she had actually seen earlier, but that didn't matter. What mattered was the memory of someone stern, someone scary, someone who loathed her for some reason she now would never know.
Part 11