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fandomhighdorms2010-04-04 12:53 pm
puppy_fair) wrote in fandomhighdorms2010-04-04 12:53 pm
Entry tags:
Outside the Weapons Locker, Sunday Afternoon
Zack was putting one foot in front of the other on his way across the causeway. There was no thought involved in this, only motion, only the one-two rhythm of his legs working, of the soles of his boots hitting the ground ahead of him again and again in quick, steady succession. He walked. Across the causeway, across the island. Back toward the dorms. He walked.
There was a weight on his back. Habit informed Zack's feet that when there was weight like that, then they were going to have to steer the rest of Zack this way before he could go that way, and so Zack's feet did just that. And, once they reached one doorway in particular, Zack's feet ever-so-helpfully notified Zack's hand that now it was time to reach backward, to close around the hilt of the sword that was resting there, because it was time to put it away.
That was about the point that Zack's brain informed Zack's eyes that it was time to look around. First at the door that they, the whole amalgamation of parts that was Zack, were standing in front of. It took Zack's eyes a minute to successfully relay to his brain that they were standing at the weapons locker.
With a blank expression on his face as he worked on turning the sum of his parts back into one cohesive unit all over again, Zack then turned his gaze to his sword. It wasn't the sword that he usually carried with him. It was larger, heavier. In some haze a million miles away, the side of his face ached and his chest hitched and he was choking down another hiccup of a sob as the situation caught up with him.
He was about to turn the Buster Sword over to the weapons locker.
He was about to turn Angeal's sword over to the weapons locker.
And that was when Zack and all of his codependently functioning parts all sagged to the ground at once. And right there was probably where he would stay for a while, with a sword that was nearly the same size as he was resting in his lap, eyes fixed on the weapon and his mind lost in a haze, screaming silent defiance in his head somewhere a million miles away.
He couldn't do this.
[Open, if anyone wants. Fair warning, threads with Zack aren't liable to be particularly sunshiney for a little while.]
There was a weight on his back. Habit informed Zack's feet that when there was weight like that, then they were going to have to steer the rest of Zack this way before he could go that way, and so Zack's feet did just that. And, once they reached one doorway in particular, Zack's feet ever-so-helpfully notified Zack's hand that now it was time to reach backward, to close around the hilt of the sword that was resting there, because it was time to put it away.
That was about the point that Zack's brain informed Zack's eyes that it was time to look around. First at the door that they, the whole amalgamation of parts that was Zack, were standing in front of. It took Zack's eyes a minute to successfully relay to his brain that they were standing at the weapons locker.
With a blank expression on his face as he worked on turning the sum of his parts back into one cohesive unit all over again, Zack then turned his gaze to his sword. It wasn't the sword that he usually carried with him. It was larger, heavier. In some haze a million miles away, the side of his face ached and his chest hitched and he was choking down another hiccup of a sob as the situation caught up with him.
He was about to turn the Buster Sword over to the weapons locker.
He was about to turn Angeal's sword over to the weapons locker.
And that was when Zack and all of his codependently functioning parts all sagged to the ground at once. And right there was probably where he would stay for a while, with a sword that was nearly the same size as he was resting in his lap, eyes fixed on the weapon and his mind lost in a haze, screaming silent defiance in his head somewhere a million miles away.
He couldn't do this.
[Open, if anyone wants. Fair warning, threads with Zack aren't liable to be particularly sunshiney for a little while.]