thusia | (no subject)

Who: You =D
When: Day 114, Evening and alll night long~
Where: In ur dreams
What: Dream post!

[Maybe you have gotten used to the regular hum of the HQ's engines as it flies slowly over a rippling canopy. Maybe you even find their sound soothing as you drift off tonight... Or maybe you don't drift off at all, maybe wherever you are, whatever you were doing, you just find yourself inexplicably sleepy.

Whatever it is, you end up in dreams. Your dreams? Or someone else's? It's hard to say.]

((OOC: DREAM POST!

For those of you who have never participated in a dream post, everyone interested in running a character's dream posts a top level comment and people comment to that to be in that character's dream. There are basically no rules about how it works! Be a lucid dreamer, don't be, figure it out halfway through, push and pull between who controls the dream. w/e have fun! If you need an OOC excuse to be asleep you can totally assume Rew's power just made your character unreasonably tired at some point. Solitary dreamers will find ocean waters rising in and drowning out their dreams, but Rew won't be making any appearances in this post.))

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No... it's all right. Everything will be all right.

[sounds as though he's more talking about the situation, Shirou... anything but himself. but there is a relief. such a strong sense of relief, that it could almost be--could be seen as--

Kiritsugu lets go just a bit, just enough to lift a hand to Shirou's face. in spite of the tears, there's a small movement of his lips... a smile, maybe. very small, very faint]

But you're--

[He's sure he was going to try and tug away, to see if he could help Kiritsugu up and make sure he'd be safe, but there's something horrifyingly familiar about that smile that makes him seize up, disbelieving.]

The fire--

A-And...

[And he looks like he wants to cry.]

The fire will die down. I promise. Tomorrow will be better.

[it's an optimism that seems wholly unlike himself, but not insincere at this moment in time. more like a wish, a want]

I'm sorry... I know it hurt...

[He sneaks a momentary glance back at the fire -- still there, still far too close for comfort, and he latches back onto Kiritsugu and hides his face.]

[letting him do that, one hand moving to the back of his head, idly moving in a comforting, shielding fashion.

though Shirou wouldn't be able to see it, the firelight begins to dim, the crackling of the flames dying down as things seem to shift again. this time, their surroundings resembling a room... a Japanese-styled room with a futon. Kiritsugu in his yukata and Shirou in his sleeping clothes, the scene reminiscent to all those times Shirou would have his night terrors. everything quiet except for the sounds of night at the Emiya household]

[He feels the heat die down, though he's not inclined to move from where he is. There are some parts of Kotomine Shirou, carefully hidden away, that never really managed to heal after the fire. The things that were walled away before they could stop hurting are suddenly being forced into the open, and perhaps that's why, despite his physical size, he seems like a small child.

It takes him a moment to collect himself and peer curiously at the room, and the first words out of his mouth are...surprising.]

...are you still hurt?

[hairpettings because he likely needs the comforting as much as he already thinks Shirou does]

... it's all right. It's something I'm used to.

That's not an answer! Dad, you need to take care of it if you're still hurt!

[He stands, looking around for a bathroom or a first aid kit or something - after a moment, he realizes he doesn't know where he is or what's where inside this house, and he wilts]

Edited 2013-02-03 08:17 (UTC)

[letting him stand, seeming to have no energy to get up himself. does seem to know what Shirou's thinking, however, and so quietly offers assistance]

Normally kept a kit in the kitchen...

[Kitchen! Right! Good! We're going to the kitchen! He realizes, once he's out the door, that perhaps this place is more familiar than he first assumed, and before he knows it, he's able to fish a first aid kit out of the kitchen and come back without any trouble.]

Dad, I found it, so where are you--

[He pauses, looking from Kiritsugu, down to the first aid kit, then back to the first aid kit in his hands. He realizes, suddenly, that he's not sure why he's calling Kiritsugu dad, or why he wants to help so badly, but it's a reaction he can't suppress - he wants to help the man who, as far as he knows, was nearly responsible for the death of both him and his father.

The first aid kit hits the floor, because suddenly his hands are trembling more than he realizes]

...what am I doing?

[doesn't seem to be completely aware of what's going on here, but looking up to Shirou, concern written on his face]

Shirou...?

[We've got to pick up the first aid kit and help dad. Who, he's realizing, can't possibly be his father, but he still needs to be helped. He's still hurt, and Shirou can't stand to know that. Shakily, he picks up the first aid kit again, then pauses, smiling sadly back at Kiritsugu]

Why did I call you "dad"?

[Kiritsugu's kind of dazed at this point, so he just continues to watch Shirou, confusion now crossing his features]

... you just started to call me it one day.

[Confused and almost frightened as he is, he can't leave Kiritsugu be. So he sits himself beside Kiritsugu again, carefully opening the first aid kit and rummaging for bandages, gauze, and antiseptic]

I always thought dad lived in a church. He lit candles and took confession all day...

[the confusion seems to die off with this statement. a small, worn and sad smile seems to cross his face, instead]

Sorry...

It's okay...

[He frowns, perplexed. Kiritsugu isn't dad, maybe, but he feels like dad, and he smiled like dad, and he's still hurt.]

Where'd you get cut?

... the worst of it's here.

[putting a hand to his chest, though. uh. those hands and arms are plenty cut up themselves]

Ah... it's everywhere, though. Open your yukata.

[He's ready, roll of gauze in hand]

If it's worst there, you can't leave it, you know.

[. . . taking the gauze out of his hand]

[Confused, he surrenders the gauze without much protest]

... thank you. But it's all right, now.

But your arms. And you said--