Day 56: Bus 3

[rocksthecourt]

Waking carried a sense of disappointment along with it for the first time in a long time. Klavier actually sighed in irritation when he realized where he was. Damn it all. So they hadn't managed to move quickly enough to cover as much ground as they had hoped. It was a shame, really. Last night had actually proven to be relatively productive. If

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[purpletaint]

Morning broke with pain, and that was enough of an irregularity to freeze Albedo's motions in transition, press hand to side where bandages lay over healing flesh and wonder. What had he thought last night? How quaint it was, to touch against mortality and shudder in its wake, feel a cold frost of threat and taste fear, thick and metallic. He stood, then, the action more of need for movement than want to shift, and he immediately stumbled, left leg giving out under his weight. Heavy bandages covered that leg. His head cocked at a severe angle--he wanted to rip it off, press his fingers into it, tear at the edges. How many times would he have something like this to dig into? To see his flesh separating in threat of removal. Shouldn't he gaze in idolatry, laugh at all of this?!

He shuddered, frozen; his hand returning to the gashes in-between ribs and thigh. At least Nigredo... Hadn't been injured. At the end, he had thought... And Albedo had been so wretchedly powerless to do anything. Anything at all. It must change. There was no way

[purpletaint]

He was sick of this. Sick of it, and there had been nothing torn asunder from this seating; just ill-mannered words and a disgusting human male. He wanted nothing more to do with it. He felt like he was going to be sick. There was too much trampled underfoot and he hated all of it.

Klavier's hand was released and Albedo stared at his own as if it had been dipped in some radioactive muck. He shook, then pressed it against his pants, as if to wipe off residue, sliding across the bench to the edge in the same motion. He stared out across the aisle, something like bile but tasting of blood rising in his throat. He was going to be sick. He wanted to rip Klavier's throat out, so the man could gurgle his arguments softly. He'd rather tear out Klavier's eyes and force them down the man's own throat, see no evil, and speak none of it to me

[rocksthecourt]

The fact that he'd been released did little to alleviate the situation as far as Klavier was concerned. He only pulled his hand back and resisted the urge to rub away the pain that still lingered there, still watching Albedo and his movements warily. But the child only wiped his hand and turned away from Klavier entirely, the perfect semblance of a child who'd been emotionally hurt and was sulking to himself. With his back turned and face obscured, Klavier at first thought the boy was trying to put on one of his acts for the sake of anyone who might have caught the earlier motion.

That possibility vanished, however, when Albedo turned his head enough to peer back at him over his shoulder. Dear god, it really was like he was sulking. Like he was such a victim over here. But any animosity held between them would have to be put to the side if only for the briefest of moments

[purpletaint]

A simple question from a simpler man. Albedo's eyes narrowed in disgust. "Why bother," he stated, tone full of repulsion. "You've already made up your mind on me--nothing I say either way will change that. Your field of vision is too narrow." No point in effort for something stagnant. He glanced away, watching the view through the opposite window.

He just wanted the bus to stop. And to be away from this one as quickly as possible. "And it's none of your business," he added with no real heat. "What we do. You have no holding on either of us."

So might as well play. Nothing else to do. Right?