3ofswords (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sixthiterationlogs2017-01-11 11:12 pm
3ofswords) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-01-11 11:12 pm
Entry tags:
[closed] move, i'm gay
WHO: Kira Akiyama
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: January 12, Midnight
OPEN TO: Casey (Son of John)
WARNINGS: None yet
STATUS: n/a
They existed in an orbit, not around each other, but perhaps the inn itself--and they spun true to their orbits no matter how the other felt about it. Kira hadn't been bluffing about his late night baths, and Casey still eschewed the hammock some nights for the floor. It was almost understandable, if Kira dipped a toe into the brow-beaten caution of the boy, let his own bones feel the fact of how much harder an escape would be, started from the clumsy hang of a hammock.
If there was a compromise, Kira's conservation of water wasn't on the table: he couldn't sleep in the grimy layer of cleaning the kitchen, of cooking for fifty. Sometimes he woke in the middle of it, the inn settling and creaking in the cold; the cold either crept into his core or eluding it entirely; his body sweating under the large blanket and piled coats, the hot weight of the cat. As far as he could tell, his dreams now were only dreams, past and present mashed up with hunger and, now, the ashen landscape of his sometimes roommate. He'd woken tonight from a journey over ash-choked Manhattan, his hands slipping on fire escapes, his jeans near to white with the flaky char coating the streets to his knees.
He'd been looking for someone, but it wasn't the obvious: they were hiding, their legs all but useless. He couldn't recall them in waking, but the dirt of the dream, the itch in his throat so close to the sickness, had driven him to soak himself back to dozing in the bathroom down the hall.
By the time the water was too cold to be of help, and he'd put himself into the second of his two sets of clothes, Casey had repositioned to the hall--as if he'd known he had some contribution to Kira leaving, or wanted to be sure of his return. It took a talent only he had, to lay across the doorway on his back, hands at his sides, and fall back asleep in such short time. Kira rolled his eyes in protest, pulled the door until it hit Casey in the hip. "I'm back, get up and get back to bed," he said, continuing to pull until he could slip through the gap.
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: January 12, Midnight
OPEN TO: Casey (Son of John)
WARNINGS: None yet
STATUS: n/a
They existed in an orbit, not around each other, but perhaps the inn itself--and they spun true to their orbits no matter how the other felt about it. Kira hadn't been bluffing about his late night baths, and Casey still eschewed the hammock some nights for the floor. It was almost understandable, if Kira dipped a toe into the brow-beaten caution of the boy, let his own bones feel the fact of how much harder an escape would be, started from the clumsy hang of a hammock.
If there was a compromise, Kira's conservation of water wasn't on the table: he couldn't sleep in the grimy layer of cleaning the kitchen, of cooking for fifty. Sometimes he woke in the middle of it, the inn settling and creaking in the cold; the cold either crept into his core or eluding it entirely; his body sweating under the large blanket and piled coats, the hot weight of the cat. As far as he could tell, his dreams now were only dreams, past and present mashed up with hunger and, now, the ashen landscape of his sometimes roommate. He'd woken tonight from a journey over ash-choked Manhattan, his hands slipping on fire escapes, his jeans near to white with the flaky char coating the streets to his knees.
He'd been looking for someone, but it wasn't the obvious: they were hiding, their legs all but useless. He couldn't recall them in waking, but the dirt of the dream, the itch in his throat so close to the sickness, had driven him to soak himself back to dozing in the bathroom down the hall.
By the time the water was too cold to be of help, and he'd put himself into the second of his two sets of clothes, Casey had repositioned to the hall--as if he'd known he had some contribution to Kira leaving, or wanted to be sure of his return. It took a talent only he had, to lay across the doorway on his back, hands at his sides, and fall back asleep in such short time. Kira rolled his eyes in protest, pulled the door until it hit Casey in the hip. "I'm back, get up and get back to bed," he said, continuing to pull until he could slip through the gap.
no subject
If this camp was where his endless journey along the road ended, on this strange, calm night in the inn, it would be a better end than most he had imagined for himself.