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writetomyheart2019-04-13 09:07 pm
alchemicink.livejournal.com) wrote in writetomyheart2019-04-13 09:07 pm
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[Team One] wheels
Another snippet of my yugioh fic. Ishtar family-centric in this scene. Meh. (Features a very vague mention of a motorcycle crash, just in case that bothers anyone)
“Lots of great things have four wheels!” Isis exclaims in a rare moment of losing her normally cool composure. “Like cars, or buses.”
“Buses have more than four wheels,” Malik points out.
He winces as Rishid tries to clean the oozing gash below his ear. It’s just a big scrape really, but it still stings from the rubbing alcohol. There’s probably going to be a lot of bruising around it tomorrow too.
“You’re intentionally missing my point,” Isis continues. “Your motorcycle is dangerous. More dangerous than any other form of transportation we have here. I’ve told you countless times you need to find something safer.”
“Come on, Sis, I was wearing a helmet,” he replies, leaning away from Rishid to catch a break from the pain of first aid. It’s not like he hasn’t heard this all before from Isis back when they were in Egypt. Frankly, he thinks the traffic here in Japan is actually an improvement from their home country. Though he could have done without the one reckless driver who caused Malik to swerve off the road and wipeout earlier, resulting in this whole pointless conversation.
Rishid persists, pulling Malik closer so he can continue bandaging his scraped skin. He doesn’t say anything, but Malik can tell from his facial expression that he’s siding with Isis on this one.
“We did not fight to save you during Battle City for you to just die thoughtlessly on the streets somewhere,” Isis declares.
“Sister, you’re being overdramatic,” Malik scoffs. He snatches a bandage from Rishid and walks to the other side of the kitchen to attend to his wounds himself. The whole right side of his body is starting to ache. “I’m not even close to dying. It wasn’t a serious crash, and these are superficial cuts that’ll heal in a day or two. By the weekend, we’ll have all forgotten this completely.”
Isis frowns and turns to Rishid. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Rishid doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on packing up his first aid kit now that it’s no longer needed. “You know we are only worried about you because we don’t want to see you hurt,” he says in his deep yet quiet voice. “A motorcycle needs balance and stability to ride it. If you don’t think you can maintain either of those things, perhaps a break for a while would be good.”
Malik narrows his eyes. He knows when his siblings are trying to delicately ask about his mental state, even when they choose to tiptoe around the subject like they’re walking through a minefield. They think he’s driving recklessly on purpose, like maybe he’s not adjusting well to their move to Japan or something.
But that’s not the case this time. He honestly hadn’t even been at fault. He had swerved off the road to avoid a car which had crossed over into his lane. But he’s too tired to argue anymore. He knows they won’t believe the truth no matter how many times he says it.
“Whatever,” he shrugs as he leaves the kitchen. It hurts to walk, like every nerve ending in his skin is screaming at him, but he ignores it and heads to the garage where he left his bike earlier.
He takes a few minutes to clean off the mud, frowning at the paint scratches he’ll have to fix later. He kneels down for a closer look, checking the every bit of the bike for broken parts, just like how Isis had frantically inspected his body earlier when he stepped through the front door covered in mud and blood. Unlike what the two of them may think, Malik wouldn’t dare take his motorcycle back out on the road until he knew it was completely fixed and safe again.
“Dammit,” he mutters as he notices a problem with the fuel line, a problem which will put the motorcycle completely out of commission for a while. “Guess I’m stuck with four-wheeled transportation after all. Isis should be so happy.”
He doesn’t make a move to get back up. In the silence of the garage, the events of the last few hours catch up to him, replay memories rushing into his brain like a sudden downpour. How a split-second difference in his reaction time could have meant life or death. How the crash could have ended up being so much worse. He looks down and realizes his hands are shaking.
Here ya go![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miyeokguk
“Lots of great things have four wheels!” Isis exclaims in a rare moment of losing her normally cool composure. “Like cars, or buses.”
“Buses have more than four wheels,” Malik points out.
He winces as Rishid tries to clean the oozing gash below his ear. It’s just a big scrape really, but it still stings from the rubbing alcohol. There’s probably going to be a lot of bruising around it tomorrow too.
“You’re intentionally missing my point,” Isis continues. “Your motorcycle is dangerous. More dangerous than any other form of transportation we have here. I’ve told you countless times you need to find something safer.”
“Come on, Sis, I was wearing a helmet,” he replies, leaning away from Rishid to catch a break from the pain of first aid. It’s not like he hasn’t heard this all before from Isis back when they were in Egypt. Frankly, he thinks the traffic here in Japan is actually an improvement from their home country. Though he could have done without the one reckless driver who caused Malik to swerve off the road and wipeout earlier, resulting in this whole pointless conversation.
Rishid persists, pulling Malik closer so he can continue bandaging his scraped skin. He doesn’t say anything, but Malik can tell from his facial expression that he’s siding with Isis on this one.
“We did not fight to save you during Battle City for you to just die thoughtlessly on the streets somewhere,” Isis declares.
“Sister, you’re being overdramatic,” Malik scoffs. He snatches a bandage from Rishid and walks to the other side of the kitchen to attend to his wounds himself. The whole right side of his body is starting to ache. “I’m not even close to dying. It wasn’t a serious crash, and these are superficial cuts that’ll heal in a day or two. By the weekend, we’ll have all forgotten this completely.”
Isis frowns and turns to Rishid. “Don’t you have anything to say?”
Rishid doesn’t answer right away, instead focusing on packing up his first aid kit now that it’s no longer needed. “You know we are only worried about you because we don’t want to see you hurt,” he says in his deep yet quiet voice. “A motorcycle needs balance and stability to ride it. If you don’t think you can maintain either of those things, perhaps a break for a while would be good.”
Malik narrows his eyes. He knows when his siblings are trying to delicately ask about his mental state, even when they choose to tiptoe around the subject like they’re walking through a minefield. They think he’s driving recklessly on purpose, like maybe he’s not adjusting well to their move to Japan or something.
But that’s not the case this time. He honestly hadn’t even been at fault. He had swerved off the road to avoid a car which had crossed over into his lane. But he’s too tired to argue anymore. He knows they won’t believe the truth no matter how many times he says it.
“Whatever,” he shrugs as he leaves the kitchen. It hurts to walk, like every nerve ending in his skin is screaming at him, but he ignores it and heads to the garage where he left his bike earlier.
He takes a few minutes to clean off the mud, frowning at the paint scratches he’ll have to fix later. He kneels down for a closer look, checking the every bit of the bike for broken parts, just like how Isis had frantically inspected his body earlier when he stepped through the front door covered in mud and blood. Unlike what the two of them may think, Malik wouldn’t dare take his motorcycle back out on the road until he knew it was completely fixed and safe again.
“Dammit,” he mutters as he notices a problem with the fuel line, a problem which will put the motorcycle completely out of commission for a while. “Guess I’m stuck with four-wheeled transportation after all. Isis should be so happy.”
He doesn’t make a move to get back up. In the silence of the garage, the events of the last few hours catch up to him, replay memories rushing into his brain like a sudden downpour. How a split-second difference in his reaction time could have meant life or death. How the crash could have ended up being so much worse. He looks down and realizes his hands are shaking.
Here ya go
miyeokguk