Tags: Amputation, Death sort of, Trans HC pronouns Words: 550 Miyahara & Manami, priestess & her living dead familiar.
Manami's skin would kaleidoscope between golds and silvers as they moved from place to place, and looking at it closer didn't make Miyahara understand why anymore than she did otherwise. Nervous stare at their shoulder, avoiding unsightly glances, it was supposed to be the same magic that kept them together.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner," she muttered.
Tape left crosshatch imprints as she ripped it away. Every playful jump of their feet was - a performance or real.
"You're so busy, rep!" Airy and another squeak as she tore away another layer. "There are a lot of tests you have to worry about. You don't need me coming up with another arm, do you?"
"You're one of those tests, Sangaku." She gathered narrow strips of paper. Each stood adorned in poem and prose. Instruction had taught her the words for healing, but that had little use on Manami. "Hold up your arm for me. You're lucky I caught this before you started rotting."
"Sorry!" they said, hardly apologetic at all.
Miyahara wrapped the papers around the joint, and from there to their neck, just to supplement it all - most people wouldn't do that, but it made sense to connect to whatever aspect of musculature they may have still had. Even if it didn't matter, it was better to go through the motions. Better to think that anything about them had an earthly sensible tie.
"Do you have a knife?"
It caught her off guard, meeting their eyes. Manami was gentle. She had always known them as soft and foolish and always miserably late, terrible about getting anything done. But she knew the whispers throughout the campus.
Miyahara knew what people said about her undead.
"No," she said. "I don't need so much as a knife for this." Hands ran through her skirt, away from their skin. Searching, to her bags. "A needle is enough."
Serious and too aware. A single prick and she worked the blood to the surface. The sight still made her head spin. Manami only ever watched, smile barely present, as she would chew her nails and fingers. Agonizingly patient. Red sank into the paper till it took every hint of white, far more than the drop she'd deposited. Miyahara drew her hand away and watched it all sink against their skin - watched the arm set itself properly against their body, and settle as though nothing had happened.
The radiating heat dimmed and Manami pulled their shirt back on, buttons at a time. She didn't look. She knew well enough of every binding and marking left beneath.
"Thanks, rep."
"Remember to put your mask back on," she said. Looking away. Trying to focus on papers she'd read too many times. "The seniors have been complaining to me lately."
"Right!"
Airy and free and -
Sometimes, Miyahara didn't understand it.
How different the living child she'd known had been.
Children didn't think much of the magic they cast, but Miyahara took her mistakes in hand without complaint. If it meant certification, if it meant strict teaching, and if it meant living here, to let a friend have a chance at life -
Fill: Team Grandstand, G
Words: 550
Miyahara & Manami, priestess & her living dead familiar.
Manami's skin would kaleidoscope between golds and silvers as they moved from place to place, and looking at it closer didn't make Miyahara understand why anymore than she did otherwise. Nervous stare at their shoulder, avoiding unsightly glances, it was supposed to be the same magic that kept them together.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner," she muttered.
Tape left crosshatch imprints as she ripped it away. Every playful jump of their feet was - a performance or real.
"You're so busy, rep!" Airy and another squeak as she tore away another layer. "There are a lot of tests you have to worry about. You don't need me coming up with another arm, do you?"
"You're one of those tests, Sangaku." She gathered narrow strips of paper. Each stood adorned in poem and prose. Instruction had taught her the words for healing, but that had little use on Manami. "Hold up your arm for me. You're lucky I caught this before you started rotting."
"Sorry!" they said, hardly apologetic at all.
Miyahara wrapped the papers around the joint, and from there to their neck, just to supplement it all - most people wouldn't do that, but it made sense to connect to whatever aspect of musculature they may have still had. Even if it didn't matter, it was better to go through the motions. Better to think that anything about them had an earthly sensible tie.
"Do you have a knife?"
It caught her off guard, meeting their eyes. Manami was gentle. She had always known them as soft and foolish and always miserably late, terrible about getting anything done. But she knew the whispers throughout the campus.
Miyahara knew what people said about her undead.
"No," she said. "I don't need so much as a knife for this." Hands ran through her skirt, away from their skin. Searching, to her bags. "A needle is enough."
Serious and too aware. A single prick and she worked the blood to the surface. The sight still made her head spin. Manami only ever watched, smile barely present, as she would chew her nails and fingers. Agonizingly patient. Red sank into the paper till it took every hint of white, far more than the drop she'd deposited. Miyahara drew her hand away and watched it all sink against their skin - watched the arm set itself properly against their body, and settle as though nothing had happened.
The radiating heat dimmed and Manami pulled their shirt back on, buttons at a time. She didn't look. She knew well enough of every binding and marking left beneath.
"Thanks, rep."
"Remember to put your mask back on," she said. Looking away. Trying to focus on papers she'd read too many times. "The seniors have been complaining to me lately."
"Right!"
Airy and free and -
Sometimes, Miyahara didn't understand it.
How different the living child she'd known had been.
Children didn't think much of the magic they cast, but Miyahara took her mistakes in hand without complaint. If it meant certification, if it meant strict teaching, and if it meant living here, to let a friend have a chance at life -
She wasn't about to turn that down.