Making progress despite the belly.

Orin Takekuro · 03-04-2011, 07:00 PM

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Word Count → 500+

She watched as animation slowly returned to the hybrid, and as she moved away he was able to speak. It seemed to take a while for his muscles to relax again, though, and the look of concern never left her visage as she watched him slowly return to life.

But even as he came back from whatever it was that had shocked him so – the pain, she presumed – he did not seem to return to the happy man that he was before. There was a strange foreboding about him now, a mask of sadness that would not leave. He was quiet for some time, just staring forward. During the first span of silence she continued to stare blankly at the bandage dangling from his foot, but then he moved to tie the bandage and apply the other, and she turned her eyes to his face. She searched him, trying to figure out what had happened. Somehow, something in the back of her mind told her that it was not the pain of the wound that had affected the man.

Still, he was slowly returning to just as he was before, even if some strange depression lingered behind his eyes. Soon enough Orin would replace the strange incident with some fantasy that connected the dots of life and made everything mold to her perfect little world again. She smiled as the man stood up, and she put her hand on the chair to help pull herself up, though the chair budged and her attempt at getting off the floor was unsuccessful. She pretended that this did not bother her, and settled back on her rump again.

“No need to do any extra work,” she said casually. “We'll just work til we're done or we're tired, whichever comes first.” Yes, she enlisted his help to work, but she planned on doing what she could of the tasks, too.

At the mention of it, her eyes flicked to the crimson smattering on her fingers. She wiggled them. “Yeah. Don't worry about it, things happen. You're just trying to help, it's my fault for having the mess in the first place. Hmm... I don't have a water bucket. What sense does that make?” She mused, laughing softly at herself. “I want to clean but I don't have a water bucket! I have a pale in the storage room back there. We can put some snow in it and set it on the roof – you can get to it from the window in my room upstairs. Hopefully the afternoon sun is warm enough to melt it.”

“But first... maybe you can start,” she said, laughter seasoning her words, “by getting me off the ground?” She chortled, embarrassed by her plight. Oh, of course she could get up if she made a show of it, but that would be worse than just asking for help. She held her hands up, hoping her would accept and give her a heave off the ground.

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