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 Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 1:17 pm
It was one of those nights again. Requiem could not sleep.
For a short amount of time, he had managed to drift off into something aimless, but the sleep had been restless, and he had tossed and turned, unable to drag himself away from the blackness. His dreams were haunted, and though he had long since grown used to them, that did not mean that they had grown easier to deal with. Being a human with nightmares was one thing; being a Majin with them was something else entirely.
When he awoke the second and final time, Requiem was gasping for air, one hand clutching at his chest. It hurt to breathe, hurt to even think, and he stumbled from the bed, staggering across the room to find his music. His fingers, shaking and unsure, managed to find the cool metal, and he slipped them over his ears, fumbling to find the switch to turn them on. Once the music began he could feel his nerves slowly beginning to relax, beginning to calm. On the floor of his room, Requiem's hands gripped the headphones, trying to control his ragged breathing.
I'm okay. I'll be okay. I'm okay.
It was a constant mantra inside of his head. After a long while, when his heart had settled to a less frantic beat and Requiem's breaths were no longer short and staccato, he pulled the headphones from his head, closing his eyes briefly as he set them back on the desk.
Water. I need water.
His throat ached. Requiem pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and slipped from his room, shutting the door silently behind him. It was nearing midnight, but he had run out of bottled water in his room. The nearest drinking fountain was located somewhere beside the shared bathrooms, and Requiem padded quietly down the elegantly padded hallway.
The next craving hit him too fast, too soon. His legs gave out, and Requiem found himself on the floor of the deserted hallway, dragging in breaths of air. One hand pressed against the wall so hard his knuckles had begun to turn white, and his other hand pressed flat against his chest, feeling the constant, jittery beat of his heart beneath his fingertips. It would pass soon, but the darkness would always remain. Requiem closed his eyes.
I'm okay. I'm all right. I'm okay.
I'll be okay.
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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 11:05 pm
Cicero always walked the hallways of the school on the nights of the waxing gibbous moon. It was when his powers were at their height and he couldn't help be revel in the energy he soaked up from the moon's light. He'd found that he hurt, an ache deep inside, if he forgot to do what he was doing now, and so, he went against every rule in the school to indulge.
Even now, with the moon at its height, Cicero couldn't seem to dredge up enough emotion to feel even remotely bad. As he dragged his fingers lightly against the papered wall beside him, he wondered at his blatant indiscretion. Usually he was much more circumspect when it came to rule breaking. He also couldn't help but wonder if the headmaster knew of the moon's effect on him. It was an interested thought and one he'd have to explore later.
Cicero rounded the next corner of the school and stopped in his tracks. He took in the crumpled, human form on the rug and frowned. He hadn't even heard the boy's breathing, so lost in his musings was he.
"What are you doing out of bed," Cicero asked rather imperiously, voice soft and accusing. When in the wrong, pretend you're always right, he thought to himself. Staring at the other boy, Cicero made no move to help him, merely looking on and wondering how he could use the situation to his advantage. Blackmail had always seemed crude to him, but he was never one to pass up an opportunity.
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Posted: Sat Jun 11, 2011 11:56 pm
He hadn't expected there to be anyone awake at this hour of the night. After all, it had to have been past midnight by now, and the skies outside were a churning blackish violet, the heavy brightness of the moon the only light. It was a full moon tonight, and its splintered rays cast strange shadows along the deserted hallways of the Academy. Requiem was used to being alone, used to merely dredging along through his days in silence, his nights quiet and spent mostly in solitude.
So the low, almost arrogant sounding voice above him came as a surprise. Requiem lifted his eyes slowly, breathing labored as he took in the pale auburn hair pulled neatly back, the red eyes filled with emotions and life that he knew nothing of, did not care to know of.
He wasn't sure whether to be grateful or irritated that the other boy had not offered a hand to assist him. "Getting a drink," Requiem replied, somewhat shortly, as he attempted to haul himself back to his feet. His legs were unsteady, though, weak from the cravings that seared through his veins, burning him from the inside out, and he staggered, nearly falling again. This time, however, Requiem pressed himself back against the wall, dragging in ragged breaths of air.
"Pardon me," he managed to get out, hoping his voice sounded normal. His hands were clenched into fists at his sides, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his face as Requiem struggled to maintain his composure. "I...am not feeling...entirely well."
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Posted: Sun Jun 12, 2011 2:50 pm
Cicero stared at the other student, vaguely recognizing his face but unable to put a name to it. He began to wonder if he was worse with name remembering than he originally thought. That seemed to be the lesser of worries at the moment though. As the body held himself unsteadily against the wall, muttering about a drink, Cicero wondered if some magical accident hadn't occurred.
Feeling edging and uncertain, Cicero held his ground as he stared the sick boy down. When it didn't seem like this person was an outright threat to him, Cicero moved forward a bit, finally offering his hand. He could protect himself, of course, but he didn't want to. Still being a new magic user, he was sometimes left drained if he did anything too ambitions.
"Come," he told the boy, voice a little less haughty than before. "Take my hand and I'll help you to the hospital wing." Cicero wondered what the boy was sick with. To many sweets perhaps. A lot of the younger students, fresh to the Academy, took the freedom from their parents a little too far.
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Posted: Wed Jun 15, 2011 2:33 pm
He hated feeling this weak, this...pathetic, but there was no way to control the cravings which swept through his veins at the drop of a hat. Requiem related the feeling similar to that of a recovering alcoholic; painful, slow, and agonizing at times. His parents had used to take care of him whenever he was stuck in one of his..."episodes," as they had come to call it, but he had stopped wanting their coddling as he grew older, more used to them. His parents were good, kind people, but they did not understand that this was not something that could be fixed with just hugs and soup brought to you in bed. No, this was something he needed to overcome himself.
No one would be able to help him, but him.
Requiem's eyes flitted towards the hand offered to him, eying it somewhat warily. He wasn't sure whether or not to take it; this boy was obviously older and much more confident than most of the witchlings in Makai Academy. The way he carried himself, that near disdainful look on his face - it all suggested someone who knew more about the world and about magic than Requiem did. And he did not want to be pitied, nor looked down upon, by an upperclassman, no less.
Yet he grasped the hand anyway, allowing the other to pull him up and away from the wall that he was leaning on. But once he was standing, Requiem freed his fingers, struggling to stay upright as he straightened, fingers still trembling as they absently smoothed out a crease in his shirt.
"That...that's not necessary," he said, not wanting to trouble the other. "I...this is not something that can be cured with mere medicine. I will head back to my room."
A pause. Then he added, somewhat roughly, "I thank you for your assistance."
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