RP Log: Ryoma & Jiroh
Oct. 16th, 2005 09:59 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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tenipuri_xpDate: Sunday afternoon, 10/16
Rating: PG-13 for imagery
Summary: Ryoma is stuck in his nightmare and impossible to wake. Hanamura sends Jiroh to the rescue!
He was here again. He hated it here. There was absolutely nothing that scared him more in the entire world than being in this place. It was terrible. The noise was deafening – people screaming, bombs screaming, water splashing, machine guns firing… Somehow they hadn’t hit him yet, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. Ryoma was in the water, knee-deep – he didn’t know how he’d gotten here and he didn’t care. He just wanted out. And now.
He stumbled up the beach, slipping here and there and landing face-first in the seawater more than once, hearing bombs shrieking over his head and more people screaming and the water was red in some places. Trying to avoid anything floating, he continued his scramble up onto the sand, looking for someplace to hide. Anyplace.
Jiroh looked down at his feet, vaguely aware that he was sockless and standing in something awfully wet and...gooshy. It was also very, very cold, mixed with a hot blast of air each time something shrieked and exploded. Not fun. Not at all. He made an annoyed face and surveyed his surroundings. Same place as last time. It was just as chaotic as he remembered it--though last time he'd been less afraid. When he'd entered An-chan's dream he'd thought it was just that--a dream. But this time he knew this was more serious. Romya-kun was somewhere in this terrible place, lost, or hurt or--He didn't really want to think about what could be happening to his sempai right then. First he knew he had to figure out how to not get hit by flying shrapnel.
With a quick manoeuvre that surprised even him, Jiroh ducked and rolled behind a group of older men engaged in serious conversation. They'd bunked out behind a pile of bags and...and bags that weren't really bags; they were shaped like...
Jiroh shook his head, alarmed and starting to feel real panic rising in him. I want lots of cookies for this~ he thought, angrily. They'd made it sound so simple--get in, get Ryoma, get out. Instead Jiroh curled up, his knees tight to his chest. The older men glanced down at him, and some of them shook their heads sadly. He ignored them and sniffled a bit. He didn't like this anymore. Too much grown-up stuff for him to handle. He wanted out. But he knew he couldn't do that. Not before he found Ryoma.
Ryoma finally made it up the beach, still looking frantically for someplace to hide. There was more splashing behind him now – some of the men were trying to make their way up the beach – but he refused to turn around and look. He didn’t want to see them gunned down. And they probably would be. He ducked and ran along the sand, the water just lapping at his bare feet, until he found himself facing a huge green hulk of slightly-rusted metal. He looked up – and quickly looked down again. The men manning this tank were dead. But still… it would be a good place to hide… he didn’t have to go inside.
He fell to his knees, ignoring the nausea in his gut, and crawled quickly around the other side of the tank. Pressing his back up against the hot metal, he pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face against them, covering his ears with his hands. Maybe if he just stayed like this, everything would go away. That’s all he wanted. For everything here to just… go away.
It took several minutes and a bit of talking to himself to get Jiroh up again. He heard the men talking about another wave--meaning there were more men on their way, getting off of boats and rafts to make their way ashore and fight for control of the beach. He still didn't understand what was going on, but there was something happening...an invasion of some sort. He didn't really care what it was, really. But all he could hear above the rattle of gunfire were the desperate cries of men in their last moments. Jiroh wasn't even completely aware of everything; he hadn't yet registered the merciless deaths occurring just feet away. The group of men behind him disappeared, probably to find more shelter. He turned around and scrambled closer to the bunker's edge, his back to the ocean and facing an expanse of beach littered with men. Some were still running, and falling. He heard shouts in English, which he understood, and others in German. He didn't speak much German, so he couldn't really figure out what was being said. Something about France. Was he in France, then? He wasn't even sure which side was good and which was bad. What side was he on then?
Out of the corner of his eye Jiroh spied something that caught his attention. There was a vehicle, impossibly huge and planted directly in the middle of the area. The gunfire was concentrated in another direction for now--he could hear it moving further away but it would be back. Jiroh peered at the thing. It was definitely a tank, but its wheels looked stuck deep in the sand. The men inside were probably waiting to be rescued, Jiroh assumed. He could...go over and ask them for help. They'd put him inside, safe, and tell him where Ryoma was. Yeah…
He scrambled up and shivered again, wondering why he'd chosen to go in with only his pajamas on. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he could make his clothes change...but he didn't have time, or energy, to try. Even if he did try it there was no telling if it would work or not. He'd just have to be careful not to step on anything sharp. But he could see so many things lying around, things that could cut him. If he could feel cold in this nightmare, he could feel pain, too. This thought made Jiroh even more afraid.
He waited ten more seconds and began to sprint. He pumped his legs hard, kicking up sand in his wake and feeling bullet shells digging into his feet. He stepped on someone's arm and quickly yelled an apology. He was halfway there when someone snatched up his ankle and he fell, hard, into the sand. He exhaled and blew sand form his nose and twisted around, seeking the attacker.
It was a boy, no older than some of the old boys Jiroh went to school with. He looked so pale and tired, and there was a haunted, hungry look in his eyes. Desperation. Something red and thick dribbled from his mouth. He coughed; it splurted out more now, and Jiroh froze. He'd never seen real blood before. Now he could even smell it. Everywhere, on him, staining his pants, thick and heady and disgusting. Jiroh shook free. He shook free and blurted something incoherent. He ran again, but he was slower, feeling his legs begin to shake uncontrollably. He fell, roughly, onto his knees behind the tank. He buried his face in his hands and for the first time in a while broke out in tears.
Ryoma jumped as something – someone – hurtled around the side of the tank near him. He peeked up from his knees, heart pounding loudly in his ears, prepared to run again, though he didn’t know where he’d go – but… it was just a kid. Well, relatively speaking – most of the men he’d seen when he was looking were just that: men. This one wasn’t that much older than him… and he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He didn’t have a gun. Or even shoes. And he was crying. What the hell?
Ryoma just stared for a moment, back pressed against the tank as though he wanted to merge with it, until a nearby explosion that showered them with seawater (and a few other things that made his stomach lurch) snapped him out of it. “O-oy,” he said, voice cracking on the first try. “Who’re you?” He’d never talked to anyone here – but then, no one had ever looked this out of place before. Or cried. Not that he blamed this guy – he wasn’t one for crying, but this place did strange things to you.
Jiroh sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He looked beside him at the other boy. He was...alive? And not carrying a gun...and not bleeding...which seemed, to Jiroh, to be something completely out of place in this nightmare world. He stared for a moment and then launched himself upon the other boy. It must be him. He remembered that he hadn't met Ryoma, physically, before. He wondered if Ryoma would remember this when he woke up.
"R-Ryoma-kun!" He let out another big sob, aware that he was smearing his bloody, filthy pajamas mess all over Ryoma, but not really caring. It was such a relief to have someone real who wasn't dying. Jiroh continued to hold Ryoma tightly, but then let go with a blush. Ryoma looked slightly alarmed, but Jiroh scuttled to his side and sniffed again.
"Are you okay? Did they get you?? Are you bleeding? Do you know where you are? Ryoma-kun~! You don't know how happy I am right now 'cause I was looking EVERYWHERE for you and everyone was all like, ahh! And stuff and it--it was so bad and--I--" He babbled on, still in a state of shock. He was still aware of his mission, but he needed to calm down first. There wasn't even a sure guarantee that informing Ryoma that this world wasn't real would work. Jiroh had been in a few dreams where the dreamer had been aware and had been able to keep dreaming. Maybe this one was different, since it had made Ryoma stay asleep? Now that Jiroh thought about it, he was struck with another, more frightening thought. Maybe now that he'd gone into the strange dream too, he was stuck? Maybe he couldn't get out either? And...they'd be in here forever...?
Ryoma went completely stiff as the other boy practically threw himself on top of him, hugging him tightly and babbling on at twenty words a second. Wait – this person knew him? But – but wait, what the hell was going on? He stared at the new arrival with wide eyes, still shaking, but… the new boy didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt him…
“W-wait,” he finally said as the other boy let him go, still sniffling, and now Ryoma was covered in blood too, it smelled horrible and made his stomach turn. But it didn’t seem to be this other boy’s – he seemed relatively unhurt, except for the crying. “Who the hell are you, how do you know me – why were you looking for me? What are you doing here – do you… holy shit, do you know how to get out of here?” Now he was babbling himself, but he didn’t care – he didn’t want to be here any longer and if this person had somehow come looking for him, then maybe he knew the way out. And if he knew the way out –
Jiroh stopped rambling. He peered intently at Ryoma, deeply offended that his sempai didn't even recognize him. Yes, he'd never seen him before, but Jiroh figured out it was Ryoma right away! But then he remembered that Ryoma was probably just as scared, and he still didn't really understand what was happening.
Jiroh waved his hands wildly. "I'm Jiroh! From school! And...and I don't really know how to get out but I have a message for you. And um, it's super duper important but...but it might not work and...and if it doesn't I dunno what we'll do! ...But I don't want to stay here!"
Jiroh was relieved when Ryoma's eyes lit up in recognition. It was now or never. "Ryoma-kun. This isn't real at all. It's a dream, and I came in to make you wake up! I know, crazy, right?!" Jiroh was panting now, his body getting tired from the amount of stress he was under. He began to wiggle, waiting for Ryoma to acknowledge him. Please-please-please....! Oh please, I'll clean my room and never ever sleep in class again and I'll even wash behind my EARS, just please let Ryoma-kun believe me...! I...I wanna go home...
Ryoma was still staring as the boy waved his arms, flinching a little before he fully processed what he’d said. “Wait… Jiroh? From… school?” He… wait. He could vaguely remember… school. Almost like it was someone else’s memory, but… if he stopped, took a breath, he could… kind of remember. School. Okay. Ryuhana, right? And… Jiroh… and – but wait –
“I’m dreaming?” he asked – and in that second everything lurched, he felt sick to his stomach, and he was dizzy and couldn’t tell what the hell was going on –
Until he sat bolt upright and realized… holy shit, where was he? This wasn’t his bed. This wasn’t his room. His heart was pounding and God, so was his head. Where was Niou? What the hell was going on? He’d been dreaming? Was he still…?
“Ah,” and he’d recognize that damned voice anywhere, that was Hanamura, “there you are, Echizen-kun. Your father and I have been very worried about you.”
Jiroh smiled. He felt it, as soon as the words left his mouth. Ryoma's eyes rolled back into his head, and there everything started spinning faster, and faster, until everything was blurring. Jiroh reached out, quickly, and grabbed the nearest bit of dream pattern that he could. If he'd waited any longer he ran the risk of being trapped in Ryoma's dreamwaves until the next time the boy fell asleep. Jiroh knew Ryoma probably wouldn't sleep for a while after this ordeal....and suddenly Jiroh was glad he no longer had dreams of his own. He felt it, in his mind; a glowing, silvery line, almost like a rope, pulling him up and out. Everything died away instantly. The smells, the sounds, the panic. He felt the familiar rush of reality coming back to him, and he found himself once again staring down at his schoolmate.
Ryoma was sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide and frantic. His chest heaved, and he was gasping for air after the shock of waking up so abruptly from the dream. Jiroh glanced down at himself. His ghost self wasn't covered in....in that stuff anymore. He couldn't smell anything, or feel anything. He was back, and safe.
Hana-lady stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. She was smiling, but didn't look worried at all. Jiroh floated away behind her and hovered above her shoulder awkwardly. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do now that his special mission was done...he realized that there was someone else in the room, too. He'd never seen him before, but he had eyes like Ryoma's.
Jiroh figured his work there was done, but he still felt a bit shaken from the experience. Jiroh wondered briefly if Ryoma's mom ever gave him hugs because just then, more than anything, he wanted to go home, crawl into his parents' bed, and have his mommy hold him until he fell asleep like she used to. But for now all he could do was hover expectantly at the edge of the bed in Hana-lady's room to see what would happen next to his Ryoma-sempai.
Rating: PG-13 for imagery
Summary: Ryoma is stuck in his nightmare and impossible to wake. Hanamura sends Jiroh to the rescue!
He was here again. He hated it here. There was absolutely nothing that scared him more in the entire world than being in this place. It was terrible. The noise was deafening – people screaming, bombs screaming, water splashing, machine guns firing… Somehow they hadn’t hit him yet, but he didn’t want to stick around to find out. Ryoma was in the water, knee-deep – he didn’t know how he’d gotten here and he didn’t care. He just wanted out. And now.
He stumbled up the beach, slipping here and there and landing face-first in the seawater more than once, hearing bombs shrieking over his head and more people screaming and the water was red in some places. Trying to avoid anything floating, he continued his scramble up onto the sand, looking for someplace to hide. Anyplace.
Jiroh looked down at his feet, vaguely aware that he was sockless and standing in something awfully wet and...gooshy. It was also very, very cold, mixed with a hot blast of air each time something shrieked and exploded. Not fun. Not at all. He made an annoyed face and surveyed his surroundings. Same place as last time. It was just as chaotic as he remembered it--though last time he'd been less afraid. When he'd entered An-chan's dream he'd thought it was just that--a dream. But this time he knew this was more serious. Romya-kun was somewhere in this terrible place, lost, or hurt or--He didn't really want to think about what could be happening to his sempai right then. First he knew he had to figure out how to not get hit by flying shrapnel.
With a quick manoeuvre that surprised even him, Jiroh ducked and rolled behind a group of older men engaged in serious conversation. They'd bunked out behind a pile of bags and...and bags that weren't really bags; they were shaped like...
Jiroh shook his head, alarmed and starting to feel real panic rising in him. I want lots of cookies for this~ he thought, angrily. They'd made it sound so simple--get in, get Ryoma, get out. Instead Jiroh curled up, his knees tight to his chest. The older men glanced down at him, and some of them shook their heads sadly. He ignored them and sniffled a bit. He didn't like this anymore. Too much grown-up stuff for him to handle. He wanted out. But he knew he couldn't do that. Not before he found Ryoma.
Ryoma finally made it up the beach, still looking frantically for someplace to hide. There was more splashing behind him now – some of the men were trying to make their way up the beach – but he refused to turn around and look. He didn’t want to see them gunned down. And they probably would be. He ducked and ran along the sand, the water just lapping at his bare feet, until he found himself facing a huge green hulk of slightly-rusted metal. He looked up – and quickly looked down again. The men manning this tank were dead. But still… it would be a good place to hide… he didn’t have to go inside.
He fell to his knees, ignoring the nausea in his gut, and crawled quickly around the other side of the tank. Pressing his back up against the hot metal, he pulled his knees up to his chest and buried his face against them, covering his ears with his hands. Maybe if he just stayed like this, everything would go away. That’s all he wanted. For everything here to just… go away.
It took several minutes and a bit of talking to himself to get Jiroh up again. He heard the men talking about another wave--meaning there were more men on their way, getting off of boats and rafts to make their way ashore and fight for control of the beach. He still didn't understand what was going on, but there was something happening...an invasion of some sort. He didn't really care what it was, really. But all he could hear above the rattle of gunfire were the desperate cries of men in their last moments. Jiroh wasn't even completely aware of everything; he hadn't yet registered the merciless deaths occurring just feet away. The group of men behind him disappeared, probably to find more shelter. He turned around and scrambled closer to the bunker's edge, his back to the ocean and facing an expanse of beach littered with men. Some were still running, and falling. He heard shouts in English, which he understood, and others in German. He didn't speak much German, so he couldn't really figure out what was being said. Something about France. Was he in France, then? He wasn't even sure which side was good and which was bad. What side was he on then?
Out of the corner of his eye Jiroh spied something that caught his attention. There was a vehicle, impossibly huge and planted directly in the middle of the area. The gunfire was concentrated in another direction for now--he could hear it moving further away but it would be back. Jiroh peered at the thing. It was definitely a tank, but its wheels looked stuck deep in the sand. The men inside were probably waiting to be rescued, Jiroh assumed. He could...go over and ask them for help. They'd put him inside, safe, and tell him where Ryoma was. Yeah…
He scrambled up and shivered again, wondering why he'd chosen to go in with only his pajamas on. Sometimes, if he concentrated hard enough, he could make his clothes change...but he didn't have time, or energy, to try. Even if he did try it there was no telling if it would work or not. He'd just have to be careful not to step on anything sharp. But he could see so many things lying around, things that could cut him. If he could feel cold in this nightmare, he could feel pain, too. This thought made Jiroh even more afraid.
He waited ten more seconds and began to sprint. He pumped his legs hard, kicking up sand in his wake and feeling bullet shells digging into his feet. He stepped on someone's arm and quickly yelled an apology. He was halfway there when someone snatched up his ankle and he fell, hard, into the sand. He exhaled and blew sand form his nose and twisted around, seeking the attacker.
It was a boy, no older than some of the old boys Jiroh went to school with. He looked so pale and tired, and there was a haunted, hungry look in his eyes. Desperation. Something red and thick dribbled from his mouth. He coughed; it splurted out more now, and Jiroh froze. He'd never seen real blood before. Now he could even smell it. Everywhere, on him, staining his pants, thick and heady and disgusting. Jiroh shook free. He shook free and blurted something incoherent. He ran again, but he was slower, feeling his legs begin to shake uncontrollably. He fell, roughly, onto his knees behind the tank. He buried his face in his hands and for the first time in a while broke out in tears.
Ryoma jumped as something – someone – hurtled around the side of the tank near him. He peeked up from his knees, heart pounding loudly in his ears, prepared to run again, though he didn’t know where he’d go – but… it was just a kid. Well, relatively speaking – most of the men he’d seen when he was looking were just that: men. This one wasn’t that much older than him… and he wasn’t wearing a uniform. He didn’t have a gun. Or even shoes. And he was crying. What the hell?
Ryoma just stared for a moment, back pressed against the tank as though he wanted to merge with it, until a nearby explosion that showered them with seawater (and a few other things that made his stomach lurch) snapped him out of it. “O-oy,” he said, voice cracking on the first try. “Who’re you?” He’d never talked to anyone here – but then, no one had ever looked this out of place before. Or cried. Not that he blamed this guy – he wasn’t one for crying, but this place did strange things to you.
Jiroh sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. He looked beside him at the other boy. He was...alive? And not carrying a gun...and not bleeding...which seemed, to Jiroh, to be something completely out of place in this nightmare world. He stared for a moment and then launched himself upon the other boy. It must be him. He remembered that he hadn't met Ryoma, physically, before. He wondered if Ryoma would remember this when he woke up.
"R-Ryoma-kun!" He let out another big sob, aware that he was smearing his bloody, filthy pajamas mess all over Ryoma, but not really caring. It was such a relief to have someone real who wasn't dying. Jiroh continued to hold Ryoma tightly, but then let go with a blush. Ryoma looked slightly alarmed, but Jiroh scuttled to his side and sniffed again.
"Are you okay? Did they get you?? Are you bleeding? Do you know where you are? Ryoma-kun~! You don't know how happy I am right now 'cause I was looking EVERYWHERE for you and everyone was all like, ahh! And stuff and it--it was so bad and--I--" He babbled on, still in a state of shock. He was still aware of his mission, but he needed to calm down first. There wasn't even a sure guarantee that informing Ryoma that this world wasn't real would work. Jiroh had been in a few dreams where the dreamer had been aware and had been able to keep dreaming. Maybe this one was different, since it had made Ryoma stay asleep? Now that Jiroh thought about it, he was struck with another, more frightening thought. Maybe now that he'd gone into the strange dream too, he was stuck? Maybe he couldn't get out either? And...they'd be in here forever...?
Ryoma went completely stiff as the other boy practically threw himself on top of him, hugging him tightly and babbling on at twenty words a second. Wait – this person knew him? But – but wait, what the hell was going on? He stared at the new arrival with wide eyes, still shaking, but… the new boy didn’t seem like he wanted to hurt him…
“W-wait,” he finally said as the other boy let him go, still sniffling, and now Ryoma was covered in blood too, it smelled horrible and made his stomach turn. But it didn’t seem to be this other boy’s – he seemed relatively unhurt, except for the crying. “Who the hell are you, how do you know me – why were you looking for me? What are you doing here – do you… holy shit, do you know how to get out of here?” Now he was babbling himself, but he didn’t care – he didn’t want to be here any longer and if this person had somehow come looking for him, then maybe he knew the way out. And if he knew the way out –
Jiroh stopped rambling. He peered intently at Ryoma, deeply offended that his sempai didn't even recognize him. Yes, he'd never seen him before, but Jiroh figured out it was Ryoma right away! But then he remembered that Ryoma was probably just as scared, and he still didn't really understand what was happening.
Jiroh waved his hands wildly. "I'm Jiroh! From school! And...and I don't really know how to get out but I have a message for you. And um, it's super duper important but...but it might not work and...and if it doesn't I dunno what we'll do! ...But I don't want to stay here!"
Jiroh was relieved when Ryoma's eyes lit up in recognition. It was now or never. "Ryoma-kun. This isn't real at all. It's a dream, and I came in to make you wake up! I know, crazy, right?!" Jiroh was panting now, his body getting tired from the amount of stress he was under. He began to wiggle, waiting for Ryoma to acknowledge him. Please-please-please....! Oh please, I'll clean my room and never ever sleep in class again and I'll even wash behind my EARS, just please let Ryoma-kun believe me...! I...I wanna go home...
Ryoma was still staring as the boy waved his arms, flinching a little before he fully processed what he’d said. “Wait… Jiroh? From… school?” He… wait. He could vaguely remember… school. Almost like it was someone else’s memory, but… if he stopped, took a breath, he could… kind of remember. School. Okay. Ryuhana, right? And… Jiroh… and – but wait –
“I’m dreaming?” he asked – and in that second everything lurched, he felt sick to his stomach, and he was dizzy and couldn’t tell what the hell was going on –
Until he sat bolt upright and realized… holy shit, where was he? This wasn’t his bed. This wasn’t his room. His heart was pounding and God, so was his head. Where was Niou? What the hell was going on? He’d been dreaming? Was he still…?
“Ah,” and he’d recognize that damned voice anywhere, that was Hanamura, “there you are, Echizen-kun. Your father and I have been very worried about you.”
Jiroh smiled. He felt it, as soon as the words left his mouth. Ryoma's eyes rolled back into his head, and there everything started spinning faster, and faster, until everything was blurring. Jiroh reached out, quickly, and grabbed the nearest bit of dream pattern that he could. If he'd waited any longer he ran the risk of being trapped in Ryoma's dreamwaves until the next time the boy fell asleep. Jiroh knew Ryoma probably wouldn't sleep for a while after this ordeal....and suddenly Jiroh was glad he no longer had dreams of his own. He felt it, in his mind; a glowing, silvery line, almost like a rope, pulling him up and out. Everything died away instantly. The smells, the sounds, the panic. He felt the familiar rush of reality coming back to him, and he found himself once again staring down at his schoolmate.
Ryoma was sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide and frantic. His chest heaved, and he was gasping for air after the shock of waking up so abruptly from the dream. Jiroh glanced down at himself. His ghost self wasn't covered in....in that stuff anymore. He couldn't smell anything, or feel anything. He was back, and safe.
Hana-lady stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. She was smiling, but didn't look worried at all. Jiroh floated away behind her and hovered above her shoulder awkwardly. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to do now that his special mission was done...he realized that there was someone else in the room, too. He'd never seen him before, but he had eyes like Ryoma's.
Jiroh figured his work there was done, but he still felt a bit shaken from the experience. Jiroh wondered briefly if Ryoma's mom ever gave him hugs because just then, more than anything, he wanted to go home, crawl into his parents' bed, and have his mommy hold him until he fell asleep like she used to. But for now all he could do was hover expectantly at the edge of the bed in Hana-lady's room to see what would happen next to his Ryoma-sempai.
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