[reaction] 1/2dramatic_capeSeptember 26 2010, 05:15:48 UTC
[ For a moment, Lelouch can't breathe.
The air trickles sluggishly into his lungs (dead) like there's (exit wounds) something ("You were stabbed in the heart.") holding him back, squeezing the breath out of him (screaming until his throat burned, screaming until he'd screamed her name right out of his lungs), like there's a -
(and suddenly for a blinding panicked several seconds, Lelouch is entirely certain that somehow seeing C.C.'s dream, seeing the unreal reality of his own death, held his own corpse in his/her hands, somehow he's certain this has caused him to die, caused that wound {that bleeding gushing wound all the blood in him spurting out redredred like Mother, like Mother all over again, only it's him it's him it's his blood} to open in his heart - he clutches at his side but there's nothing
( ... )
[action] 2/2dramatic_capeSeptember 26 2010, 05:23:36 UTC
[ Moments later, he silently slides the dividing door between the outer living area and the bedroom. Pads over to the smallish bed - enough to fit two people only if they lie close - and slips in next to C.C., behind her back.
No words yet. He doesn't have them. There aren't any.
Lelouch gently puts an arm around her waist and nestles his head in the hollow of her neck and shoulder. Breathes in (carefully) the scent of her hair - still faintly of rabbit, though they're gone now.
It's a simple, solid message. The warmth of his body. The touch of his arm. His breath.
[ action ]cursethekingSeptember 26 2010, 05:34:50 UTC
[ C.C. hears the brief whisking of the door, and knows he's coming. She always does. Lelouch always carries that heady scent with him, that confidence in his stride, yet tonight those forward feet seem uncertain, missing the steps she's memorized over time. The bed sinks under his weight, which isn't much at all; he's such a small, insignificant thing, but his soul is all the stronger to make up for it
( ... )
[ action ]dramatic_capeSeptember 26 2010, 05:50:25 UTC
[ She shakes under his touch. It's odd, this feeling. This situation. Her skin is bare underneath his hand, bare and lightly touched with goosebumps. Something like cold, or fear, or both. Lelouch slowly - carefully, as one might approach a wary deer - draws her closer. Slowly, though, gently - she could resist if she wanted to, and he would stop. There's not that much distance to make up to begin with
( ... )
Comments 17
The air trickles sluggishly into his lungs (dead) like there's (exit wounds) something ("You were stabbed in the heart.") holding him back, squeezing the breath out of him (screaming until his throat burned, screaming until he'd screamed her name right out of his lungs), like there's a -
(and suddenly for a blinding panicked several seconds, Lelouch is entirely certain that somehow seeing C.C.'s dream, seeing the unreal reality of his own death, held his own corpse in his/her hands, somehow he's certain this has caused him to die, caused that wound {that bleeding gushing wound all the blood in him spurting out redredred like Mother, like Mother all over again, only it's him it's him it's his blood} to open in his heart - he clutches at his side but there's nothing ( ... )
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No words yet. He doesn't have them. There aren't any.
Lelouch gently puts an arm around her waist and nestles his head in the hollow of her neck and shoulder. Breathes in (carefully) the scent of her hair - still faintly of rabbit, though they're gone now.
It's a simple, solid message. The warmth of his body. The touch of his arm. His breath.
I am here. I am alive. ]
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