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good night. part 2.
▶ Part 1
Minato is brought in by the patrol, who had found the boy walking all too casually toward base, limbless and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. To his credit, the patrolmen panic more than the victim trying to give them a wave of greeting. The doctor, not really certified but used to the grittiness of chopping off limbs of wailing patients, rushes them inside. When he asks what had happened, he receives a bloodied bag instead. He puts it aside and repeats his question, by which then Minato has already fallen to sleep. Sighing, he takes a towel and begins cleaning the wound.
Walter storms off when he hears the news. The well-feared and respected Boss of the Resistance, too, storms the halls for the same cause. His physique is much larger and impressive next to Walter, whom he meets halfway and grabs by the collar. He pins the boy to the wall, growling, "Why did you let him go alone?" His demand for an answer falls to deaf ears as Walter remains just limp enough to support himself. Tightening his grip on the collar, he shakes the body in his extended grip. "If security picks up the trail that idiot made, we're done for. Hear me?"
"Then clean it," Walter replies flatly.
"What?"
"Clean it so the dogs don't sniff it out."
Another shake, and the Boss slams Walter's back against the wall. "Watch your tongue, unless you want to be the first one caught and lynched out there."
He's never liked Walter much, with his ignorance and lack of care for anything around him, much less to the Resistance's cause. All he does in his glorified vegetative state is suck up resources, food and people's time alike. There's only one reason why he suffers Walter's prolonged presence in the Resistance, and that reason is currently in bed and likely to be the reason for their downfall.
He shoves Walter aside.
"You've done nothing for the Resistance since we saved you. Fix it soon, or your friend is going to pay the price."
Walter doesn't bat an eye at the threat, fixing his collar as the Boss stomps away to their makeshift medical area. Minato will certainly face his wrath, next, once he wakes. But first, the Boss will bark orders at untimely souls in the perimeter to clean the blood spotless, knowing that he wouldn't trust Walter to do the work. The prediction proves true as mumbling members come down not too long after, one glancing enviously at him.
Straightening, he heads to the residential quarters, where he shares a corner with Minato. Neither of them is particularly demanding, so their spot is, for the most part, pristine and lacking in everything. He unfolds the contraption making up the bed's frame and sits on it, then stares at his hands, which are curled at the tips, that rest on his lap. All he hears is background noise comprised of clinking and clanking of footsteps and the occasional conversation or two carried by a low draft.
He must have stayed in that position for over an hour, as his feet and lower legs begin to protest their upright position. He bends his feet once, then twice, allowing better circulation while he continues to focus on his hands. For the past few minutes, however, he has seen nothing, being lost in his mind everybody has deemed dead.
To the contrary, it's alive enough. He can function as well as the others and think beyond primitive levels, but the one disadvantage has labeled him a cripple. They ignore him for it; he returns the treatment, and most are content to keep it that way. The sole exception is Minato, who always insists on striking conversation and following even when he isn't instructed to do so.
He remembers when they first met. Struggling for air and weak in body, he had thrown his head right and left, thrashing upon the bed they'd laid him. His eyes had shifted just as wildly, drinking in the image of various faces -- and in the sea of alarmed or aggravated expressions, he had homed in on one of calm and quiet worry. He hadn't thought much of it, then, caught up in the heat of struggling, but he had met the owner of such a peaceful face a week or two later. Minato, he introduced himself, was a new member, and he was glad to meet him at last.
Walter discovers, at some point, that he is more than a little concerned for Minato's well-being.
- - - - - -
Guriko is a young lass of fourteen, dressed in the uniform of an institution that has long went out of business since the last score. She keeps the dress out of fondness for the memories of the old days, though Tiir she knows Tiir would argue that those are days of pain and betrayals. But she is ever optimistic and brimming with hope, has always been, and shows to be no different today as she sits up on the makeshift cot of pillows and sacks when Tiir enters quietly.
"Welcome back," she greets happily.
Looking over his shoulder, Tiir turns to face a friend once he's ensured that nobody has followed him. His sternness melts away, and he returns her glee with a genuine, heartfelt smile.
"I'm back."
Guriko abandons her cot in favor of approaching Tiir, who eagerly bends forward to give her a pat on the back when she embraces him. Their place is rather cold, being situated on the mountainside opposite the ocean lining the city, but the off-putting air hinders the neither of them.
They live in an alcove in the mountains that Tiir had found several years back. Guriko had taken a liking to it. He had then done his best to accommodate and conceal them from outsiders. It's their luck that hardly anyone traverses this side of the mountain, disallowing them to find the easy routes up that Tiir uses often. The inside is homelier than before, now. Crude sketches line the interior walls, of Tiir and Guriko and some others that Guriko likes to affectionately talk to when she feels she's neglected them long enough.
Guriko breaks the embrace, her hands still on his forearms, then looks around as if suspecting a second visitor. Tiir's smile drops a margin. He shakes his head.
"I'm afraid I couldn't bring him. But I promise you that I will next time."
Despite his heavy tone, Guriko nods understandingly. "That's all right. Tiir is a hard worker and always keeps his promises. Guriko will await the day he brings our brethren home."
As she suspects, Tiir does not react to her choice of wording. With longer exposure to her form of speech, she realizes that he's come to chalk up any eccentric vocabulary to her usual dialogue. If she sneaks in a peculiar word or two, he says nothing; he doesn't pick up on it, as he doesn't know, and the seed of bitterness in her howls at the irony. The corner of her lips waver but she bites down, keeping a wry smile. She tilts her head down slightly to hide it.
Tiir lifts his hand to pat her on the head, laughing softly.
"That's right. I've kept every promise I've made to you. This time won't be any different." He pauses, then adds, "Although . . . "
Pinched by curiosity, Guriko looks up.
"I don't see why we need him," he confesses. "I saw him earlier. He was nothing like us, and hardly responsive. Are you sure that this is the one we're after?"
The scene is still fresh and vivid in his mind. He remembers pushing the old man, breaking the hand of the younger one, and confronting Walter after the initial chaos. Walter's face had been unexpressive, and his rejection to the offer of leaving the hellhole reeked of irrationality. Why stay with those who consider you different? By that train of thought, Tiir is puzzled by Guriko's insistence that they bring Walter here.
Walter hadn't lifted a finger to help his comrades, and the aloofness irked him.
Then there was the boy at the market . . .
"Tiir?"
He snaps back to attention. By the look on Guriko's face, innocent but inquiring, he must have missed her answer. Still in the dark, he does not ask her to repeat herself, placing his trust in her judgment. On the other hand, Guriko doesn't appear to be deceived by his quick nod and presses, "Has something happened in your endeavors to the city?"
She gives him the look. It is a look that only means well, pervaded by aged curiosity and wisdom, and it disarms Tiir every time he bears witness. He has vowed not to lie to his friends and loved ones.
Guriko is more than the former, and the latter simply cannot do her position justice. Tiir had met her years ago, when they had looked closer in physical age. She had renewed his purpose in life after he'd cried and cursed at the slaughter of the Menoris, and he had since then never let go of his faith in her. She had given him life in more ways than one -- and in this case, he can say so figuratively and literally.
Guriko's sweet influence increases the pressure to blurt out the truth.
She slides her hand down his arm. Their fingers intertwine, and she leads him to the cot. She seats herself upon it while he moves to sit across her on an old wooden chair. Once they're both settled, he sighs.
"There was a boy at the marketplace. I have no doubt he's a member of the same Resistance your friend is part of."
"What did this boy look like?"
"Of dark blue hair. He was purchasing pens and paper." At the mention of writing materials, he procures what he's bought, handing them over to Guriko, who places them next to her. He notes that her movement is a little slowed, as if she's thinking, and her expression is a tad unreadable. It unnerves him, for Tiir likes to believe that he can at least understand her more than he did in the past, when he was younger and more foolish.
" . . . is that everything?" asks Guriko, lifting her gaze from the new papers to Tiir.
Tiir exhales, pondering how to relay the scene. It still alarms him to think about it, considering that, while he may be an observable entity when he visits the area, Guriko has not stepped foot off the mountainside in months, perhaps even a year -- far before the Resistance had made camp in the old factory.
"He said he wants to talk to you."
- - - - - -
Two months later, Minato has recovered swiftly, though his arm is still in constant need of new bandages and checkups with the crude equipment they have in hand. The Boss had chewed him out a sizable amount upon his waking, as had been expected, but he'd only muttered words of gratitude when he'd learned that the blood had been wiped away from existence, sparing the Resistance from being prematurely outed. They've been one man short since, and as numbers are precious, this has set back major plans when the minor movements are lacking in people. A handful of others have left in protest, arguing that nothing is happening and that their cause is nothing more than a waste of time with how poor they are.
As the majority of the Resistance adores him, they've nevertheless devoted their spare time to doing his part. He thanks them for it, and they tell him he needn't say such things. Walter drops by once in a while; though he never talks or stays for long, Minato appreciates the remembrance.
Today is a lovely day in terms of weather, and Minato looks out the window by his bedside. The fine air relaxes him, as does the sky above it. The clouds move slowly without worry as seagulls cry and fly about. For a short while, Minato forgets time. Something catches in the corner of his view of the horizon, however, and he looks down while drawing back in case he's been seen.
A black figure dashes along the perimeter of the factory, unaware of being watched. Minato follows his movement to the side entrance, where Tiir disappears under a thick pipe, before pushing himself out of bed. He slips his shoes on, then shrugs on the jacket -- a fairly difficult, but doable, task with one hand -- before heading to the side of the building.
- - - - - -
Yup, I changed the tense. Past takes forever for me.
▶ Part 3
Minato is brought in by the patrol, who had found the boy walking all too casually toward base, limbless and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. To his credit, the patrolmen panic more than the victim trying to give them a wave of greeting. The doctor, not really certified but used to the grittiness of chopping off limbs of wailing patients, rushes them inside. When he asks what had happened, he receives a bloodied bag instead. He puts it aside and repeats his question, by which then Minato has already fallen to sleep. Sighing, he takes a towel and begins cleaning the wound.
Walter storms off when he hears the news. The well-feared and respected Boss of the Resistance, too, storms the halls for the same cause. His physique is much larger and impressive next to Walter, whom he meets halfway and grabs by the collar. He pins the boy to the wall, growling, "Why did you let him go alone?" His demand for an answer falls to deaf ears as Walter remains just limp enough to support himself. Tightening his grip on the collar, he shakes the body in his extended grip. "If security picks up the trail that idiot made, we're done for. Hear me?"
"Then clean it," Walter replies flatly.
"What?"
"Clean it so the dogs don't sniff it out."
Another shake, and the Boss slams Walter's back against the wall. "Watch your tongue, unless you want to be the first one caught and lynched out there."
He's never liked Walter much, with his ignorance and lack of care for anything around him, much less to the Resistance's cause. All he does in his glorified vegetative state is suck up resources, food and people's time alike. There's only one reason why he suffers Walter's prolonged presence in the Resistance, and that reason is currently in bed and likely to be the reason for their downfall.
He shoves Walter aside.
"You've done nothing for the Resistance since we saved you. Fix it soon, or your friend is going to pay the price."
Walter doesn't bat an eye at the threat, fixing his collar as the Boss stomps away to their makeshift medical area. Minato will certainly face his wrath, next, once he wakes. But first, the Boss will bark orders at untimely souls in the perimeter to clean the blood spotless, knowing that he wouldn't trust Walter to do the work. The prediction proves true as mumbling members come down not too long after, one glancing enviously at him.
Straightening, he heads to the residential quarters, where he shares a corner with Minato. Neither of them is particularly demanding, so their spot is, for the most part, pristine and lacking in everything. He unfolds the contraption making up the bed's frame and sits on it, then stares at his hands, which are curled at the tips, that rest on his lap. All he hears is background noise comprised of clinking and clanking of footsteps and the occasional conversation or two carried by a low draft.
He must have stayed in that position for over an hour, as his feet and lower legs begin to protest their upright position. He bends his feet once, then twice, allowing better circulation while he continues to focus on his hands. For the past few minutes, however, he has seen nothing, being lost in his mind everybody has deemed dead.
To the contrary, it's alive enough. He can function as well as the others and think beyond primitive levels, but the one disadvantage has labeled him a cripple. They ignore him for it; he returns the treatment, and most are content to keep it that way. The sole exception is Minato, who always insists on striking conversation and following even when he isn't instructed to do so.
He remembers when they first met. Struggling for air and weak in body, he had thrown his head right and left, thrashing upon the bed they'd laid him. His eyes had shifted just as wildly, drinking in the image of various faces -- and in the sea of alarmed or aggravated expressions, he had homed in on one of calm and quiet worry. He hadn't thought much of it, then, caught up in the heat of struggling, but he had met the owner of such a peaceful face a week or two later. Minato, he introduced himself, was a new member, and he was glad to meet him at last.
Walter discovers, at some point, that he is more than a little concerned for Minato's well-being.
Guriko is a young lass of fourteen, dressed in the uniform of an institution that has long went out of business since the last score. She keeps the dress out of fondness for the memories of the old days, though Tiir she knows Tiir would argue that those are days of pain and betrayals. But she is ever optimistic and brimming with hope, has always been, and shows to be no different today as she sits up on the makeshift cot of pillows and sacks when Tiir enters quietly.
"Welcome back," she greets happily.
Looking over his shoulder, Tiir turns to face a friend once he's ensured that nobody has followed him. His sternness melts away, and he returns her glee with a genuine, heartfelt smile.
"I'm back."
Guriko abandons her cot in favor of approaching Tiir, who eagerly bends forward to give her a pat on the back when she embraces him. Their place is rather cold, being situated on the mountainside opposite the ocean lining the city, but the off-putting air hinders the neither of them.
They live in an alcove in the mountains that Tiir had found several years back. Guriko had taken a liking to it. He had then done his best to accommodate and conceal them from outsiders. It's their luck that hardly anyone traverses this side of the mountain, disallowing them to find the easy routes up that Tiir uses often. The inside is homelier than before, now. Crude sketches line the interior walls, of Tiir and Guriko and some others that Guriko likes to affectionately talk to when she feels she's neglected them long enough.
Guriko breaks the embrace, her hands still on his forearms, then looks around as if suspecting a second visitor. Tiir's smile drops a margin. He shakes his head.
"I'm afraid I couldn't bring him. But I promise you that I will next time."
Despite his heavy tone, Guriko nods understandingly. "That's all right. Tiir is a hard worker and always keeps his promises. Guriko will await the day he brings our brethren home."
As she suspects, Tiir does not react to her choice of wording. With longer exposure to her form of speech, she realizes that he's come to chalk up any eccentric vocabulary to her usual dialogue. If she sneaks in a peculiar word or two, he says nothing; he doesn't pick up on it, as he doesn't know, and the seed of bitterness in her howls at the irony. The corner of her lips waver but she bites down, keeping a wry smile. She tilts her head down slightly to hide it.
Tiir lifts his hand to pat her on the head, laughing softly.
"That's right. I've kept every promise I've made to you. This time won't be any different." He pauses, then adds, "Although . . . "
Pinched by curiosity, Guriko looks up.
"I don't see why we need him," he confesses. "I saw him earlier. He was nothing like us, and hardly responsive. Are you sure that this is the one we're after?"
The scene is still fresh and vivid in his mind. He remembers pushing the old man, breaking the hand of the younger one, and confronting Walter after the initial chaos. Walter's face had been unexpressive, and his rejection to the offer of leaving the hellhole reeked of irrationality. Why stay with those who consider you different? By that train of thought, Tiir is puzzled by Guriko's insistence that they bring Walter here.
Walter hadn't lifted a finger to help his comrades, and the aloofness irked him.
Then there was the boy at the market . . .
"Tiir?"
He snaps back to attention. By the look on Guriko's face, innocent but inquiring, he must have missed her answer. Still in the dark, he does not ask her to repeat herself, placing his trust in her judgment. On the other hand, Guriko doesn't appear to be deceived by his quick nod and presses, "Has something happened in your endeavors to the city?"
She gives him the look. It is a look that only means well, pervaded by aged curiosity and wisdom, and it disarms Tiir every time he bears witness. He has vowed not to lie to his friends and loved ones.
Guriko is more than the former, and the latter simply cannot do her position justice. Tiir had met her years ago, when they had looked closer in physical age. She had renewed his purpose in life after he'd cried and cursed at the slaughter of the Menoris, and he had since then never let go of his faith in her. She had given him life in more ways than one -- and in this case, he can say so figuratively and literally.
Guriko's sweet influence increases the pressure to blurt out the truth.
She slides her hand down his arm. Their fingers intertwine, and she leads him to the cot. She seats herself upon it while he moves to sit across her on an old wooden chair. Once they're both settled, he sighs.
"There was a boy at the marketplace. I have no doubt he's a member of the same Resistance your friend is part of."
"What did this boy look like?"
"Of dark blue hair. He was purchasing pens and paper." At the mention of writing materials, he procures what he's bought, handing them over to Guriko, who places them next to her. He notes that her movement is a little slowed, as if she's thinking, and her expression is a tad unreadable. It unnerves him, for Tiir likes to believe that he can at least understand her more than he did in the past, when he was younger and more foolish.
" . . . is that everything?" asks Guriko, lifting her gaze from the new papers to Tiir.
Tiir exhales, pondering how to relay the scene. It still alarms him to think about it, considering that, while he may be an observable entity when he visits the area, Guriko has not stepped foot off the mountainside in months, perhaps even a year -- far before the Resistance had made camp in the old factory.
"He said he wants to talk to you."
Two months later, Minato has recovered swiftly, though his arm is still in constant need of new bandages and checkups with the crude equipment they have in hand. The Boss had chewed him out a sizable amount upon his waking, as had been expected, but he'd only muttered words of gratitude when he'd learned that the blood had been wiped away from existence, sparing the Resistance from being prematurely outed. They've been one man short since, and as numbers are precious, this has set back major plans when the minor movements are lacking in people. A handful of others have left in protest, arguing that nothing is happening and that their cause is nothing more than a waste of time with how poor they are.
As the majority of the Resistance adores him, they've nevertheless devoted their spare time to doing his part. He thanks them for it, and they tell him he needn't say such things. Walter drops by once in a while; though he never talks or stays for long, Minato appreciates the remembrance.
Today is a lovely day in terms of weather, and Minato looks out the window by his bedside. The fine air relaxes him, as does the sky above it. The clouds move slowly without worry as seagulls cry and fly about. For a short while, Minato forgets time. Something catches in the corner of his view of the horizon, however, and he looks down while drawing back in case he's been seen.
A black figure dashes along the perimeter of the factory, unaware of being watched. Minato follows his movement to the side entrance, where Tiir disappears under a thick pipe, before pushing himself out of bed. He slips his shoes on, then shrugs on the jacket -- a fairly difficult, but doable, task with one hand -- before heading to the side of the building.
Yup, I changed the tense. Past takes forever for me.
▶ Part 3