Oyama Ami (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thelittleprincess) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sunshineverse2015-02-14 02:22 pm
thelittleprincess) wrote in sunshineverse2015-02-14 02:22 pm
[Open] Restore life the way it should be
Who: Ami and whoever wants to see her sick and vulnerable
Where: The training grounds for her teammates, the hospital for everybody else.
When: February 14th to the 22nd
Notes: Ami has a fear of hospitals, and is terrified she'll die from illness in one, like her mother. So this'll be fun.
[February 14 - Team Shisui's Training Grounds]
Ami circled around her opponent, mindful of their teacher. She was thankful that they had headed right into sparring today; it helped explain the flush rising in her face, and the way her gaze was drifting slightly. She had staunchly ignored the signs of fever that had crept up over the past few days, stifling the coughs and sneezes as much as possible to avoid worrying her family. They always got so worried, because colds and flus hit her harder than most.
Like her mother.
Ami shoved down the stab of terror that lanced through her chest at the old memory. She was quiet normally, but she had all but taken a vow of silence since her voice started turning hoarse. She buried her face behind her collar and sniffled quietly, springing to the side to avoid a kick. Her head swam at the sudden motion and she stumbled, turning her ankle and tumbling to the ground, hard. The impact forced a cough out of her, and it was as if the floodgates had opened.
She hunched over, hacking and hacking. She felt something wet spatter against the palm she had raised to her mouth, and drew it away. It was speckled with saliva and... redness. Blood. Ami remembered that sight—blood, oozing from between her mother's fingers, the older woman smiling and trying to hide it from her little girl even as she swayed in her bed.
"I—" She coughed again, hard, unable to force out the fear that made her hoarse voice small and tremulous. "I think I'll need to forfeit."
[February 14-22 (Discharge Day)]
Ami hated the hospital.
She hated the smell, she hated the walls, she hated the tile, she hated the linens, she hated the feeling of the stethoscope on her chest and back as she was told to inhale, again and again, and she hated the way none of it had seemed to change at all in the past nine years. She snuffled miserably and tried to ignore the doctors and nurses that talked with her aunt and uncle when they visited. Bronchitis, they said sometimes. The mother had chronic bronchitis, didn't she? Mama had a lot of things, Ami remembered, and curled up tighter under the blankets heaped over her. A lot of things. But her lungs had been the worst.
She buried her face in her pillows and tried to convince herself that the pain in her throat was what was making her eyes sting with tears.
Where: The training grounds for her teammates, the hospital for everybody else.
When: February 14th to the 22nd
Notes: Ami has a fear of hospitals, and is terrified she'll die from illness in one, like her mother. So this'll be fun.
[February 14 - Team Shisui's Training Grounds]
Ami circled around her opponent, mindful of their teacher. She was thankful that they had headed right into sparring today; it helped explain the flush rising in her face, and the way her gaze was drifting slightly. She had staunchly ignored the signs of fever that had crept up over the past few days, stifling the coughs and sneezes as much as possible to avoid worrying her family. They always got so worried, because colds and flus hit her harder than most.
Like her mother.
Ami shoved down the stab of terror that lanced through her chest at the old memory. She was quiet normally, but she had all but taken a vow of silence since her voice started turning hoarse. She buried her face behind her collar and sniffled quietly, springing to the side to avoid a kick. Her head swam at the sudden motion and she stumbled, turning her ankle and tumbling to the ground, hard. The impact forced a cough out of her, and it was as if the floodgates had opened.
She hunched over, hacking and hacking. She felt something wet spatter against the palm she had raised to her mouth, and drew it away. It was speckled with saliva and... redness. Blood. Ami remembered that sight—blood, oozing from between her mother's fingers, the older woman smiling and trying to hide it from her little girl even as she swayed in her bed.
"I—" She coughed again, hard, unable to force out the fear that made her hoarse voice small and tremulous. "I think I'll need to forfeit."
[February 14-22 (Discharge Day)]
Ami hated the hospital.
She hated the smell, she hated the walls, she hated the tile, she hated the linens, she hated the feeling of the stethoscope on her chest and back as she was told to inhale, again and again, and she hated the way none of it had seemed to change at all in the past nine years. She snuffled miserably and tried to ignore the doctors and nurses that talked with her aunt and uncle when they visited. Bronchitis, they said sometimes. The mother had chronic bronchitis, didn't she? Mama had a lot of things, Ami remembered, and curled up tighter under the blankets heaped over her. A lot of things. But her lungs had been the worst.
She buried her face in her pillows and tried to convince herself that the pain in her throat was what was making her eyes sting with tears.
no subject
It was worse, when it was just them and Shisui; the resemblance was near uncanny, and it triggered a lifetime of admiration and obedience in all the wrong ways. For a person that was all wrong. Shizuoka Masanori wasn't collected or composed—usually. He wasn't reticent or respectable—most of the time. Except for the startling, stark moments when he suddenly was all of that and more. More perceptive, more dangerous, more alert and... almost intimidating.
in return, Ami was too tired to—meek, even, too scared to fight against her reflexes. Her non-bloodied hand gripped his and she used it to lever herself up, stumbling as she put her weight on that twisted ankle and her head swam again.
no subject
He wouldn't accept it if there was. A shinobi was nothing without their health and it was a detriment to the team if Ami remained in such a compromised state. He reached for a sleeve wordlessly and gave her a tug, an encouragement to lean if she needed without any verbal prodding. Dignity was something he'd rob her of unduly, but for all their time together, his back wasn't something he could offer.
no subject
Masanori seemed to have contracted a fraction of that same strength now, unwilling to let her falter on alone. It blurred his image in her mind even further.
no subject
"Sometimes, old men know something useful."
Sometimes, but not always and it tended to vary from old man to old man. The reluctance that colored his statement was accompabyed by the mental image of a particular old man. His epression expression very briefly gained a note of severity before he relaxed it. Glancing to Ami once again, he nodded.
"Come on. Let's get going," he said, prepared to match her pace for pace.
no subject
That was... a bit too long for her current condition. She twisted as far away from Masanori as she could while still half-clinging to him for balance, and hacked that unsettlingly wet cough again. She held still for a moment as it died down, as if to make sure it wasn't coming back. Then she carefully shifted her weight and continued walking, trying for a pace that would minimize the time she had to spend like this.
She fell a little short, out of fear. If she began breathing hard... Well. That would just defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?
no subject
"Take your time," he offered, continuing with diligence to match her pace as his thoughts sharpened.
Her aunt would need to be informed. He would take care of that. Shisui and Itsuki would no doubt be shadowing them, so that wasn't a major concern. Her breathing, though...