just_muse_me 9.5.1: Caught in the rain { RP with 14th_clown }
[Follows this.]
Kanda was not one to run away from a fight.
He was also, however, not an idiot. As arrogant and brash as he seemed at times, he was never careless in battle, and he understood that sometimes one had to withdraw from the battlefield in order to regroup and assure victory. That was something Tiedoll had taught him, and though he might not often have been very demonstrative of the fact, Kanda did listen to and respect the man.
If there was ever a time when he needed to regroup, to collect his thoughts and give his body a chance to heal, that moment with the dozens of people gathering on the pavement around this metal…carriage thing that had the broken shaft of the stupid mundane sword he'd showed up here with sticking out of it, with this mob of idiots whispering and gasping and pointing at him, with him not even knowing where the hell he was, and with his arm and shoulder hurt so badly that it was hard even to move them-that moment had been it.
And so, he had run. Or, more accurately, he had stalked. Given the situation, it seemed marginally more dignified than running, and the bemused crowd had parted for him, apparently too shocked to do anything else. No one attempted to talk to him. No one offered to help. But he wouldn't have accepted anyway. At least not then.
An hour later, however…
He hadn't thought anything of it when the rain started. A little water. Who the hell cared.
Only the water that fell from the sky here-it wasn't like rain. It was like a precipitate of dirt, of oil and ash and waste. And when it fell it was not with the cleansing cool of rainwater to rinse away blood and grime, but instead with an icy burning that seeped in, tracing through his veins, permeating tissue and bone until his shoulder was nothing but a slowly throbbing knot of fire that stole his breath and arrested his movements.
His hair matted against his cheeks, rivulets of water stinging his eyes and dripping down his nose and chin, Kanda stumbled towards an overhang that looked like it might offer some shelter, but the wind blew and the rain came at an angle, and the best he could do was to turn his back against it, angling his shoulder towards the lee of the building by which he crouched. It didn't matter, he couldn't make himself keep walking now. Not when he didn't even know where he meant to go.
Resting on one knee, his head hung with fatigue and pain, Kanda risked a glance at his wounded left arm. It looked worse in the rain and the strange yellow light-the exposed meat of his muscles glistened too dark, too ragged; the rinsed white of bone looked jaundiced. He clenched his teeth, squeezed shut his eyes, and permitted himself a single concession to his body's pain: he let his head rest momentarily against the rough brick of the building in whose façade he sheltered.
Kanda was not one to run away from a fight.
He was also, however, not an idiot. As arrogant and brash as he seemed at times, he was never careless in battle, and he understood that sometimes one had to withdraw from the battlefield in order to regroup and assure victory. That was something Tiedoll had taught him, and though he might not often have been very demonstrative of the fact, Kanda did listen to and respect the man.
If there was ever a time when he needed to regroup, to collect his thoughts and give his body a chance to heal, that moment with the dozens of people gathering on the pavement around this metal…carriage thing that had the broken shaft of the stupid mundane sword he'd showed up here with sticking out of it, with this mob of idiots whispering and gasping and pointing at him, with him not even knowing where the hell he was, and with his arm and shoulder hurt so badly that it was hard even to move them-that moment had been it.
And so, he had run. Or, more accurately, he had stalked. Given the situation, it seemed marginally more dignified than running, and the bemused crowd had parted for him, apparently too shocked to do anything else. No one attempted to talk to him. No one offered to help. But he wouldn't have accepted anyway. At least not then.
An hour later, however…
He hadn't thought anything of it when the rain started. A little water. Who the hell cared.
Only the water that fell from the sky here-it wasn't like rain. It was like a precipitate of dirt, of oil and ash and waste. And when it fell it was not with the cleansing cool of rainwater to rinse away blood and grime, but instead with an icy burning that seeped in, tracing through his veins, permeating tissue and bone until his shoulder was nothing but a slowly throbbing knot of fire that stole his breath and arrested his movements.
His hair matted against his cheeks, rivulets of water stinging his eyes and dripping down his nose and chin, Kanda stumbled towards an overhang that looked like it might offer some shelter, but the wind blew and the rain came at an angle, and the best he could do was to turn his back against it, angling his shoulder towards the lee of the building by which he crouched. It didn't matter, he couldn't make himself keep walking now. Not when he didn't even know where he meant to go.
Resting on one knee, his head hung with fatigue and pain, Kanda risked a glance at his wounded left arm. It looked worse in the rain and the strange yellow light-the exposed meat of his muscles glistened too dark, too ragged; the rinsed white of bone looked jaundiced. He clenched his teeth, squeezed shut his eyes, and permitted himself a single concession to his body's pain: he let his head rest momentarily against the rough brick of the building in whose façade he sheltered.