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Jul. 9th, 2006 08:18 pmOn the table next to the couch, there's an onsui-kajitsu fruit; he can smell it. It's got to be perfectly ripe or he wouldn't be able to smell it at all, because that's the way it goes with onsui-kajitsu. They smell like orange and honey and the smell of it alone makes his mouth absolutely water. If he can just reach his hand up and over his head, he can reach it and he bets it was Jet who left it there for him. This isn't the first time he's been covered in bandages head to foot and it probably won't be the last, but damn, that assassin guy? Whoever the hell he was? Piece of fucking work; Spike never stood a chance against him. That's what comes from playing pool in the wrong place at the wrong time, he guesses. Shit. He didn't even do anything. Just won a friendly game of eight-ball and walked out the door into one of the bloodiest fucking scenes he can remember, and got his ass kicked for it.
That sucked.
But the plum-sized sweet-smelling citrus fruit is right there, and if he can reach it, hell, it'll taste like the best thing in the universe. So, grimacing through broken ribs and healing knife wounds and bumps and bruises and burns all over his damn body, he manages to get one hand up high enough to feel around for that onsui-kajitsu and... there you are, you little fucker.
And then Faye walks by and takes it, peels it, and eats the whole goddamn thing. Right in front of him, and there's not a fucking thing he can do. He thinks fuck's sake, Faye, that was... predictable, but it was still a shit thing to do.
This time there are fewer bandages because Elaine healed some of the wounds, but the ones that hurt the worst are different. They're deeper, and they're not the kind that can be patched up and told to wait their turn to heal. He has no idea if he's been asleep and dreaming about the past for three hours or three days, and what fucking difference does it make anyhow? No matter how long it's been, Beth isn't here; he knows it innately. He just knows it, and, eyes still closed, he swallows and listens to the sounds of the room. Beth's not here, but someone else is.
He hopes like hell it's not Faye: she'll have stolen all his cigarettes by now.
Probably his lighter too.
That sucked.
But the plum-sized sweet-smelling citrus fruit is right there, and if he can reach it, hell, it'll taste like the best thing in the universe. So, grimacing through broken ribs and healing knife wounds and bumps and bruises and burns all over his damn body, he manages to get one hand up high enough to feel around for that onsui-kajitsu and... there you are, you little fucker.
And then Faye walks by and takes it, peels it, and eats the whole goddamn thing. Right in front of him, and there's not a fucking thing he can do. He thinks fuck's sake, Faye, that was... predictable, but it was still a shit thing to do.
This time there are fewer bandages because Elaine healed some of the wounds, but the ones that hurt the worst are different. They're deeper, and they're not the kind that can be patched up and told to wait their turn to heal. He has no idea if he's been asleep and dreaming about the past for three hours or three days, and what fucking difference does it make anyhow? No matter how long it's been, Beth isn't here; he knows it innately. He just knows it, and, eyes still closed, he swallows and listens to the sounds of the room. Beth's not here, but someone else is.
He hopes like hell it's not Faye: she'll have stolen all his cigarettes by now.
Probably his lighter too.
