Drugs bust!
Who: Komui Lee, Tsunade and Sasha Nein. Guest starring Henry the tribble.
Where: Komui's room, 3A
When: Thursday of Mud Week
Summary: Komui's in denial about his opiate addiction. Tsunade and Sasha intervene.
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug use, mutilated limbs, emotional manipulation, grown men weeping.
Komui had gone to sleep in euphoria, gasping in wonder at the starlight tingling on his skin through the station walls. He woke up in the middle of the day, gasping in pain and trembling, feeling like he was drowning in mud.
But the mud was on the floor, rotting away what few possessions Sasha had deigned to let him keep. Komui was just drowning in himself.
The days were so hard now by himself. Half a year ago, a test like this would have been met with a sigh of relief. Now it was just another difficulty thrown in his way. The thought of wading through the filth on the floor exhausted him enough that he wanted to go back to sleep. He would have, if not for the pain and the anticipation.
The pain was coming from his right arm, swathed in bandage and bound to his chest. He couldn't bear to look at the mutilated thing, the sicking remains of what had once been clever, inventive fingers. The pain was constant, biting at him as if the acid was still there, eating into his flesh. It was horrible and draining and reminded him of all he'd lost. He was never going to build another Komurin again, nor sew nor draw nor touch something beautiful. He was useless.
As he lay on his bed, gritting his teeth against the sensation, he thought of how he should have left Allen in the trap. The boy was tough and broken bones could mend. What use was Komui without a hand? A wash of self loathing immediately followed that thought, pounding Komui flat with recriminations. What sort of person was he to even think that? He was disgusting, petty, a broken little creature of the Consortium.
He hated himself, he hated the pain and he hated the facility. This was more than enough justification for him to get up and stumble over to his little escape. It was the only thing that held back the tide any more, the only thing that left him feeling human. He slumped into his desk chair, though it tried to escape away in the mud, and began the preparations that had replaced his morning cups of coffee.
A measuring spoon. A ceramic kettle. A Bunsen burner. It was a simple setup, but still awkward with one hand. He dropped the matches three times before managing to strike one between his teeth, but after that everything went smoother. The powder in the kettle melted away under the heat and Komui breathed in the vapour rising from the spout, finally relaxing as his pain was soothed by the unfolding euphoria.
Where: Komui's room, 3A
When: Thursday of Mud Week
Summary: Komui's in denial about his opiate addiction. Tsunade and Sasha intervene.
Rating: R
Warnings: Drug use, mutilated limbs, emotional manipulation, grown men weeping.
Komui had gone to sleep in euphoria, gasping in wonder at the starlight tingling on his skin through the station walls. He woke up in the middle of the day, gasping in pain and trembling, feeling like he was drowning in mud.
But the mud was on the floor, rotting away what few possessions Sasha had deigned to let him keep. Komui was just drowning in himself.
The days were so hard now by himself. Half a year ago, a test like this would have been met with a sigh of relief. Now it was just another difficulty thrown in his way. The thought of wading through the filth on the floor exhausted him enough that he wanted to go back to sleep. He would have, if not for the pain and the anticipation.
The pain was coming from his right arm, swathed in bandage and bound to his chest. He couldn't bear to look at the mutilated thing, the sicking remains of what had once been clever, inventive fingers. The pain was constant, biting at him as if the acid was still there, eating into his flesh. It was horrible and draining and reminded him of all he'd lost. He was never going to build another Komurin again, nor sew nor draw nor touch something beautiful. He was useless.
As he lay on his bed, gritting his teeth against the sensation, he thought of how he should have left Allen in the trap. The boy was tough and broken bones could mend. What use was Komui without a hand? A wash of self loathing immediately followed that thought, pounding Komui flat with recriminations. What sort of person was he to even think that? He was disgusting, petty, a broken little creature of the Consortium.
He hated himself, he hated the pain and he hated the facility. This was more than enough justification for him to get up and stumble over to his little escape. It was the only thing that held back the tide any more, the only thing that left him feeling human. He slumped into his desk chair, though it tried to escape away in the mud, and began the preparations that had replaced his morning cups of coffee.
A measuring spoon. A ceramic kettle. A Bunsen burner. It was a simple setup, but still awkward with one hand. He dropped the matches three times before managing to strike one between his teeth, but after that everything went smoother. The powder in the kettle melted away under the heat and Komui breathed in the vapour rising from the spout, finally relaxing as his pain was soothed by the unfolding euphoria.