Previous Entry Share Next Entry
(no subject)
twodayswrong wrote in pandoraheartsdr
[ There's a Break in the kitchen, seated on the countertop with a plate of cookies at one hand and a teacup on the other. She doesn't seem to be eating them, though-- one's been picked at, all but destroyed, the crumbs littering the plate and part of the countertop itself.

She's coughing into her kerchief, blood spotting the formerly pristine fabric and her fingers, and she's even paler than usual, leaning back against the cabinets behind her. She's never been very good at resting like she's supposed to, letting herself heal; instead, she's been working, collecting the information she can. Since she can't see any longer, it's even more imperative for her to find ways to keep being of use.

Gilbert had wanted her to live, after all.

There's a book of braille closed on her lap, though who knows how she might have found it. Perhaps the mansion had provided it for her. Learning it has been slow going, since she's been attempting it on her own, but determination has usually served her very well in the past. ]

  • 1
[Ahh, there's most always a Break in the kitchen. Often, more than one. This one arrives searching for tea, as usual, and a brief glance at his counterpart tells him that he hasn't met this one yet -- and then he hears the cough. When he stops to stare, he sees the blood, the utter lack of color in the other Break's face.

For a moment, he has to stand as still as he can and just breathe. Awful memories. He knew the Breaks in that other world were getting progressively sicker, but this one's the worst he's seen yet.]

Feeling badly today? [He asks, after another few seconds of hovering in the doorway.] Sit tight. I'll make you a warm compress.

[ There's a wet-sounding laugh into the kerchief in responde, and Break turns her head slightly toward her counterpart, listening for his movements. It's not that she's been actively avoiding the other versions of her, but-- well, to be honest, she hadn't wanted to advertise her own weakness to the others. Most of them, she'd heard, came from an earlier time, after all. ]

Well, now. [ A breath, careful and unsteady in lungs that are failing her more and more by the day. ] I must look truly pathetic if one of my counterparts is taking pity on me.

Alternately, you've met the oldest Break in the mansion; who lived frough his equivalent of what you have, and remembers what it's like to go about feeling like crap all the time.

[His tone is unimpressed and just a bit drawling. He's not the oldest, technically. There is Reaper, who's outlived him so far that he is, in fact, dead. But given how few people seem to have heard of him around here, including other Breaks -- well. He doubts Reaper will mind him flaunting what seniority he has in the name of getting a sick anyone to cooperate with being taken care of.

Quickly, he fishes out several dish towels from one of the kitchen drawers, and moves to test how warm the hottest water from the faucet is.]

Pity's got nuffin-a do wiv it, love. You don't have to be all proud in front of me.

[ She stiffens slightly at the words, pulling the kerchief away to turn a fold of it over the blood, hopefully hiding it from sight until she can find a new one.

He's older than she is, is he? And from the sound of him, not from her world-- she'd heard that there was an unusual alternate in the mansion. Perhaps this is him. She's jealous, a bit, that he sounds so well. She has so much she still needs to do, but now it's a race against time: will she find the answers she's looking for, or will she die first? It's a toss-up, really.

None of that shows on her face, though, her mouth curling in her usual careless smile. ]

What a silly thing to say. I certainly don't feel terribly proud right now.

Sure. But you'll pretend you do for as long as you can manage it.

[The water, given a bit of time to heat up, steams as it flows into the sink and scalds him when puts his fingers under the tap. Perfect. Grabbing one of the dishtowels, he holds it under the water for a good long while. Then he wrings it out as hard as he can, hands growing pink against the heat, and folds it neatly.

It's wrapped in two other towels. The heat should seep through, but the dampness won't. Not nearly as efficient as the heatpacks his own world has, but without a microwave to at least heat up a sock full of rice in, it'll have to do.]

Here. [This one's blind, too -- has to be, to be this far along. So he scoots the chair next to his counterpart out with one foot, letting it scrape a long the floor in warning before he plops down into it and holds the compress out to the other Break's chest.] Hold it close. It won't stop the blood, obviously, but keep coughing like that and the muscles'll get tired on you and start spasming. Let 'em relax.

[ He's planning to stay, it seems; she's not certain how she feels about it. One Break is plenty-- two or more? Even if this one isn't quite like others, he's still a Break. Still, after a moment, she reaches out with a faint sigh, taking the compress obediently and pressing it to her chest. She doubts it's going to do much good, considering her chest is wrapped in several layers already to keep her breasts hidden; the wrappings aren't much good for her coughing, either. Still, if it satisfies the older man, she'll indulge him. ]

You recovered. What a bizarre notion.

[ She leans back again, exhausted, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling for several quiet moments. Her breathing is still wet-sounding, but her coughing seems to be subsiding somewhat. ]

Your world isn't like mine, then.

[Anyone who wants to avoid this particular Break should refrain from setting up camp where the tea is. <3]

Not like yours much at all, really. I recovered fanks to a bunch of hideous medical procedures my world has, which you don't want to hear about.

[He'll keep an eye on his counterpart a moment longer before rising again to make his tea. He'll be choosing a kind that tastes excellent with a lot of honey in, and forcing some of it onto his double. He's still not as openly naggy as Liam, but, well. He's learned from the best.]

Hm. [ It's a soft, neutral noise, her eye sliding half-shut as she listens to him moving around the kitchen. It's just as well, she supposes, that she doesn't have the same procedures available to her-- they'd probably take up more of her time than she could afford, even if she lived in the end. The point, after all, isn't so much that she survives. She's fine with dying-- she just doesn't want to until she'd done what she needs to do. ]

.. There's hot water on the stove, still.

[ Even if she can't see, the sounds are clue enough to what he's doing. Besides, he's Break; all Breaks like tea. She supposes it might be a character trait.

Another weak cough into her kerchief, and she sets the compress aside. ]

I'm afraid this is a bit pointless. I keep my chest wrapped already.

You're not using it for anyfing?

[Curiously, he sticks a finger in it, and decides to go ahead and reheat it a bit -- he likes his tea practically boiling to start with, since he's prone to forgetting about it if he goes carrying it around, and then it gets cold too fast.

He blinks at that last statement.]

Oh? Been going about getting stabbed lately or some such?

Don't be ridiculous. [ There's no heat to it, though; instead, she lifts her chin faintly, brow arching over her eye. ] If I want to hide my breasts, the only way is to bind them down, after all.

[ There's no point in hiding it from another Break, anyway-- they eventually find things out. ]

[Break blinks, but he's...well, he's nowhere near as startled as he could be, all things considered.]

...oh. So not having your boobs about is more important than breaving.

[In fact, he seems somewhat...unimpressed by this excuse, overall. After another moment, though, he relents.]

I take it you still go by Xerxes, then. I've seen a Xandra about who wears pants and all like the ovver Breaks do, but she doesn't bind -- you could always pretend to be her until the worst of this is over, if you don't want to come out about it to the whole mansion.

You don't come from the world I'm from. [ If he's unimpressed with her reasoning, she's unimpressed with his.. unimpressedness. ] And no. Thank you. I'll manage the way I've always managed.

[ Even if people know, she simply-- can't stop the habits of a lifetime. It's a part of her. ]

Neiver of us are in the worlds we're from. The way you've always managed might not do it for you here.

[The water, already fairly warm, boils quickly, and he sets about making the tea.]

I'll keep your secret, and I know we're all bull-headed at best, but do try to loosen up a bit. You couldn't have asked for a better opportunity to rest wiv no consequences.

It would be nice if it were so easy. [ She thinks at times that she'd like to rest, but it's just not in her nature. She's always been driven by some sort of purpose. ] .. I have to get home, you understand. I don't-- [ She doesn't have much time left. Even less after her performance at Yura's party. ]

No one's told you? [He sounds surprised, then irritated. As much as he hates having to be the one to tell people this, he hates even more that all these crucial bits of information keep getting lost around here.] Bugger. Look, when the mansion sends you home, it'll drop you right back at the moment it took you from; no time will have passed, and you won't remember this place. If you die here before the mansion's done wiv you, it'll just bring you right back.

So there's no rush to get home; you aren't missing anyfing. Assuming the mansion doesn't decide to prank you, you could go to bed and sleep two weeks if you bloody well wanted to. It won't make a lick of difference when you get home.

  • 1

Log in

No account? Create an account