Sheryl Nome (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
piercethecharts) wrote2011-02-23 11:38 pm
piercethecharts) wrote2011-02-23 11:38 pm
dix-huit. [ RL with Kamina ]
[ She was losing control. She could feel herself losing it, that was the worst part, to know what was happening. That tight control she always had over herself-- not in the sense that she held back or hid things any more than a girl hides things, but in the sense that she always had a firm handle on who she was, where she was going, and how she was getting there-- that control had started crumbling in the taxi. She felt like she'd left pieces of it all over the library, overhearing what she had. As long as they didn't tell anyone, it would be fine. It would all be fine.
But she didn't feel fine, and she didn't feel like it would be fine. It was only half the illness; she felt that familiar lightheadedness and chills that came and went but always came again. But it was the desperation and hurt that kept her wandering the streets; desperation for what, she didn't know. (What the hurt was about, she knew all too well; Grace's words kept ringing in her ears.)
She'd never noticed her face on every screen. It had been part of the background, the general wallpaper of the world. But now everything was green and orange, and she didn't resent Ranka her success except she did, and she hated herself for it.
"Please come to my revenge live! This time, it's definitely happening!"
Sheryl didn't even have the self-possession to pull herself up onto the curb; she sank down to her knees on the street, too feverish and out of it now to even know if she was sobbing, or if she was just hallucinating in the rain. ]
But she didn't feel fine, and she didn't feel like it would be fine. It was only half the illness; she felt that familiar lightheadedness and chills that came and went but always came again. But it was the desperation and hurt that kept her wandering the streets; desperation for what, she didn't know. (What the hurt was about, she knew all too well; Grace's words kept ringing in her ears.)
She'd never noticed her face on every screen. It had been part of the background, the general wallpaper of the world. But now everything was green and orange, and she didn't resent Ranka her success except she did, and she hated herself for it.
"Please come to my revenge live! This time, it's definitely happening!"
Sheryl didn't even have the self-possession to pull herself up onto the curb; she sank down to her knees on the street, too feverish and out of it now to even know if she was sobbing, or if she was just hallucinating in the rain. ]
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oh god]
The fever you're not tellin' me about has made you go crazy!
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...I'm going to bed.
[ STALKS OUT OF THE KITCHEN ]
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How come you're always such a boy except when you should be?
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what did girls mean when they said 'like a boy'?
that he should stop staring at their boobs and stop thinking thoughts that he'd never want them to hear. unless they were into that sort of thing.
why would sheryl want him to act like a boy?
because she--
oh.
oh.
that would explain the shirt-off motion of a minute ago. in fact, it explained the last five minutes. huh. maybe this logic thing wasn't so bad.
he sits cross-legged at the end of the bed, fumbling with the shirt in his hands and blushing.] S-sorry.
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for real real this time.]
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...You're lucky you're cute, you know.
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BOW CHIKA WOW WOW.
but only more awkward instead of hot, but that is okay because it's FADE TO BLACK homies.
we cut to our intrepid heroes some time later. kamina is...half-way asleep.]
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She has her head pillowed on his chest, idly tracing her fingers over his abdomen. She can't decide if she feels any different or not, and she thinks about asking him, but figures his brain is probably still full of static ]
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his brain isn't even tuned to the right frequency for words right now, much less proper conversation. what's working through his fuzzy mind is that it wasn't...bad. on the contrary. but he didn't feel like anything physical about him had changed. he didn't even 87% manlier. maybe just 53%. was it that they'd done something wrong?
or was it that maybe this whole first time business wasn't as big a deal as people made it out to be?
regardless, sounds from the city are starting to reassert themselves in his consciousness. someone must have moved the antenna to the right position. he grunts, voice rumbly:] Tickles.
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...Do you feel different?
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[quiet. drifting in and drifting out at the same instant; deep in thought and running on instinct. somewhere in the middle of all this, he's got to find his feelings.]
...nope. You?
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I'm glad it was you.
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