Samurai Flamenco - Break Me [Mari/Moe]
Sep. 7th, 2014 06:52 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scriveynerTitle: Break Me
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Mari/Moe
Rating: T
Length: 781
Summary: Mari hates hospitals.
Mari hates hospitals.
There’s no real reason why, it’s not like she has any bad memories attached to them. There’s just something about the atmosphere; the hushed-quiet rooms, the steady electronic tones of the equipment, the strange contrast between activity outside the pulled door and the somber tones inside the room itself. It makes her skin crawl. She hates it. So she sits quiet in the chair, her legs pulled to her chest, and she glares.
By all rights, it should be her in that bed right now. The fire escape hadn’t been up to code in years, she had felt the warning wobble as she tried to reach the ankle of the pervert she’d cornered in the alleyway but he’d rabbited, and instead of going down he went up, up the old rickety contraption and she’d followed him like a fool. Moe had been two steps behind her, she had shoved Mari forward and the thing creaked and groaned and the man above kicked a ladder free, it had shot downwards, and-
She could still hear Mizuki’s horrified scream, it echoed in her ears as if trapped there. Mari dug her hands over her ears, her fingers pulled tight into her scalp and tried to think of something, anything other than the blood splashed on the brick.
Mari hadn’t screamed. Mari hadn’t done anything.
That wasn’t true.
Moe looked so small and fragile in the bed, an oxygen mask over her face. Her hair was down - there was still some dried blood crusted along her scalp that someone had missed when they washed her. Mari stared at Moe’s silent form, skin washed waxen by the loss of blood and the dim lighting and seethed, and hated. Why, why? Again and again, she showed Mari up - when would she be satisfied, when would it finally be enough? Mari’s stomach roiled, when was the last time she ate? She couldn’t eat anything now if she wanted to, she’d be sick with it. All Moe’s fault, it was always her fault….
Mizuki had intercepted their manager, she was out in the lobby doing what she did best, spinning things, keeping the status quo - there had been an accident, it was bad, yes, but the doctor said she would be fine it was just a matter of when she would wake up, the injury was fairly minor, it was more the head trauma that they were worried about…
When she would wake up. When would she, wake up? Would she? Head injuries are difficult things. Mari crossed her arms over her knees, kept the lower half of her face buried. Fucking stupid Moe, it should be her on that bed.
She can’t breathe properly, she hates the smell of hospitals. Her eyes have been on Moe all this time. She closes them, rests her forehead on her arms, and waits.
Mizuki would be back soon, Mizuki would yell at her again, blame her again - that gave her something to dig into, get her claws into and yell back. If she yells loud enough maybe Moe will wake faster, open her eyes and smile weakly and apologize for being the stupid little shit she is. Things would go back to being all right just that quickly.
Moe just lays there, silent and motionless, like she never intends to move again. Mari keeps her eyes closed, pressed into her arm - it isn’t like Moe’s still form isn’t emblazoned on the inside of her eyelids anyway - and thinks viciously of the scream the asshole let out when the spikes of her baton dug deep into the flesh of his thigh. It was impressive that he’d survived falling from that height - if Mizuki hadn’t screamed at her to help her, right now - he probably wouldn’t have survived what Mari was about to do to him anyway. He was probably in this hospital somewhere, she could just-
She dug her fingers into her knees, hard enough that she felt her nails break the skin. Mari lifted her head and glared at Moe, her slack face and tiny body, in hospital gown and IV, and tried hard to hold onto that hatred, felt it escaping through her fingers and all she felt was tired, tired, so tired.
When the vitriol ran out, what else did she have left?
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Mari/Moe
Rating: T
Length: 781
Summary: Mari hates hospitals.
Mari hates hospitals.
There’s no real reason why, it’s not like she has any bad memories attached to them. There’s just something about the atmosphere; the hushed-quiet rooms, the steady electronic tones of the equipment, the strange contrast between activity outside the pulled door and the somber tones inside the room itself. It makes her skin crawl. She hates it. So she sits quiet in the chair, her legs pulled to her chest, and she glares.
By all rights, it should be her in that bed right now. The fire escape hadn’t been up to code in years, she had felt the warning wobble as she tried to reach the ankle of the pervert she’d cornered in the alleyway but he’d rabbited, and instead of going down he went up, up the old rickety contraption and she’d followed him like a fool. Moe had been two steps behind her, she had shoved Mari forward and the thing creaked and groaned and the man above kicked a ladder free, it had shot downwards, and-
She could still hear Mizuki’s horrified scream, it echoed in her ears as if trapped there. Mari dug her hands over her ears, her fingers pulled tight into her scalp and tried to think of something, anything other than the blood splashed on the brick.
Mari hadn’t screamed. Mari hadn’t done anything.
That wasn’t true.
Moe looked so small and fragile in the bed, an oxygen mask over her face. Her hair was down - there was still some dried blood crusted along her scalp that someone had missed when they washed her. Mari stared at Moe’s silent form, skin washed waxen by the loss of blood and the dim lighting and seethed, and hated. Why, why? Again and again, she showed Mari up - when would she be satisfied, when would it finally be enough? Mari’s stomach roiled, when was the last time she ate? She couldn’t eat anything now if she wanted to, she’d be sick with it. All Moe’s fault, it was always her fault….
Mizuki had intercepted their manager, she was out in the lobby doing what she did best, spinning things, keeping the status quo - there had been an accident, it was bad, yes, but the doctor said she would be fine it was just a matter of when she would wake up, the injury was fairly minor, it was more the head trauma that they were worried about…
When she would wake up. When would she, wake up? Would she? Head injuries are difficult things. Mari crossed her arms over her knees, kept the lower half of her face buried. Fucking stupid Moe, it should be her on that bed.
She can’t breathe properly, she hates the smell of hospitals. Her eyes have been on Moe all this time. She closes them, rests her forehead on her arms, and waits.
Mizuki would be back soon, Mizuki would yell at her again, blame her again - that gave her something to dig into, get her claws into and yell back. If she yells loud enough maybe Moe will wake faster, open her eyes and smile weakly and apologize for being the stupid little shit she is. Things would go back to being all right just that quickly.
Moe just lays there, silent and motionless, like she never intends to move again. Mari keeps her eyes closed, pressed into her arm - it isn’t like Moe’s still form isn’t emblazoned on the inside of her eyelids anyway - and thinks viciously of the scream the asshole let out when the spikes of her baton dug deep into the flesh of his thigh. It was impressive that he’d survived falling from that height - if Mizuki hadn’t screamed at her to help her, right now - he probably wouldn’t have survived what Mari was about to do to him anyway. He was probably in this hospital somewhere, she could just-
She dug her fingers into her knees, hard enough that she felt her nails break the skin. Mari lifted her head and glared at Moe, her slack face and tiny body, in hospital gown and IV, and tried hard to hold onto that hatred, felt it escaping through her fingers and all she felt was tired, tired, so tired.
When the vitriol ran out, what else did she have left?
