Jecca Mehlota (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
jecca_mehlota) wrote2008-02-17 02:18 am
jecca_mehlota) wrote2008-02-17 02:18 am
Entry tags:
Original: Okame-verse: Taste
Those of you not familiar with the characters of Jade and Hotaru (Okame is her last name, and often how I refer to her) will find this, at best, disjointed, bizarre, and possibly quite stupid. (I'll probably be posting an entry or two about them and their 'verse in the near future, for those of you who aren't but might want to be familiar with them.) This, though? I don't even know. The strangest things set that girl off sometimes. ... This is, apparently, brought on by toothpaste. Okame. You so crazy.
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mysticeden, I guess this is for you, since you've been wanting to see more of these two.
Title: Taste
Author: Jecca Meitahn /twilit_wanderer
Wordcount: 471
Rating: T
Warnings: Distinct lack of sanity, fem-slash of a sort (nothing explicit)
Summary: She hates the taste.
Disclaimer: Jade's mine. Okame's not. I was given free use of her by her creator, and I'm going to assume this still applies, even though we no longer speak to each other.
She hates the taste.
She hates the taste.
Jade knows that, so why, Hotaru wonders hysterically, why does she always - always! - insist on buying it when she knows-
And of course that's not fair of her: she's aware. It's only when the other varieties are out, or maybe when she's done something particularly stupid and Jade isn't feeling above petty revenge. Does Jade ever feel she's above petty revenge?
Hotaru takes a gulp of water (again) and tries to wash the aftertaste out (again). It's wretched. It's awful. Her tongue is burning, and her eyes are stinging, and there's something lurking in the corner that's been growing this whole time but she can't quite identify it yet.
She hurls the glass at it and buries her face in her hands, buries her hands in her hair, staggers back until she hits the wall. The air is too thick. It's hard to breathe.
The taste is still there.
The wall is cold.
The floor is colder, and she tries to curl into herself as she slowly falls down, both hands clenching fitfully at her scalp, choking out gasps and swallowing sobs and the taste won't go away.
Hotaru remains on the floor, shivering and trying to breathe, for seven years, eight months, and three days. She knows. She counted the days on the calendar. She saw the moon and stars rise and fall and fade away into eternity.
Shadows fall around her.
"You broke a glass," Jade states simply. Always simply. Jade lives, surrounded by a world of broken glassware and exploding planets. She doesn't live in it. Sometimes Hotaru wonders why.
Time stops spinning, and water is running somewhere.
Hotaru blinks then, and looks up in confusion. Hadn't the door been locked?
The look Jade levels at her answers the question she isn't sure she voiced. Of course the door was locked.
At least her shirt is overly long enough to allow her some illusion of dignity - though it isn't her shirt, because it's Jade's shirt, but it's too big for Jade, too, and for some reason that thought makes things seem a little better.
Her throat hurts. Has she been screaming?
There's glass on the floor. Hotaru stares at it numbly as Jade picks it up. Bare fingers. She'll cut herself.
Be careful, she wants to say, but her throat hurts. Instead, she reaches one shaking arm out and grips Jade's shoulder, and-
Jade hasn't bothered to try and purge the taste from her own mouth. How hasn't she noticed?
Maybe she has. Jade pulls away again after a moment, picks up another shard.
"Get to bed," she says.
Hotaru hesitates.
Jade doesn't add anything, just raises her eyebrows and breathes. Even her breath carries the taste.
Hotaru hates the taste.
But it's better than the ashes.
*END*
mysticeden, I guess this is for you, since you've been wanting to see more of these two.Title: Taste
Author: Jecca Meitahn /
twilit_wandererWordcount: 471
Rating: T
Warnings: Distinct lack of sanity, fem-slash of a sort (nothing explicit)
Summary: She hates the taste.
Disclaimer: Jade's mine. Okame's not. I was given free use of her by her creator, and I'm going to assume this still applies, even though we no longer speak to each other.
She hates the taste.
She hates the taste.
Jade knows that, so why, Hotaru wonders hysterically, why does she always - always! - insist on buying it when she knows-
And of course that's not fair of her: she's aware. It's only when the other varieties are out, or maybe when she's done something particularly stupid and Jade isn't feeling above petty revenge. Does Jade ever feel she's above petty revenge?
Hotaru takes a gulp of water (again) and tries to wash the aftertaste out (again). It's wretched. It's awful. Her tongue is burning, and her eyes are stinging, and there's something lurking in the corner that's been growing this whole time but she can't quite identify it yet.
She hurls the glass at it and buries her face in her hands, buries her hands in her hair, staggers back until she hits the wall. The air is too thick. It's hard to breathe.
The taste is still there.
The wall is cold.
The floor is colder, and she tries to curl into herself as she slowly falls down, both hands clenching fitfully at her scalp, choking out gasps and swallowing sobs and the taste won't go away.
Hotaru remains on the floor, shivering and trying to breathe, for seven years, eight months, and three days. She knows. She counted the days on the calendar. She saw the moon and stars rise and fall and fade away into eternity.
Shadows fall around her.
"You broke a glass," Jade states simply. Always simply. Jade lives, surrounded by a world of broken glassware and exploding planets. She doesn't live in it. Sometimes Hotaru wonders why.
Time stops spinning, and water is running somewhere.
Hotaru blinks then, and looks up in confusion. Hadn't the door been locked?
The look Jade levels at her answers the question she isn't sure she voiced. Of course the door was locked.
At least her shirt is overly long enough to allow her some illusion of dignity - though it isn't her shirt, because it's Jade's shirt, but it's too big for Jade, too, and for some reason that thought makes things seem a little better.
Her throat hurts. Has she been screaming?
There's glass on the floor. Hotaru stares at it numbly as Jade picks it up. Bare fingers. She'll cut herself.
Be careful, she wants to say, but her throat hurts. Instead, she reaches one shaking arm out and grips Jade's shoulder, and-
Jade hasn't bothered to try and purge the taste from her own mouth. How hasn't she noticed?
Maybe she has. Jade pulls away again after a moment, picks up another shard.
"Get to bed," she says.
Hotaru hesitates.
Jade doesn't add anything, just raises her eyebrows and breathes. Even her breath carries the taste.
Hotaru hates the taste.
But it's better than the ashes.
*END*