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tampered2008-09-29 03:44 pm
commoneresque.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2008-09-29 03:44 pm
Log; ongoing
When; September 23~ presumably after Rosette woke back up <3 but when the Opera House was still locked down
Rating; G/PG at most just to be safe :/ idk
Characters; Fujioka Haruhi and Hitachiin Hikaru
Summary; They had planned to practice at some point, and in light of recent events, something even remotely useful to distract them, locked in as they were, seemed like a good idea. Dance practice? Remotely productive? Certainly.
Log;
To say that the day was a strange one was true. To say that Haruhi had not left her room since the message of Rosette’s death the other day was also true. It was unreal to her, not in small part because she had been able to accept everything else about the City with little more than batting an eyelash—not that Haruhi was the sort to bat her eyelashes anyway. Everything odd or out-of-their-world she had either glazed over or just nodded at with a problematically sensible approach.
Staring down at the book in her lap, she sighed to the otherwise empty room. She had been on this same page for about ten minutes now, which was enough of a sign for her to close it and set it aside, flopping onto her back on the bed. The over-sized shirt she wore was long-sleeved but she rolled those up for something to do, somehow comforted by sound as opposed to complete silence.
Why did she die?
Haruhi didn’t know Rosette, not at all. She had seen her since they lived in the same place, and presumably she had known her a little better in her previous visit to this City, but she remembered nothing. From observation and just the normal amount of paying attention to daily behavior, she knew Rosette was well liked and cared for by more than a handful of people.
How did they feel?
To know that Rosette had woken, that she was alive as far as City standards went, in that she could move around, speak, eat, was mind boggling. Of course, it would be death, that in spite of all the other weird things in this place, left Haruhi speechless and staring blankly at her ceiling. She should feel sad, perhaps, or worried, but she didn’t.
This was too much.
For the first time since arriving, she truly wanted to go home, to walk through the door of her own modest commoner — thank you the Host Club—home. She wanted to see her father and she wanted to sit before her mother for a very, very long time, not saying anything.
It occurred to her that she didn’t even have a photo on her.
Frustrated, she brought he hands to cover her eyes and inhaled, exhaled, tried to clear her mind. What could she do other than sit here?
…a dance off.
Somewhere within all of her displeased dwelling, which thought barreled in and she blinked, pushing herself up off of her bed, heading toward her door, impulsively, almost uncharacteristically desiring to, frankly, not be alone. She didn’t like these moments, accustomed to not only being able to be alone or do things by herself, but quite often enjoying that she could, taking pride in it in her own Haruhi way—which was to say quiet if blunt.
Right now though, if Hikaru was there…well perhaps she should see if he was before she got her hopes up too high—another thing she wasn’t used to, but then, she wasn’t used to people dying and coming back to life either.
Likely, she thought as she left her room and approached another, he might be somewhere else in the house right now. That was okay, as that too would give her something active to do: look for him. Her knock on the door was short but resoundingly loud in the otherwise noiseless hall.
She opted for frowning slightly rather than sighing again, not that one was especially more positive than the other, and as she waited, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her shorts—meant for boys but then, even being here hadn’t broken her out of her preference for the sensibility of boy clothes over girl apparel. It wasn’t for the Host Club, since designations here were irrelevant considering that they wouldn’t remember their time here. More so, it was for herself, something she could keep the same.
This was, quite possibly, the first time Haruhi felt unsure about change since...well.
Mother in heaven…
Since a long time ago.
Rating; G/PG at most just to be safe :/ idk
Characters; Fujioka Haruhi and Hitachiin Hikaru
Summary; They had planned to practice at some point, and in light of recent events, something even remotely useful to distract them, locked in as they were, seemed like a good idea. Dance practice? Remotely productive? Certainly.
Log;
To say that the day was a strange one was true. To say that Haruhi had not left her room since the message of Rosette’s death the other day was also true. It was unreal to her, not in small part because she had been able to accept everything else about the City with little more than batting an eyelash—not that Haruhi was the sort to bat her eyelashes anyway. Everything odd or out-of-their-world she had either glazed over or just nodded at with a problematically sensible approach.
Staring down at the book in her lap, she sighed to the otherwise empty room. She had been on this same page for about ten minutes now, which was enough of a sign for her to close it and set it aside, flopping onto her back on the bed. The over-sized shirt she wore was long-sleeved but she rolled those up for something to do, somehow comforted by sound as opposed to complete silence.
Why did she die?
Haruhi didn’t know Rosette, not at all. She had seen her since they lived in the same place, and presumably she had known her a little better in her previous visit to this City, but she remembered nothing. From observation and just the normal amount of paying attention to daily behavior, she knew Rosette was well liked and cared for by more than a handful of people.
How did they feel?
To know that Rosette had woken, that she was alive as far as City standards went, in that she could move around, speak, eat, was mind boggling. Of course, it would be death, that in spite of all the other weird things in this place, left Haruhi speechless and staring blankly at her ceiling. She should feel sad, perhaps, or worried, but she didn’t.
This was too much.
For the first time since arriving, she truly wanted to go home, to walk through the door of her own modest commoner — thank you the Host Club—home. She wanted to see her father and she wanted to sit before her mother for a very, very long time, not saying anything.
It occurred to her that she didn’t even have a photo on her.
Frustrated, she brought he hands to cover her eyes and inhaled, exhaled, tried to clear her mind. What could she do other than sit here?
…a dance off.
Somewhere within all of her displeased dwelling, which thought barreled in and she blinked, pushing herself up off of her bed, heading toward her door, impulsively, almost uncharacteristically desiring to, frankly, not be alone. She didn’t like these moments, accustomed to not only being able to be alone or do things by herself, but quite often enjoying that she could, taking pride in it in her own Haruhi way—which was to say quiet if blunt.
Right now though, if Hikaru was there…well perhaps she should see if he was before she got her hopes up too high—another thing she wasn’t used to, but then, she wasn’t used to people dying and coming back to life either.
Likely, she thought as she left her room and approached another, he might be somewhere else in the house right now. That was okay, as that too would give her something active to do: look for him. Her knock on the door was short but resoundingly loud in the otherwise noiseless hall.
She opted for frowning slightly rather than sighing again, not that one was especially more positive than the other, and as she waited, she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her shorts—meant for boys but then, even being here hadn’t broken her out of her preference for the sensibility of boy clothes over girl apparel. It wasn’t for the Host Club, since designations here were irrelevant considering that they wouldn’t remember their time here. More so, it was for herself, something she could keep the same.
This was, quite possibly, the first time Haruhi felt unsure about change since...well.
Mother in heaven…
Since a long time ago.
no subject
Of course, protecting himself meant very little, didn't it? Everything regarding Rosette, he'd seen it, watched against his better judgment, like watching a thriller, except thrillers usually didn't drive Hikaru to the bathroom to throw up as he realized just what the gunshot and the resounding silence meant. Porcelain was, however, one of his saviors, all things considered-- a simple flush, and all traces, all evidence of the crack deepening in his mask, were gone.
How unfair. For everyone.
And so he'd climbed under the covers, just for a brief respite, only to find, after he'd awoken, all doors of the House closed. Locked. Bolted down.
He was never claustrophobic before.
How cruel. To him. And the others, they'd made it out.
Or so he'd thought, until a knock sounded on his door, and who would dare knock on his door in a time like this, unless it was Kaoru, or the idiot lord, or Haruhi--
--okay, that's not what he expected, his brain notes with a numb buzz, as he pulled the door open, finding Haruhi standing there.
How had she not managed to get out?
"H-hey, Haruhi..." he sputtered, blinking and quickly standing to the side, ushering her in. "Come in."
no subject
She wondered, looking at him, how the others were as well...
Tamaki senpai...
But just as quickly as she wondered, she stopped wondering, shaking her head a bit and then tilting it as she spoke, "This is weird."
It was the obvious and it was the truth and it wasn't the most tactful way to start any conversation about something this serious and altogether disturbing, but it was better than the silence she was trying to avoid. Usually Haruhi not only enjoyed quiet, but respected it for all the things that could transpire in a wordless space as opposed to a cluttered one. At the moment, however, she found herself appreciating the warmth of the human voice, just one more string that reminded her some things remained normal.
She offered Hikaru a smile, soft and a little questioning.
"Were you sleeping?" that was better. Maybe.
no subject
The smile didn't really help, even if Hikaru's shoulders relaxed a little. Haruhi's smiles, they often drew in more anxiety than comfort. At least, these days.
"I was... I mean, just a little cat nap, it's nothing serious," Hikaru shrugged, finally able to force some levity--as ironic as that must have been--into his voice. "I'm glad you came-- the Opera House is just so boring, and I think Kaoru left without me~"
He swallowed thickly, then. What did Kaoru think of all this?