equinoctials (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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logsinthenight2019-10-05 04:27 pm
equinoctials) wrote in logsinthenight2019-10-05 04:27 pm
Entry tags:
And the saddest thing was, all of it could have been avoided (closed)
characters: Vanitas and Riku
location: In and around the Boathouse
date/time: Oct 8 (during the thunderstorm)
content: Vanitas and Riku have been circling each other even before Sora's disappearance. It all finally comes to a head, appropriately, under cover of a violent thunderstorm. Hearts are a mess.
warnings: violence, complicated grief
Looking at the boathouse now, it couldn't be more different than from those days when they lived here. When there were hammocks strung up under a couple of tarps because rain would somehow find a way through the leaky roof no matter how many wood shingles and flattened tin cans they nailed up there. When their belongings amounted to a couple of sacks and pairs of shoes littering the floor and the laundry dried from the rafters.
For a little while, it was alive here. A peculiar little home. Now it's reverted back to its old ways, ramshackle storage with recently-used life preservers hung up all over the drafty walls. A single sack in the corner, a bucket collecting rainwater pouring in from a new hole in the roof. The wind blows and the whole structure creaks, the rain is a hundred thousand impatient fingers drumming on the tin.
The only sign that anyone lives here at all is that stupid blanket crumpled on the floor, and in the light of the torch burning from a sconce fashioned into the central support beam, a few strands of hair shine silver-gold against the moth-eaten wool.
Riku had stripped the place of every sign that they had been there, with a few graves on the hill overlooking the shore to remember Dawn and Kairi by. It's not that Riku wants to forget, to erase them, he can't. But it's hard to keep his promise when he can't look around this space without his heart banging around this box full of broken glass called the grief. Does enough of that all on its own and it will for a long time.
So he gave away Kairi's arts and crafts supplies. He gave away the hammocks and extra clothes and stuff that were for the three of them, for Sora, Kairi and Riku, because he would wake up and look around for them asleep (or pretending to be) in the other two, or he'd grab the wrong pack and try to remember how to breathe around the name lodged in his throat.
No one would blame anyone for reading his intentions wrong.
Riku isn't at the boathouse yet, because he's making his way back from another fruitless search of the General Store for a coat that'll fit, his hood pulled up and his lantern shielded from the rain by a scrap of canvas he's threaded through its handle.
location: In and around the Boathouse
date/time: Oct 8 (during the thunderstorm)
content: Vanitas and Riku have been circling each other even before Sora's disappearance. It all finally comes to a head, appropriately, under cover of a violent thunderstorm. Hearts are a mess.
warnings: violence, complicated grief
Looking at the boathouse now, it couldn't be more different than from those days when they lived here. When there were hammocks strung up under a couple of tarps because rain would somehow find a way through the leaky roof no matter how many wood shingles and flattened tin cans they nailed up there. When their belongings amounted to a couple of sacks and pairs of shoes littering the floor and the laundry dried from the rafters.
For a little while, it was alive here. A peculiar little home. Now it's reverted back to its old ways, ramshackle storage with recently-used life preservers hung up all over the drafty walls. A single sack in the corner, a bucket collecting rainwater pouring in from a new hole in the roof. The wind blows and the whole structure creaks, the rain is a hundred thousand impatient fingers drumming on the tin.
The only sign that anyone lives here at all is that stupid blanket crumpled on the floor, and in the light of the torch burning from a sconce fashioned into the central support beam, a few strands of hair shine silver-gold against the moth-eaten wool.
Riku had stripped the place of every sign that they had been there, with a few graves on the hill overlooking the shore to remember Dawn and Kairi by. It's not that Riku wants to forget, to erase them, he can't. But it's hard to keep his promise when he can't look around this space without his heart banging around this box full of broken glass called the grief. Does enough of that all on its own and it will for a long time.
So he gave away Kairi's arts and crafts supplies. He gave away the hammocks and extra clothes and stuff that were for the three of them, for Sora, Kairi and Riku, because he would wake up and look around for them asleep (or pretending to be) in the other two, or he'd grab the wrong pack and try to remember how to breathe around the name lodged in his throat.
No one would blame anyone for reading his intentions wrong.
Riku isn't at the boathouse yet, because he's making his way back from another fruitless search of the General Store for a coat that'll fit, his hood pulled up and his lantern shielded from the rain by a scrap of canvas he's threaded through its handle.