20 Heartbeats: 02. Breath; Footfall
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Sep. 30th, 2008 | 12:21 am
mood: 
contemplative
For 20 Heartbeats. I don't think I've quite found Aerith's voice yet.
monsters
Tick…tick…tick…
In the daylight, the Red Room might have looked cozy and comfortable. Aerith liked the color. Traverse Town never had a day, though. It didn’t exist. There was lamplight, which was fine, and heavy shadows, which made the red accents black and dark like drying blood.
Everything lately tended to make her think of blood. She had seen quite a bit of it in the past couple days. She was getting a little sick of being macabre, but she couldn’t shake the greasy visions from her eyes when she closed them.
Tired of trying to count herself to sleep, Aerith lay in bed staring at the canopy. The fabric swayed lightly in the sweet breeze drifting in from the underground waterway. It felt nice on the itching skin that kept pestering her mind awake. Her deep breathing seemed unnecessarily loud, wheezing from the smoke that still clogged her lungs. The burns wouldn’t leave her alone.
Skritch skritch.
Aerith sharply held her breath. That sound was only something she heard in her head now. It shouldn’t have been so close to the window, clear and real.
Skritch skritch.
She couldn’t even move to shove her head under her pillow. She tightened every bit of her body and lay like a plank under the covers. Maybe if she tried hard enough she could melt into the bed frame.
Shthump shthumpshthumpshthumpdadump
Her heart was pounding like a machine gun, letting all in the vicinity know that she was a living, fleshy thing ripe for the picking by toothy monsters with claws. No. No. No-no-no-no-no it couldn’t be. Not here. Not in their safe haven.
Skritch.
It had followed them. Snuck onto the ship, hiding in a corpse? Who had lost their heart? Was it the young man in the other room? He was much too weak to fend off the darkness, she knew it. Yuffie wouldn’t have, would she? She was so loud and every inch of her was coiled to spring and fight. Please let it not be someone she knew, come back from the dead to guilt her out of living.
The night continued to breathe like murder.
She felt as insignificant as a rag in a gutter. Utterly and hopelessly defenseless. Her dry lips were too stiff and had long forgotten the prayers and spells that had kept her safe once upon a life. She wondered if she’d even be able to scream when the claws finally found her and began to rip her apart like tissue paper. Why was she still so alive and aware of them scratching at the window, creeping under the bed, hanging from the unseen corners, staring at her with big, gaping eyes…
Heavy footsteps hit the floorboards and sent the shadows scattering. Aerith blinked her way out of her thoughts as she heard through the thin walls of the hotel the sound of someone walking. Something that was very human was making its way into the adjoining room. It was enough to make her feel able to carefully sink back into herself. The door between the two rooms was cracked open a bit, and when the lamp in the Green Room was turned on it cast a stream of yellow light through the opening.
There was a rustling of thick paper bags.
“Good to see you’re still alive,” said a voice, deep and solid. “I’m gonna have to rip that fucking ship apart and sell the pieces to keep paying for this shit so you might as well suck it up and make some kind of effort to get better.”
Aerith sat up, peeling the bed sheets from her legs. She padded barefoot across the floor, her dirty pink dress flapping around her knees, and cautiously slid in next to the doorframe.
The green room seemed much warmer with the dim lamp on the dresser illuminating the space. There was the man who was saving their lives, who smelled horrid and had a face that could frighten the life out of babies. His impossibly large hands were planted firmly on his hips and his worn face sternly watched their patient, who lay on the only bed in the room. The younger man was bound and braced with bandages, shuddering in his sleep. At least he wasn’t begging for death anymore.
The pilot looked up before Aerith could make up her mind and decide if she was going to say hello or go back to bed. All they could do was to stare at each other. His eyes were very blue. Aerith curled her fingers nervously against the wood of the door.
“Christ, you look like a ghost.”
Unable to breathe for a moment, Aerith pressed her finger to her wrist to see if there was still a pulse. Satisfied, she twisted her mouth to frown at him. He scowled back, ten times worse.
“You done anything for those cuts yet?” he grouched.
Aerith looked down at her limbs, dumbly, like she was just noticing the things.
The man went over to the bags on the table and took out a few colorful bottles, studying the labels. He approached her, blocking out the lamplight like a giant, and offered two of them.
“This one’s aseptic for the cuts and the other’s a crème that’ll help the burns.” Aerith took them, not knowing what else to do with her hands. “You know we have our own bathroom?”
She shook her head. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a door on the other side of the room.
“Blue Room, right through there.”
He tore his gaze from hers and turned from her as quickly as possible to drop himself into a sturdy wooden chair and sigh, loudly. He smelled of fresh tobacco smoke and soap. Aerith suddenly had the sneaking suspicion that she had scared him, creeping around the doorway like that and watching him while he was unaware. She had seen her face in the mirror, all hollowed out and smudged with bruises, and knew it didn’t look exactly pretty.
“Th-thank you,” Aerith croaked, her voice was cracked and swollen but it was still there, wonderfully and palpably there.
The man just grunted and pulled an old teapot out of the bag. He started to polish it lovingly with a filthy red grease rag.
"...your need anything else you just ask for it," he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Since I expect we'll be seein' a lot of each other, I s'pose you should know my name's Cid. Cid Highwind."
Highwind. She liked that. Aerith raised one hand, still clutching the bottle of burn crème, and pointed to herself, so there would be no mistaking who she was. "Aerith."
She realized she couldn't remember the last time she had said her name out loud. She had been nameless until that second.
Cid actually cracked a smile. "That's a nice name."
Aerith felt her face turn even redder and ducked her head. "Yours is, too."
She took the bottles with her back into the Red Room and crawled into the bed. She rubbed the cold crème over her arms and legs, massaging it into her flaking skin. She carefully arranged herself over the covers, listening to the continuous lull of her own body and feeling the wind that drifted through the room. Eyes drifted close without much protest, and she was able to sleep without any nightmares at all.
---
breath; footfall
Tick…tick…tick…
In the daylight, the Red Room might have looked cozy and comfortable. Aerith liked the color. Traverse Town never had a day, though. It didn’t exist. There was lamplight, which was fine, and heavy shadows, which made the red accents black and dark like drying blood.
Everything lately tended to make her think of blood. She had seen quite a bit of it in the past couple days. She was getting a little sick of being macabre, but she couldn’t shake the greasy visions from her eyes when she closed them.
Tired of trying to count herself to sleep, Aerith lay in bed staring at the canopy. The fabric swayed lightly in the sweet breeze drifting in from the underground waterway. It felt nice on the itching skin that kept pestering her mind awake. Her deep breathing seemed unnecessarily loud, wheezing from the smoke that still clogged her lungs. The burns wouldn’t leave her alone.
Skritch skritch.
Aerith sharply held her breath. That sound was only something she heard in her head now. It shouldn’t have been so close to the window, clear and real.
Skritch skritch.
She couldn’t even move to shove her head under her pillow. She tightened every bit of her body and lay like a plank under the covers. Maybe if she tried hard enough she could melt into the bed frame.
Shthump shthumpshthumpshthumpdadump
Her heart was pounding like a machine gun, letting all in the vicinity know that she was a living, fleshy thing ripe for the picking by toothy monsters with claws. No. No. No-no-no-no-no it couldn’t be. Not here. Not in their safe haven.
Skritch.
It had followed them. Snuck onto the ship, hiding in a corpse? Who had lost their heart? Was it the young man in the other room? He was much too weak to fend off the darkness, she knew it. Yuffie wouldn’t have, would she? She was so loud and every inch of her was coiled to spring and fight. Please let it not be someone she knew, come back from the dead to guilt her out of living.
The night continued to breathe like murder.
She felt as insignificant as a rag in a gutter. Utterly and hopelessly defenseless. Her dry lips were too stiff and had long forgotten the prayers and spells that had kept her safe once upon a life. She wondered if she’d even be able to scream when the claws finally found her and began to rip her apart like tissue paper. Why was she still so alive and aware of them scratching at the window, creeping under the bed, hanging from the unseen corners, staring at her with big, gaping eyes…
Heavy footsteps hit the floorboards and sent the shadows scattering. Aerith blinked her way out of her thoughts as she heard through the thin walls of the hotel the sound of someone walking. Something that was very human was making its way into the adjoining room. It was enough to make her feel able to carefully sink back into herself. The door between the two rooms was cracked open a bit, and when the lamp in the Green Room was turned on it cast a stream of yellow light through the opening.
There was a rustling of thick paper bags.
“Good to see you’re still alive,” said a voice, deep and solid. “I’m gonna have to rip that fucking ship apart and sell the pieces to keep paying for this shit so you might as well suck it up and make some kind of effort to get better.”
Aerith sat up, peeling the bed sheets from her legs. She padded barefoot across the floor, her dirty pink dress flapping around her knees, and cautiously slid in next to the doorframe.
The green room seemed much warmer with the dim lamp on the dresser illuminating the space. There was the man who was saving their lives, who smelled horrid and had a face that could frighten the life out of babies. His impossibly large hands were planted firmly on his hips and his worn face sternly watched their patient, who lay on the only bed in the room. The younger man was bound and braced with bandages, shuddering in his sleep. At least he wasn’t begging for death anymore.
The pilot looked up before Aerith could make up her mind and decide if she was going to say hello or go back to bed. All they could do was to stare at each other. His eyes were very blue. Aerith curled her fingers nervously against the wood of the door.
“Christ, you look like a ghost.”
Unable to breathe for a moment, Aerith pressed her finger to her wrist to see if there was still a pulse. Satisfied, she twisted her mouth to frown at him. He scowled back, ten times worse.
“You done anything for those cuts yet?” he grouched.
Aerith looked down at her limbs, dumbly, like she was just noticing the things.
The man went over to the bags on the table and took out a few colorful bottles, studying the labels. He approached her, blocking out the lamplight like a giant, and offered two of them.
“This one’s aseptic for the cuts and the other’s a crème that’ll help the burns.” Aerith took them, not knowing what else to do with her hands. “You know we have our own bathroom?”
She shook her head. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at a door on the other side of the room.
“Blue Room, right through there.”
He tore his gaze from hers and turned from her as quickly as possible to drop himself into a sturdy wooden chair and sigh, loudly. He smelled of fresh tobacco smoke and soap. Aerith suddenly had the sneaking suspicion that she had scared him, creeping around the doorway like that and watching him while he was unaware. She had seen her face in the mirror, all hollowed out and smudged with bruises, and knew it didn’t look exactly pretty.
“Th-thank you,” Aerith croaked, her voice was cracked and swollen but it was still there, wonderfully and palpably there.
The man just grunted and pulled an old teapot out of the bag. He started to polish it lovingly with a filthy red grease rag.
"...your need anything else you just ask for it," he turned his head to look at her over his shoulder. "Since I expect we'll be seein' a lot of each other, I s'pose you should know my name's Cid. Cid Highwind."
Highwind. She liked that. Aerith raised one hand, still clutching the bottle of burn crème, and pointed to herself, so there would be no mistaking who she was. "Aerith."
She realized she couldn't remember the last time she had said her name out loud. She had been nameless until that second.
Cid actually cracked a smile. "That's a nice name."
Aerith felt her face turn even redder and ducked her head. "Yours is, too."
She took the bottles with her back into the Red Room and crawled into the bed. She rubbed the cold crème over her arms and legs, massaging it into her flaking skin. She carefully arranged herself over the covers, listening to the continuous lull of her own body and feeling the wind that drifted through the room. Eyes drifted close without much protest, and she was able to sleep without any nightmares at all.
breath; footfall