| [Jun. 28th, 2009|12:45 am] |
The sensation of dry bristles against his skin was almost delicate at first. For a moment, Genma stayed grounded, watching Rina touch soft, sable hairs to a swirl of script on the back of his right hand. The skin was translucent over purple-black; the ink, when it smudged away, blended with the bruises.
Just a medic. Just a brush. Genma held exquisitely still, nostrils flared, teeth grinding. His breath came in short, strangled pants.
She lifted the brush to dip it in the ink. Chakra surged through the breach she'd opened.
Lights flared in Genma's peripheral vision, then darkness. A high, grating sound that wasn't a scream--not giving them the satisfaction of making him scream--tore from his chest. There was a voice. A woman's voice. He couldn't make out her words. It didn't matter. He wouldn't answer her. She could break every bone in his body, and he wouldn't answer her.
A numbing chill sank into his hand, freezing chakra into a gelid slurry, icing bones to the marrow.
He gasped, surging against restraints. There was a girl painting seals onto his splinted hand with a grim terror in her eyes.
He took another breath, felt his heart beating like a wild bird against the bars of a cage. Felt the shaking spread from there, until his jaw started to quiver. Vision cleared at the edges at last. He groaned, shut his eyes, opened them again. She was still there. Hospital bed and hanging IVs, white sheets and the girl Ito-sensei had said would help.
"Fuck. What the fuck?" He felt like he might pass out or puke or cry, or maybe all three. "What the fuck did you do to me?" |
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