Hana "Hannah" Sato (night_yen) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-04-07 08:45:00 |
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Entry tags: | raum, sato |
i've been through and through this // i know just how it goes // just a phase, just a phase
Who: Sato & Raum
What: Sato wakes up as expected, but not as planned; Ash does nothing to better the situation.
Where: Acre Woods Cemetery.
When: Tuesday night (3/30)
Sato woke up.
That alone was novel enough to savor and examine. What a--interesting transition; one moment, prone and blurry, the next awake and teeming. Zestful, even. On the other hand, her mouth felt sticky and her muscles lazy; everything felt slow. It was baffling.
And to think people--mortals--did this every morning?
Carefully, the Baku exhaled and stretched from her neck to her toes. Everything felt like it was in the right place: hips, knuckles, ankles and heels, breasts, ribs, lungs and belly, jawbone, shoulders, eyes and tongue. She could practically feel Whitman's "thin red jellies within". Oh, things ached slightly and her energy was poor, but that was an expected symptom. After all, the last time she did this she'd been practically blind for a week. A little backache was petty change in comparison.
It was a tricky thing, orchestrating your own reincarnation.
Deep in the hollow of her stomach, Sato could feel it: the change. A vacancy where before there was the sense of a connection, of satiation. The severed tie felt like a badly stitched seam. She'd suffered through having stitches once; this was not dissimilar. There'd be greater pain later, Sato knew. The ghost of loss and near regret. This was not the break of some mild entanglement; she had cut off Japanese blood, her family. She cared and fed on the bloodline too long to undergo the separation easily.
But.
Things change, Sato thought. Trees bend so branches don't have to break. Birds swim, fish do fly. Things change, so why can't I?
Or however it was that silly ditty went.
Finished with her brief bout of sentiment, Sato ran cursory palms over the "coffin" that was her temporary sanctuary. It was, she admitted, a marvelous piece of work. The first genuine prize she'd ever commissioned from Hephaestus. And, oh, but the man did excellent work for all his grumbling and unfortunate familial drama. The casket was solid as a cell. It was lovely.
That didn't she wanted to spend more time in it than necessary, though. Digging her cell phone out of a surprisingly loose sleeve (really, was the kimono this roomy when she went in?) Sato thumbed together a text message.
u r late