Aug 04, 2008 01:39
Mihael hasn't come back.
N is sitting at the desk, legs pulled up to his chin in a surprisingly L-like fashion. His hands are feverently working at folding paper, his eyes completely focused on the folding, as if his life depended on it. the bandage is off of his wounded hand, and the large green rash is oozing out onto the thin, colorful sheets, but he doesn't seem to notice. There are a plethora of origami cranes scattered over the floor, and the multicolored mess is in a stark contrast to the almost frantic, panicky behavior that N was exhibiting.
The colorful cranes are all stained with the green ooze, their innocence corrupted by the very hands that made them and threw (not flicked, not set aside, threw, as if they were some sort of bomb about to go off) them to the ground. Their uneven, as his hands are shaking, but he doesn't feel the pain, and he doesn't care anymore, as a purple (tinted with the evil green) crane crashes to the floor. Two hundred twenty-nine.
And Mihael still isn't back.
N mutters something incomprehensible to himself, because he needs a thousand, and without a thousand, he isn't coming back. He needs to fold. He needs to make. To create. For him.
His eyes are wide, frantic as he pushes and pulls at the paper before another crane flowers into existance, a pastel shade of pink and a vile shade of green, and it is thrown to the floor as well. Two hundred and thirty.
And Mello still isn't back.
how much for the hoor?,
i'm just a little unwell,
plotty mc plot plot,
death by origami,
regret? what regret?