(no subject)
Apr. 14th, 2008 11:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kat8chaMinami sat with the urn in between his legs
. He and Sengoku had taken a look inside and identified that, yes, the urn was full of ashes. Sengoku had taken pictures of Minami with his digital camera, and then dragged Minami down to the party to question people on whether or not Minami was a hallucination. Minami had been surprised by how warm the close quarters had made him, human bodies pushing against each other, each thrumming with life.
Well, each of them except Minami.
“Can dead men drink?” Sengoku blinked down at the two beers in his hands before handing one to Minami anyway.
“I don’t know.” Minami took the can from Sengoku. Minami knew that Sengoku must have gotten it out of the fridge but the temperature of the can was hardly discernable to Minami. Minami felt lukewarm and uncomfortable. “I guess I’ll find out though.”
The beer tasted like piss, but Minami knew that was not an affect of being dead. Sengoku had poor taste in alcohol.
Minami set the can down on Sengoku’s coffee table and stared down at the urn some more. “Tastes the same.” That meant his taste buds were still working right? And Minami did not feel rigor mortis setting in. Minami could still move, still talk, still bleed, or Minami supposed, he had not cut himself. “I… I missed work. What am I supposed to do?” Minami looked up at Sengoku. “Can I call in dead to work?!?!”
Minami knew he sounded hysterical. Minami was hysterical. What were you supposed to do when you found out that you were dead?!
Sengoku set his beer can down and patted Minami on the shoulder. Sengoku was such a good friend. Minami pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes hard enough to see sparks superimposed on his eyelids. “I’m hungry.” There was a vague feeling filtering through his body. Minami wanted to eat… something. Not anything he would have normally eaten but…
Meat. Minami wanted to eat meat.
“I can see what I have in the fridge.” Sengoku stood up and moved to the kitchen, but Minami barely noticed.
Minami did not just want meat. He wanted something more than meat. Minami thought of a thick juicy steak, perfectly brown on the edges with the slightest bit of pink in the middle… no, not quite. Minami focused on the image of pink steak. Pink. Rare. So rare the blood pooled on the plate.
Minami snarled, low and dangerous.
Minami did not want meat. He wanted blood
.Well, each of them except Minami.
“Can dead men drink?” Sengoku blinked down at the two beers in his hands before handing one to Minami anyway.
“I don’t know.” Minami took the can from Sengoku. Minami knew that Sengoku must have gotten it out of the fridge but the temperature of the can was hardly discernable to Minami. Minami felt lukewarm and uncomfortable. “I guess I’ll find out though.”
The beer tasted like piss, but Minami knew that was not an affect of being dead. Sengoku had poor taste in alcohol.
Minami set the can down on Sengoku’s coffee table and stared down at the urn some more. “Tastes the same.” That meant his taste buds were still working right? And Minami did not feel rigor mortis setting in. Minami could still move, still talk, still bleed, or Minami supposed, he had not cut himself. “I… I missed work. What am I supposed to do?” Minami looked up at Sengoku. “Can I call in dead to work?!?!”
Minami knew he sounded hysterical. Minami was hysterical. What were you supposed to do when you found out that you were dead?!
Sengoku set his beer can down and patted Minami on the shoulder. Sengoku was such a good friend. Minami pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes hard enough to see sparks superimposed on his eyelids. “I’m hungry.” There was a vague feeling filtering through his body. Minami wanted to eat… something. Not anything he would have normally eaten but…
Meat. Minami wanted to eat meat.
“I can see what I have in the fridge.” Sengoku stood up and moved to the kitchen, but Minami barely noticed.
Minami did not just want meat. He wanted something more than meat. Minami thought of a thick juicy steak, perfectly brown on the edges with the slightest bit of pink in the middle… no, not quite. Minami focused on the image of pink steak. Pink. Rare. So rare the blood pooled on the plate.
Minami snarled, low and dangerous.
Minami did not want meat. He wanted blood
