Valerian
In keeping with the
Plants starting with 'val'
Theme.
How about something actually fluffy, rather than
suicidal or infanticidal.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIeIeXd3snk
==-==-==
While he would never dare to say his birthdays were quite as ridiculous as the unfortuante souls cursed to be born of December Twenty-Fifth, Cyrano knew full and well the degree of hassle associated with a holiday-birthday hybrid.
As a child, and even as a teenager though it was undoubtedly a little infantile all things considered, he fantasized about the day when he would receive a birthday card that wasn't pink and red.
==-==-==
February fourteenth came, eventually, and with it he was offered a small red candy, the most that Corinth had been able to come up with. It was more than he had expected, considering the foul relationship the two had. But in recent weeks, things had lightened up notiveably.
His life had always been a bit miserable, at best. Here, in a terrible way, he was happier than he was accustomed to.
No. Not happy.
Satisfied.
It was bizarre. He was trapped, he could never leave, he watched and listened to the endless screams of unanesthetized surgery. He had to undergo the operations himself, against his will and wishes.
So much happened to him that wasn't worth having.
But, he had defined enemies, and defined allies, and Cyrano had been making the best of misery all his life. Such clean cut lines between who to trust and who to hate were an unfamiliar luxury.
"You can have this on one condition. The next time you think it'd be cute to kiss me while I'm asleep, you remain in your damned chair and don't do it." Corinth had grumbled as he threw the sweet and Cyrano's head.
It was probably the clearest sign of affection he could ever expect, given the circumstances, that Corinth hadn't simply thrown Cyrano into a cell instead. It would be easy to over analyze, though. So, the redhead simply unwrapped the cellophane and savored the sugar.
"Happy Valentine's."
==-==-==
Eight months passed. October fourteenth now, and as far from Valentine's day was could be expected.
This time, the cellophane wrap held a muffin, clearly from the cantina attached to the hospital on the surface level.
"Happy birthday." Corinth had murmured, lips entirely too close to the shell of Cyrano's ear.
"It's not my birthday." Cyrano had responded, words syrupy and slow. The entire scene had a weird, dreamlike quality. Corinth was hardly pleasant to him on a regular day. Tolerant at best.
"One year since you were born, Project Seven."
"Ah."
A muffin that tasted of drywall and a kiss that tasted of stale smoke were vastly preferably to glittery red and white cards.
Plants starting with 'val'
Theme.
How about something actually fluffy, rather than
suicidal or infanticidal.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GIeIeXd3snk
==-==-==
While he would never dare to say his birthdays were quite as ridiculous as the unfortuante souls cursed to be born of December Twenty-Fifth, Cyrano knew full and well the degree of hassle associated with a holiday-birthday hybrid.
As a child, and even as a teenager though it was undoubtedly a little infantile all things considered, he fantasized about the day when he would receive a birthday card that wasn't pink and red.
==-==-==
February fourteenth came, eventually, and with it he was offered a small red candy, the most that Corinth had been able to come up with. It was more than he had expected, considering the foul relationship the two had. But in recent weeks, things had lightened up notiveably.
His life had always been a bit miserable, at best. Here, in a terrible way, he was happier than he was accustomed to.
No. Not happy.
Satisfied.
It was bizarre. He was trapped, he could never leave, he watched and listened to the endless screams of unanesthetized surgery. He had to undergo the operations himself, against his will and wishes.
So much happened to him that wasn't worth having.
But, he had defined enemies, and defined allies, and Cyrano had been making the best of misery all his life. Such clean cut lines between who to trust and who to hate were an unfamiliar luxury.
"You can have this on one condition. The next time you think it'd be cute to kiss me while I'm asleep, you remain in your damned chair and don't do it." Corinth had grumbled as he threw the sweet and Cyrano's head.
It was probably the clearest sign of affection he could ever expect, given the circumstances, that Corinth hadn't simply thrown Cyrano into a cell instead. It would be easy to over analyze, though. So, the redhead simply unwrapped the cellophane and savored the sugar.
"Happy Valentine's."
==-==-==
Eight months passed. October fourteenth now, and as far from Valentine's day was could be expected.
This time, the cellophane wrap held a muffin, clearly from the cantina attached to the hospital on the surface level.
"Happy birthday." Corinth had murmured, lips entirely too close to the shell of Cyrano's ear.
"It's not my birthday." Cyrano had responded, words syrupy and slow. The entire scene had a weird, dreamlike quality. Corinth was hardly pleasant to him on a regular day. Tolerant at best.
"One year since you were born, Project Seven."
"Ah."
A muffin that tasted of drywall and a kiss that tasted of stale smoke were vastly preferably to glittery red and white cards.