Just A Little More

A/N: Inspired by my project overdrive mode. Oh dear, fell asleep while waiting for a reply from my partner. Man so screwed D:

Anyway, finished this up after I went into overdrive again and passed everything. It's not so hard to guess who this person is, yes?

***

Just a little more...

Were the words spoken, so devoid of any feeling he was comfortable with. But then, he hadn’t even thought that those words were meant to comfort him at all. Bastards he knew the lot of them were.

He heard screams echoing beyond the slightly ajar door, belonging to some unfortunate soul such as him. But he could not bring himself to care, at least not when his senses were being sent into a flurry of panic as he saw the sharp instruments being laid out on the table beside him, ready to be stained red with his blood.

His own cries pierced his ears, his vision swam as he thrashed against the bonds that strapped him helplessly to the cold metal table. The pain, amplified threefold from the fluids injected into his body, along with the harsh light above forced him to shut his eyes. Soon his struggles ceased, pleasing his captors that he was beginning to weaken. But that was until he struggled one last time, kicking at the closest man and sent him hurtling back into the others in surprise. He felt his lips quirking up into a triumphant grin, only to have it wiped off his face when he was mercilessly assaulted for his deed. Tears spilled out from the corner of his eyes as he tried vainly to keep from releasing a throaty scream of agony, renewing his struggle once again.

Fools. Cowards. Beasts. Monsters...!

What had he done to deserve this? He had grown thinking that things such as this were only done on people who were condemned for such punishment, or that this sort of torture only existed within the pages of a book. Yet reality proved him wrong on so many levels.

He squeezed his eyes shut, silently praying to whatever Gods he still believed in that it would all be over. That everything would be over... finished... that he could finally be free from this wretched pain and suffering—

“Just a little more...”

Came the gentle, broken whisper. It echoed in the sudden silence of his surroundings. No whirls of a machine, no soft tinkling of glass against glass, and no murmurs of those voices he so despised. Just sweet, beguiling silence. A soft caress on his fevered brow elicited a pained whimper from him, and yet he chose to nuzzle closer to the touch. Familiar, oh so familiar was the warmth. And that voice... that voice sang of a lullaby his mother used to sing when he was a child afraid to sleep through a storm. He couldn’t remember the words too well, but it did not matter. For the voice itself was comforting enough to lull him into a dream of peace, into the world where he was happy, safe and surrounded with love, away from this prison and all the torture that laid beyond that steel door.

He shifted, feeling no straps tying him down, but the loss of that gentle hand on his brow, and the voice accompanying it also came to his senses. He panicked, running in the darkness with no real aim. He felt himself trip, but his body never met the floor. He kept falling. Falling deeper and deeper into the darkness...

!! Blagh !!

He let out a short cry of surprise, eyes wide open as the world was thrown upside down. The lights were no longer harsh, but natural sunlight that came seeping in through the half-veiled windows, casting half the room in a hazy morning afterglow. He gave himself a moment to re-orient himself.

Blink. Blink. Blink. A long yawn escaped him and then he blinked again.

So he’d fallen out of bed. About the fifth time this week.

Groaning, he rubbed his dully aching head, looking back to the bed at its other occupant obliviously asleep. He pouted, reaching out to ruffle that short mess of dark hair against the stark white pillows. He smiled when the owner groaned and instinctively turned her back on him, nuzzling her face back into the pillow she held in a firm grip. A chuckle escaped him as he resettled himself beside the woman, pulling the covers over them both. He ran a hand slowly, idly up one bare arm, brushing away locks of her hair and placed a kiss on her cheek.

There were no changes in her peaceful expression, no signs that she had felt it at all. But it did not disappoint him, no. He wrapped an arm around her waist, closing the distance between their bodies. He nuzzled her hair, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to drift off into sleep once more, comforted by the thought that the nightmares would not plague him now. Not with his knight so close.

The nightmares of his past would not touch him, though they still haunted him when they could. He knew that. But he was getting stronger, strong enough to begin breaking free from what binds him to that past.

... Just a little more...

END ENTRY.

Why?

A/N: An old piece of work I decided to continue. Since it comes from my depression inspired writing, be warned that it would be sort of confusing and err... depressing.

My Persona, Haizek and her beloved Azzy are fictional characters of my own.

***

The sound of booted feet alerted her to the realm’s nightly visitor. She would not believe that he was here for any other reason other than to commune with the silence of this world. He always came upon the sight of her sitting with her back to him, her knees pulled close to her body as she stared at some point into the darkness. The man would sit beside her, and do nothing else. Say nothing else.

Night in and night out, she never failed to return that same favour. Would tonight pass in that same silence like the many others that have come and gone?

“You never say anything.” His voice pierced the silence surrounding them, answering that question she asked herself not a moment ago. She did not turn her sullen gaze at him, but remained fixated on that same spot beyond. She said nothing, nothing at all even after he had spoken.

He let out a breath, turning away from her. Perhaps he’d expected too much of her to answer right away. She took time, time that he was patient enough to give, but time that the world she lived in could not spare her. He knew her thoughts, had an inkling at least of what always ran through her mind. And the emotions... Oh Heavens, the heavy burdens she cast on herself.

He blinked in surprise when he felt her place a hand on his, a gentle grip that turned firm as he felt a slight tremor run through her body.

"Azzy," He turned to look at her with a curious expression, "Why do good dreams always flee before the morning comes around?"

The man tilted his head, his face going expressionless as he spoke, "Why ask me that, Haizek?"

She let the tears trickle down her face, unbidden and free because it gave her a sense of release.

"I... I don't know." Haizek laughed, though it was strained and filled with veiled sadness. “There’s so many things that I don’t know. It’s... it’s supposed to be alright. But not knowing the answer to this particular question... I don’t...” She hiccupped, furiously wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. But the tears continued to fall, and so were the emotions she kept bottled up for so long.

"I don't want you to leave, Azzy..." Her voice came out soft and pleading. "I... I'm alone. I feel so alone." He felt her emotions leaking through the glass wall she placed around her heart and soul. It made him dizzy, made his chest heavy with the sensation of all the sorrow and frustration that flowed from her.

Why did she have to make herself feel all this pain? She was strong, she was defiant. But when she fell, she would always fall hard and broken to the ground. She would pick herself up after each fall, scrapped and bruised but she always told him, herself, that it would mend with time.

Mend, Azzy thought, but never fully repair.

He gently stroked her hair, resting his cheek against hers. Azzy spoke not a word. How could he offer any comforting words to her when all that he would be able to say would only be the words that she desired to hear and not what she needed to hear? This was the flaw of a being such as he.

He gripped her tighter, pulling her close towards him. Warmth radiated from his body, and yet she did not feel it because it was her own warmth. He never once had anything that was originally his. Azzy had hoped perhaps that he had been an original, once in the ancient past, and that shred of hope was what kept him just a little different from all the others.

He was a poor substitute as a friend, that he knew. But she was all that he had, just as now she thought she had nothing to properly cherish and call her own.

Poor child. He chided her in his thoughts. You long for so much, and yet you refuse to break out of this shell. Refuse to let us go and thrive in the world you live. Why is it? What has the world shown you that you cannot stand it for long?

Even as his body began to fade with the coming daylight, he still held her in his embrace. It mattered not that there was little that she could feel from his touch. What mattered was that he could give her some sense of comfort, that there was someone who was at her side.

“I love you Azzy.”

Deluded. Confused. Trapped. He gripped her tighter, wishing and hoping in vain of a miracle that simply cannot be.

“I love you so much, Azzy.”

... Because in the end, he was merely a part of herself that reached out. Just like Azriel, just like everyone else who lived and breathed because of her. He could only watch, only give an appropriate response and action. And never... and never something that a real person would do.

“I wish you were real, Azzy.” She whispered, burying her face in his shoulder. “I really wish you were real.” Azrael had no answer to that, but she needed none. Never expected one in the first place.

"Tonight again, beloved. Tonight." His voice whispered soothingly in her ear. She lifted her eyes, watching the sun rise ever so slowly into the waking sky.

Haizek gently pushed herself away from him, wiping away the remainder of her tears. She stared at the coming daylight, her face falling into a mask of apathy.

"I wish morning didn't come so soon..."

And the young woman greeted the morning in the way she had always done it.

Alone.

END ENTRY.

Turning Point: Isn't It Wonderful?

A/N: Happy Birthday to my widdle High Priest, Saint! *huggles* This story is written down just for you and everyone else interested in a fanfic update. Developing KiSa and a bit of symbolism if you squint real hard...!!

***

The day seemed to fly by too fast, but for Saint, it was fine. The morning had been too cheery with the mood he found himself waking up with. And the rest of the day’s usual routine had been just a tad too cheerful as well. As soon as he’d been dismissed of his duties in the infirmary, he found himself wanting some solitude from the hustle and bustle of the world around him. Now he was alone, sitting on a bench in one of the smaller training grounds, empty of any soul who would have used it at some other time of the day.

He thought back to the shenanigans that had happened today. The joking banters, the smiles and laughter, the practical jokes that oddly ended up causing some property damage- but that was a normal event for this guild-... somehow he found them all irritating today.

How ironic. He thought, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of Mastela Fruit he stole from the pantry earlier. I’m supposed to be a cheerful bastard all the time. But it wasn’t a surprising revelation to him. Not anymore.

Because today, if Fate had been even a little merciful to him, he would have been spending it together with someone he loved. But they were nothing more but mere fragments of a distant memory and nothing more.

Saint let out a groan, ruffling his own hair. Aesirs, I need to stop thinking about this.

He was actually looking forward to a night’s worth of sneaking out to one of the bars in Geffen, perhaps with an added bonus of challenging a few men to a good drinking contest and fooling them into paying for his drinks. Oh yeah, that seemed just about the most wonderful agenda to do for tonight--

The priest suddenly sensed a presence in his spot, looking up to see familiar black hair, blue eyes and a chunk load of armour standing just a few feet away from him. If he took time to observe, they would have been sharing the same passive expression. Almost. She approached him with measured steps, never once faltering until she stood a respective distance away from him.

Kiara. Odin, that woman sure was something. And she had a strange knack of finding people too. He also blamed Fate for this, for forcing him to put up with this woman as his babysitter for who knows how long. Then again, it wasn’t as bad as he anticipated it would. She was level-headed, calm and sane. Traits that he appreciated without really having to voice it out because well, he just didn’t tolerate senselessness as much as he used to.

“Here.” She held out a package to him, an arm’s length away. Her face was still a mask of apathy he wondered if she had ever really laughed at all in her whole life.

Saint looked curiously at the wrapped box held before him, before looking eye to eye with the crusader. “What’s this?”

Kiara cleared her throat. “Just open it.” She simply told him, refusing to meet the priest’s eyes as he shot a suspicious look at her before taking the box. It was wrapped in simple brown paper, held together by a long dark string. He placed the package beside him, untying the string and tearing the paper off as he quickly lifted the lid off it. His eyes grew wide at the bladed mace lying snugly amongst the dark cloth around it. In all honesty, anyone would have been surprised to receive something like this, much more in an elaborately designed box that looked like it would have cost almost half of what the item was.

“This is...” His voice trailed off into a surprised silence.

The crusader sighed, sounding a little irritated with his surprise. “I thought it might be time to retire the old one. It’s seen a lot of use and the blade is getting too dull. It wouldn’t do very well for sparring or fending yourself, you understand.” She explained, shrugging. “I mean, you don’t seem to be noticing that it was getting too chipped even for a whitesmith to fully repair it. I understand that it might be worth something to you, but it won’t help you defend yourself now as effective as it used to.”

The man had gone silent, too silent from what the young woman pegged him to be. By now, he would have been making his most dramatic reaction, gesturing with his hands in such a way that was his trademark. Seeing the man slightly hunched over the unwrapped package with clearly no radiant expression on his face, that was something new.

“... Don’t bother paying me back for it.” She quickly spoke, covering up her curiosity and concern. “Consider it a gift if you want.” Almost immediately, the man’s head snapped up.

“A... gift? You mean like a present?” His voice was small, somehow disbelieving and forced from his throat.

“What else would it be? A death threat?” She snapped, suddenly feeling regretful that she had even hoped he would have the sense to know what a gift was. She would have given him another quick retort, hadn’t he suddenly laughed, continuing on and on and growing ever louder with every passing second. She took a step back, wary of the man suddenly.

Did she do something wrong? Surely he wouldn’t be laughing this hard at her if she hadn’t done something remotely amusing to his sense of humor. Despite the confusion, she was close, so close to socking the guy in the head. But she chose to hold it down for a little while longer and asked, “Do you find something funny with what I said?”

“No! I mean, no... it’s just that...” He took a moment to breathe and calm himself. “It’s just that you’ve got such impeccable timing. You’re something else you know that?” A genuine smile played across the man’s face.

She blinked rapidly, now openly curious with this. This wasn’t the first time someone told her something along that statement, but it was still enough to catch her interest. “... Impeccable timing?”

The priest nodded. He returned the lid on the box and stood, closing the distance between the crusader and him. Before Kiara could process what was going on, he hugged her, smiling and laughing his thanks despite the fact that she couldn’t understand how he could be so happy with receiving a weapon. Actually, she could understand, but to be on this level of bliss? She would never understand the priest. At all.

“Actually... I would have bought myself a new one, but since you oh so volunteered to give me one as a present—”

“Wait, you mean you were chipping it that badly so someone could give you a new one?” She interrupted him, pushing the man away from her with a glare.

“I like presents. What can I say?” He laughed, scratching the bridge of his nose sheepishly. I would have held onto it until the end of time. Was what he wanted to say but decided not to. He grinned again, crossing his arms over his chest and looked down at her with amused, forest green eyes.

“You’re sweet, Blue. Admit it.” He looked at her, watching as her cheeks took on a light shade of pink. That was until she snorted and flicked his nose with one half-gloved finger. “Like Hell I’ll ever be sweet to you, manipulative idiotic priest.”

“Now that name calling actually cancelled itself. How can I be manipulative if I’m supposed to be dumb?”

This man is toying with me! Her mind screamed. Not wanting to cause another scene, because she was certain that the man was masochistic by nature, she spun on her heels and stomped away fuming and trying to control her desire to throw something at his head.

“Forget that I even bothered trying to be civil with him.” She muttered to herself.

“Hey Blue!” His voice called her but she continued on. Either way he continued, “It’s my birthday today! Thank you for the present... really!” The priest watched as she turned the corner and disappeared. Kiara certainly didn’t acknowledge that she heard him, but Saint was sure she heard him nonetheless.

He turned his eyes back to the half open box, eyeing the beautiful piece of blade in it.

Replacing the old with the new... eh?

Maybe... He touched the hilt of the swordmace, trailing one finger across it. Maybe he won’t be going to Geffen tonight after all.

END ENTRY.