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WHO: [Bad username or site: beforemetoday title= @ livejournal.com] and [Bad username or site: afeatherpillow title= @ livejournal.com].
WHERE: Katurian's bedroom.
WHEN: A day after Katurian messes up the universe.
WARNINGS: n/a
SUMMARY: Katurian's messing with the universe, and Death isn't too pleased about it.
FORMAT: Paragraph

*

Death's always served the universe as much as it serves her, and when something changes, when a single thread is snagged out of the fabric of space and time, she knows. Being in this universe, there are always plenty of bumps in the road; it's a nexus for far too many worlds, and everything around her is constantly pushing and pulling, trying to compensate for people coming and going, for reality doing what it must to uproot fiction. Still, it barely amounts to anything at all. It's like an itch that lingers in the roof of her mouth, persistent but tolerable.

But this—this is something else entirely. This is the universe rearranging itself to accommodate her, though she's bid it to do no such thing. There's an awareness in the back of her mind that wasn't there yesterday, and the knowledge that she claimed a happy little girl decades and decades ago is as real as anything else she's ever experienced, but she doesn't recall the act itself.

She knows who's responsible, of course. There's no way that she couldn't. It's like fingerprints have been left in the air, and whenever a clock ticks, its hands only ever seem to point towards one person. One of hers. More so than the rest, even.

Death, while not wishing to be merciful, allows him time. She knows how mortals can be; he probably needs an opportunity to let the magnitude of it all sink in. And so Death waits patiently, until an entire day passes, and she knows that he's sleeping. With that, she's stood in his room, barely distinguishable in the dark.

Had she been there under any other circumstances, she'd look around, to really get a feel for the room surrounding her. As things are, though, she simply stands over him, arms folded, and watches as he sleeps. Her gaze does little to wake him, and after some minutes, she finds that the patience she once possessed quickly wears thin, in his presence.

Reaching down, Death takes hold of Katurian's shoulder, and pulls him from her brother's realm.

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He surprises himself with a laugh at her sudden cheer, although it's weak and sad and reminds him of the pain throbbing just above his left eye. He rubs the bruise with his index finger, wincing, and raises his eyes.

"Desire promised to make my life miserable," he says. He isn't sure what to make of the worry in her voice. He wonders if she'll punish him, too. "Everyone else, I think they want to warn me, or frighten me, or something, but a lot of powerful people know. Yes. And they're very upset."

“Desire says a lot of things, Katurian, and would like to make things as unpleasant as possible for certain people. It's unfortunate that it's now preying upon you, but it isn't the end of the world,” Death explains, trying to be both optimistic and cautious in the same breath. “And as for the others, we can deal with them when we come to them.”

Edited 2010-03-16 16:23 (UTC)

He notices the 'we.'

"You'll help me?" he asks. There's a slight optimism to his voice, too - until now, he's been resigned to his own damnation, but if Death is on his side, that counts for something, doesn't it? He lowers his hands from his face, where they find a hold on blanket once more.

Death nods, turning to face him properly, legs crossed on his bed.

“I can't exactly go ahead and leave you in this state, can I?” she asks, giving him a lopsided smile.

Finally, the tears come.

He wipes them from his face with his arm, and makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sniffle. He hasn't cried since it happened, hasn't wanted to expose himself to those kinds of feelings, but now, it might be all right. It might be all right.

"I don't know how I can repay you," he says. His voice is muffled by his tears and his sleeve, but he makes sure it's heard.

She reaches out, carefully, placing her arm around his shoulders. She doesn't move herself particularly close, nor does she hold him tightly; Death simply lets him know that she's there, in the way that really matters.

“You don't have to repay me, Katurian. You just have to tell me these things in advance. That's all I'm asking.”

The idea of doing it again leaves a sickening knot in his stomach, but he promised himself he would. He nods his head, an emphatic yes, and touches the arm behind his shoulder. It takes a moment to collect his words again.

"I like that you're death." It's a funny thing to say, and maybe he's said it before. He means it with all of his heart. Now, more than ever.

Edited 2010-03-16 17:32 (UTC)

She laughs lightly at that, and the sound settles within her chest, warming her. Leaning forwards, Death pulls him close, making the embrace as unobtrusive as a hug ever can be. She ensures that it only lasts a second or two, just long enough for him to be fully aware of what's happening, and says, “I like that you like that I'm death.”

And she means it, truly. It doesn't matter how many billions and billions of humans she's loved and will love: it always touches her when somebody feels even vaguely the same way towards her. With that said, she hops back to her feet, realising that she's probably intruded enough already.

“Should I show myself out, Katurian?”

By the time she's hugged him and gotten up off the bed, he's through crying, and all that's left is a satisfying exhaustion and a hollow feeling in his bones and muscles. He nods at her question, and then he hesitates, and then he wipes his eyes and pulls the blanket closer.

"Could you stay?" He feels like a little kid again, begging his parents to stay and quell the nightmares, the ones that weren't really nightmares. Once he realized his parents' betrayal (the reason why they always said No, little Kat and left him for whirling drills, muffled screams), the tired, hopeful seeking of bedtime comfort became foreign to him. Poisonous, even. There was Michal, certainly, but Katurian was the guardian, never the one who needed help sleeping, never the one who asked for company. It surprises him, how desperate he sounds.

He swallows. "You're probably very busy, and, so, um, it isn't necessary, but I like your company, and if you could afford to stay for a little longer, just a little longer, we could maybe share stories, or, um--" He runs a hand through his hair. "--talk about whatever you'd like. I won't be sleeping now."

Edited 2010-03-18 03:29 (UTC)