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( she can't sleep properly, hasn't been able to sleep properly ever since she arrived—but this is worse, at least last week lily had some semblance of safety, some idea that this place is safe and that heine and giovanni are safe, even though everything hurts ( everything hurts but everything's so wonderful too, and maybe that's how it is - maybe life just hurts, but you have to look on the bright side too, right? just look at the sun ) and it was fine. that, however, shattered—broke completely apart with heine, heine, her one comfort and safety in her world.

before, she'd have fits in her sleep—terrified shrieks, shaking in her bed—but now, sleep isn't anything she can handle anymore. ( the last time she tried, she dreamt of a cold, dark place with warmth in her hands that would squish and twist and contort as she flexed her fingers, this is the feeling of blood and muscle and fat, she knows, the components of a human body, this is not the lungs this is not a vital spot. when the lights turn on, white and bright and fabricated, completely unlike the sun, she can see her there, white labcoat and long trailing hair, and another "kenny" behind her. she can hear giovanni cry and she can feel the world going black, as it always does, but when she opens her ( dream ) eyes again, heine is there—with a gun to her head, pointed directly at her. forget everything, you useless pup, he says in her dream, and she can't stop him from pulling the trigger. when she next opens her eyes in dreamland, she's living a world without heine - and it's not safe, the shadows twist up and wrap around her and pierce through her soul and giovanni is still crying but heine isn't there to help, heine isn't there to solve everything— )

she doesn't try to sleep anymore. it makes her so tired, so lethargic, but she fights to stay awake anyway—she can't go to carol about this, and badou, she's already given enough trouble ( more than she knows, really ) and so the best way to deal with her problems is to sit underneath the dining table, the light on ( not the kitchen light, that's bright and white and awful, the light in this room is just dim and yellow enough that she can pretend it's the sun, even if it's not ) with her knees pulled up and her head down on them, fingers clasped together behind her head as she tries, tries not to sleep. the pressure of pain will keep her from sleeping. will keep her from her nightmares.

but it does no good to protect her night terror, the sheer fear of being alone and having no heine at her side, and when she's trying not to sleep anymore, it's hard not to do anything but think. and when she thinks, she remembers heine, heine, heine, and it's impossible for her to keep herself from crying. sobbing quietly is a next-to-impossible task, and she certainly doesn't have the will to do so.

tl;dr there's a tiny girl sobbing under your dinner table at an ungodly hour, what do you do. )

[carol has been on a hair-trigger the past week, maybe longer, sleep coming in fits and starts, roused from it by the slightest noise. like badou slipping in the back door, covered in new bandages and old, old wounds--

like distant miserable sobs from a lost little girl.

it wakes her slowly, a good minute spent rolling her face into her pillow and mumbling sleepy nonsense-sounds of protest before it finally registers what woke her in the first place. carol slips out of bed, slips on a jacket, pads out of her bedroom and down the hall, looking for the source.

it's not coming from lily and badou's shared room, and her first thought is living room, couch, but the sound sends her in the other direction. where--

ah. there.

she crouches down to peer under the table, still for all intents and purposes half-asleep. she can't see any danger or any wounds by the dim light.]

Lily...? Whaswrong, what is it?

Edited 2013-09-11 21:46 (UTC)

[Badou's usually up at fuck-knows o'clock, comes the voice from a person (probably entirely unknown by Lily, with the state she's in) somewhere in the low glow of the entertainment center, beyond a couch]

She's upset. Leave 'er alone.

[it was accifdental -- he'd fallen asleep on the couch again, too fucking exhausted once he got in to even go upstairs, and he's been listening to those sobs ever since they started; he could have left the house again, should have, maybe, but he was tired, and he hadn't wanted to -- well, leave her alone]

[but (call it bitterness, call it ineptitude, call it whatever you like) he didn't want to try and comfort her, either]

( her hands press against her face, balled up into tight little fists, and she tries—tries to quiet down, but there's someone here and it's not heine but it's someone and she doesn't know carol well but she's the first comforting adults lily's ever met.

( maybe not though; heine might be in some sort of danger and if there's danger here then carol's still a liar, and if she weren't so tired and scared of a life without heine she'd be a little more paranoid, because he's always told her to be careful )

through choked, breathless sobs, she simply says one word: it explains it all. )

H-. . . Heine. . . .

[her head raises in the direction of badou's voice, but that's all the acknowledgement he gets -- carol can't very well just leave the girl like this, something he ought to be aware of by now, he's been on the receiving end of this stubborn, heel-digging care of hers often enough before.

she shuffles in closer to lily's hiding place, stretches a hand out to her, making soothing shushing sounds.]

I know, Lily. I know.

[god damn that heine kid for causing all of this, for putting all of it on carol (like she wouldn't have accepted it anyway).]

You've gotta come out, though. It's late, you should be asleep.

Edited 2013-09-12 08:56 (UTC)

She cries an' yells in her bed, too.

[half of an ugly face appears over the back of the couch; a blackened eye, a cut cheek, a splint and a mass of bandages that form a nose, and a crooked eyepatch]

[she turns to say something to that, and just--

doesn't. the words die and are forgotten immediately because his face. carol shifts, putting herself between lily and the state of him; she's upset enough already.]

Who did that.

[it's not a question. it's quiet, soft, so as not to alarm the crying girl, but it's an order.

(not enough time from brain to mouth to stop herself, to remember how badou does under orders.)]

Edited 2013-09-12 09:21 (UTC)

[shit, he thinks blankly, but he's too tired to slink around the place he's supposed to be getting rest at (but there's always Lily's nightmares, always Carol's keen ears)]

[he considers lying to her (which he instinctively wants to do, because of that order), he considers telling her the truth (because he doesn't care about that asshole, if Carol flies off the handle and burns his face off, it'd feel pretty good)]

[in the end, he just opts out]

She misses her brother.

[she's been crying, mumbling his name to herself like a broken hymn, and Badou feels cold all over, thinking about colder alleys and how many strangers he's had to hear, whimpering at night (how many strangers had to hear him)]

...Get her a drink, or somethin'.

C-can't, ( is all she manages, before she takes a shaky breath. she doesn't reach for the hand, no, she just curls up more tightly, as if she could make it all stop if she were just a little smaller than she already is. if she could just stop whatever she's doing wrong to make heine hate her ( maybe that's it, maybe she has to stop crying so much ) maybe he would come back. )

I, i, ( hiccuping in her tears, ) t's-s-s ( hhhhhhu ) scar, scary. . . ( and she rubs at her tears again, eyes red from them and even redder from the scrubbing ) D-don't wa, wanna. . .

[appropriately, the redhead follows his own orders instead of Carol's; he gets to his feet from off the couch, walking past the girl and the woman to the kitchen -- he has his sling tied on tightly again, but he turns his face away from Lily when he passes, lets his hair cover the ruined planes]

[he doesn't put the light on in the kitchen (has Carol noticed? how good they are getting around when its dim), but the fridge pierces the dark as he opens it, squints in to survey the options; water was the best, when you'd dehydrated yourself, but sugar was the best when you were sadhurtinglonely, tricking your body into thinking it was happy and energetic]

[Badou chooses both ingredients, grabbing two lemonade juice boxes]

[he returns to the living room, but he doesn't squat down by the girl, instead sitting up on top of the table she's under. he holds it down to her, so she doesn't have to see his face]

[his voice isn't gentle, but it is low, quiet -- even Badou (fucking!) Nails could be hushed, sometimes]

Hey. Thirsty? S'really good... pink lemonade.

[all these kids, curling themselves up, coiling themselves tight, flinching away from her when all she wants to do is help, to pull them out, and carol is so tired.

she tries to think of sakamoto, as she withdraws from lily and watches badou cross into the kitchen, as she tracks every visible inch of his face (even when it's the back of his head she's watching, even then). she can't fix what's fucked up. she can be there for him, though. that's what she can do.

she can find out who's responsible for this new pain, and -- do what?

protect him. he doesn't want it, and by the state of him she's been doing a fine job so far, hasn't she?]

Hey.

[she says, soft, as he returns and seats himself. she foists herself up onto her knees so she can look up at him properly, out of lily's view, so she can slide a hand across the tabletop. not touching him, just there in the middle distance between them. her eyes track over his face, then try to catch his green one, and there's something small and awful and too-much in carol's expression that says please. I care. can't you just--]

( ultimately, when she finally does lift her head up to the glass—it takes a while, she's still so miserable and she doesn't know ( or care much ) if she's thirsty, and it's strange to see badou go out of his way like this ( she never expected much from him in the first place )—it's because of the words, pink lemonade. a beverage that's pink. lemonade. she's experienced neither of these things and right now, it's a good reprieve from her other thoughts—it's something new ( and exciting ) and it's comforting.

sniffling with the intent of somewhat containing her facial fluids, lily reaches out, her bones aching ( that's what you get for pressing so tightly, that's what you get for balling yourself up ) and hands trembling as she tries to take the box with both hands, looking at it like it's much bigger than she expected. if she'd remember her manners, she would thank badou, but that's far from what's on her mind right now, and lily just holds the juice box, sniffing and hiccuping quietly as she presses the edge of the straw to her lips—and sips, trying to calm herself down, although it doesn't work very well when she's hiccuping and unable to breathe with her nose. )

Edited 2013-09-12 10:19 (UTC)

[swamp moss green meets sunny sky blue, and he talks -- but not to Carol]

Pink lemonade's the shit. S'got lemons innit, those're the sour yellow ones, yah? But it ain't sour 'coz they dump a assload'a sugar in. Dunno where the pink comes from, though. I love pink lemonade, I ain't care if it sounds girly.

[Badou places his own box between his knees to steady it (that whole left arm is just hanging dead in that sling, now), stabs the straw in]

[and he takes a loud sip of it]

Aaaah. What'cha think?

[his voice isn't acknowledging the girl under the table, isn't acknowledging those broken eyes -- it's like someone left a chattering TV on]

( she doesn't really get it—why is it pink? it's lemonade, but why pink? she sniffs, focusing her gaze on badou's legs and then the underside of the table, where right above she'd imagine badou to be.

and when she's finally able to take in the lemonade, taste the sweetness, lily makes a noise—words are too hard right now, but the way she quietly hums, the first note surprise, and the second pleasure, makes it apparent that she likes the drink. more than like, really, because she sips and sips and takes a bigger sip and then remembers that she has to breathe, and intakes air loudly, hhhhaaaa, haahhh. )

[that little noise from the broken kid under the table is something like a small mercy, a relief, and although she still desperately wants answers from the broken kid on top of the table, carol just -- lets it go, with a sigh. looks away from him, down in the vague direction of lily, and when she looks back up there's a tiny smile on her face, frail and stupidly grateful.

he fixed it. maybe just temporarily, but lily's not sobbing, not calling for her brother. all carol had to offer was empty platitudes, it'll be okays, when that's not even something she can know for sure. but badou fixed it.

eyes still on him, but she speaks to lily, just as he'd done.]

It's good, huh?

[placidly, pedantically]

Told 'er it was. I ain't gonna lie ta a kid. 'Specially not about pink lemonade.

[his eye slides away from her grateful ones; he could have done this when Lily started up, but he didn't (no one had listened to him cry, no one had stroked his face or his hair or given him sugary drinks to distract him -- and Heine was just a few houses over, close enough to fucking sprint to)]

[another loud slurp from his own straw, and then he says]

Don't drink it too fast, you'll puke up pink all over Carol. Wouldn't that be dumb lookin'?

Edited 2013-09-13 12:09 (UTC)

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