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Entry tags:
[10-Aug-2021][Ayatsuri Sakon] Betterment
Title: Betterment
Day/Prompt: 10-Aug-2021
Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon
Character/Pairing: Sakon
Rating/Warning(s): Gen
Sakon tumbled, knees crashing into the hardwood as he crumpled, hot sweat running down his legs. Sakon whined in pain as he looked up, catching a vague silhouette walk by the halfway, unconcerned— and they came as soon as they left. The floor was ice-cold, jolting his bones, and he wanted to stay. It was a reprieve from the suffocating heat.
Swallowing, he rubbed his knee, checking his elbow with a glance.
Bruises. They were everywhere, ugly, brutal purple. The deepest bruises would throb for days, if not weeks. There was something else Sakon couldn't quite put his finger on, but he would let it go for now. He would learn to tolerate pain and hurt in time, knowing he could have prevented them had he been better. But, for now, he had no choice but to ignore it.
Sakon turned and cradled his head, thinking,
He was off-beat and off-kilter; this wasn't right, and his moves were uncoordinated and wrong. Sakon wanted to move, but his body wouldn't obey the command. His arm throbbed and twitched as if it had a mind of its own, despite his wishes for it to still, then move. Sakon wanted to communicate with the rest of his body, speak to it, his legs and thighs, but his mouth didn't work.
He needed water. More than that, he needed to do better. He needed some way to forget about the bruises and aches to be a better puppeteer. Mind screaming, he furrowed his brow, face scrunched.
Move, move!
His feet slipped and slid on the oiled floor, sliding and stopping, his stomach in knots as he wobbled and faltered. Then, steadying himself, the boy inhaled, worrying his lip as he limped to the radio, restarting the track.
He would get water later. He would tend to the bruises later. Wincing at a sharp pain, Sakon positioned himself in the center, righting himself perfectly. He heard the whispers from upwind, voices talking about the sole Tachibana, the youngest: a boy of pretty looks riding on the coattails of his Grandfather's legacy.
The heavy cloud of doubt hung heavy on Sakon's tiny shoulders, but he vigorously shook his head.
Now was time to become better; if Sakon wanted to be a puppeteer in Grandfather's troupe, he needed to learn. If he wished to gain respect, it required work. He needed to be better.
Day/Prompt: 10-Aug-2021
Fandom: Ayatsuri Sakon
Character/Pairing: Sakon
Rating/Warning(s): Gen
Sakon tumbled, knees crashing into the hardwood as he crumpled, hot sweat running down his legs. Sakon whined in pain as he looked up, catching a vague silhouette walk by the halfway, unconcerned— and they came as soon as they left. The floor was ice-cold, jolting his bones, and he wanted to stay. It was a reprieve from the suffocating heat.
Swallowing, he rubbed his knee, checking his elbow with a glance.
Bruises. They were everywhere, ugly, brutal purple. The deepest bruises would throb for days, if not weeks. There was something else Sakon couldn't quite put his finger on, but he would let it go for now. He would learn to tolerate pain and hurt in time, knowing he could have prevented them had he been better. But, for now, he had no choice but to ignore it.
Sakon turned and cradled his head, thinking,
He was off-beat and off-kilter; this wasn't right, and his moves were uncoordinated and wrong. Sakon wanted to move, but his body wouldn't obey the command. His arm throbbed and twitched as if it had a mind of its own, despite his wishes for it to still, then move. Sakon wanted to communicate with the rest of his body, speak to it, his legs and thighs, but his mouth didn't work.
He needed water. More than that, he needed to do better. He needed some way to forget about the bruises and aches to be a better puppeteer. Mind screaming, he furrowed his brow, face scrunched.
Move, move!
His feet slipped and slid on the oiled floor, sliding and stopping, his stomach in knots as he wobbled and faltered. Then, steadying himself, the boy inhaled, worrying his lip as he limped to the radio, restarting the track.
He would get water later. He would tend to the bruises later. Wincing at a sharp pain, Sakon positioned himself in the center, righting himself perfectly. He heard the whispers from upwind, voices talking about the sole Tachibana, the youngest: a boy of pretty looks riding on the coattails of his Grandfather's legacy.
The heavy cloud of doubt hung heavy on Sakon's tiny shoulders, but he vigorously shook his head.
Now was time to become better; if Sakon wanted to be a puppeteer in Grandfather's troupe, he needed to learn. If he wished to gain respect, it required work. He needed to be better.