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theblueintheday2015-10-09 10:22 pm
bluedreaming) wrote in theblueintheday2015-10-09 10:22 pm
Entry tags:
[team sonic] like I'm evil
First words from Special Friends.
Title from Waiting Game by Banks.
Fantastic, Akura-oh thinks, kicking at the ground with the toe of his boot. Snow flies up, small flecks of frozen ice that rain upon his skin like tiny stinging bees. Screw this. Tomoe is late and he's cold and bored and he can feel that red rage building again, the itching in his fingers, the feeling of not-rightness that he gets when he's thinking too much.
Stop thinking.
A face peers around a sliding door, a silhouette in the paper, black on white and Akura-oh is just so—
"What are you looking at?" he growls; the small face squeaks in alarm and springs back, there's a clatter of what must be furniture falling and hushed voices and everything is swimming up in a choking tide, the words, the snow fall from the sky, the way the sun is setting and Tomoe isn't here yet and—
He's not coming, a small voice whispers in his ear, not from the outside but rather inside, where he can't grab it and tear out its throat to make it shut up. Tomoe doesn't care about you at all.
The tiny voice behind the screen squeaks again and it's just too much; Akura-oh sets his hand on the pommel of his sword, fingers curling to draw it out—
a gust of wind stirs the drifts of snow and Akura-oh blinks; red-white-red and when he opens them again, Tomoe is standing there, silver hair glistening in the light of the newly dawned moon, a hanging crescent in the sky, spilling tears of ice.
"You're late," Akura-oh says, and his voice comes out bored. "I was just about to go look for some fun." His eye strays to the sliding door, the silhouettes on the other side of the paper, and Tomoe's follow along.
"I'm tired," Tomoe says, dragging Akura-oh's attention away. "Let's go find somewhere to stay for night." He yawns, though the action is too smooth, somehow, but Akura-oh doesn't let himself fixate on it. Tomoe is here.
That has to be enough.
Title from Waiting Game by Banks.
Fantastic, Akura-oh thinks, kicking at the ground with the toe of his boot. Snow flies up, small flecks of frozen ice that rain upon his skin like tiny stinging bees. Screw this. Tomoe is late and he's cold and bored and he can feel that red rage building again, the itching in his fingers, the feeling of not-rightness that he gets when he's thinking too much.
Stop thinking.
A face peers around a sliding door, a silhouette in the paper, black on white and Akura-oh is just so—
"What are you looking at?" he growls; the small face squeaks in alarm and springs back, there's a clatter of what must be furniture falling and hushed voices and everything is swimming up in a choking tide, the words, the snow fall from the sky, the way the sun is setting and Tomoe isn't here yet and—
He's not coming, a small voice whispers in his ear, not from the outside but rather inside, where he can't grab it and tear out its throat to make it shut up. Tomoe doesn't care about you at all.
The tiny voice behind the screen squeaks again and it's just too much; Akura-oh sets his hand on the pommel of his sword, fingers curling to draw it out—
a gust of wind stirs the drifts of snow and Akura-oh blinks; red-white-red and when he opens them again, Tomoe is standing there, silver hair glistening in the light of the newly dawned moon, a hanging crescent in the sky, spilling tears of ice.
"You're late," Akura-oh says, and his voice comes out bored. "I was just about to go look for some fun." His eye strays to the sliding door, the silhouettes on the other side of the paper, and Tomoe's follow along.
"I'm tired," Tomoe says, dragging Akura-oh's attention away. "Let's go find somewhere to stay for night." He yawns, though the action is too smooth, somehow, but Akura-oh doesn't let himself fixate on it. Tomoe is here.
That has to be enough.