[thread] just don't know what to do
Who: Future Self YnBakura, Youngest Self Little Bakura
What: Waking up for the tiny
Where: Desert, on a dune near the edge
When: While Bakura is high
Rating: G [for the moment; how high can it be with such a cute innocent little kid? :3]
He was too old to sleep in his mother's bed any longer. In fact, he hadn't since he was an infant. Bakura had always been proud of himself for that. He'd begun to 'harden,' as they called it, early. Already, at age 8, he was taking hits with the best of the children, learning to ignore blood and fatigue and fear in favour of just doing what needed to be done.
Despite this, the cold made him shift, one hand reaching out for the warmth of his mother's blanket... only to touch down on equally cold sand.
In an instant the boy's eyes were blinked open. The desert stretched around him comfortingly, but there were no hoofprints, not even footprints. There was no sign of human life. The air itself, chilling and whipping through his thin clothing, tasted wrong. His desert didn't leave this aftertaste. Nor did it ever get this cold. Not even at night in winter.
Pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, Bakura brushed the cold sand from his body and began scanning the skyline for signs of... absolutely anyone. With luck he'd catch sight of a landmark and be able to laugh things off, get himself home and curl up in his warm bed again.
He could do this. He was nearly an adult. And adults could always find their mothers when they were cold and tired and needed a hug. Right?
What: Waking up for the tiny
Where: Desert, on a dune near the edge
When: While Bakura is high
Rating: G [for the moment; how high can it be with such a cute innocent little kid? :3]
He was too old to sleep in his mother's bed any longer. In fact, he hadn't since he was an infant. Bakura had always been proud of himself for that. He'd begun to 'harden,' as they called it, early. Already, at age 8, he was taking hits with the best of the children, learning to ignore blood and fatigue and fear in favour of just doing what needed to be done.
Despite this, the cold made him shift, one hand reaching out for the warmth of his mother's blanket... only to touch down on equally cold sand.
In an instant the boy's eyes were blinked open. The desert stretched around him comfortingly, but there were no hoofprints, not even footprints. There was no sign of human life. The air itself, chilling and whipping through his thin clothing, tasted wrong. His desert didn't leave this aftertaste. Nor did it ever get this cold. Not even at night in winter.
Pushing himself unsteadily to his feet, Bakura brushed the cold sand from his body and began scanning the skyline for signs of... absolutely anyone. With luck he'd catch sight of a landmark and be able to laugh things off, get himself home and curl up in his warm bed again.
He could do this. He was nearly an adult. And adults could always find their mothers when they were cold and tired and needed a hug. Right?