Hound [Try]
May. 27th, 2018 06:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
esp_dragonFandom: Noblesse
Summary: M-21 tries; it doesn't go how he wants.
Notes: Set further along in the timeline. Thanks for @madameazzure for helping me figure out how this one would go.
Rating: G
Genre: General
Word count: 922
Total word count: 5,387
Status: Work in progress
M-21 walked down to the living room. Stairs were still a little difficult on two legs, his balance all wrong, and he held onto the banister to help. But he was able to do it without falling down. That was good. Successful.
He gazed at the living room door for a second before he poked his head through the gap, checking who was there.
Frankenstein was on the sofa and M-21 paused. Frankenstein was there.
Maybe he shouldn’t - but - M-21 nibbled his lip, not hard enough to break the skin.
Frankenstein was there and would be watching him.
M-21 closed his eyes and took a breath. That wasn’t bad. Maybe it would be good. Because he was a ‘person’ and what he was going to do was ‘normal’ for a ‘person’ to do.
Right.
He was still nervous, his heart picking up its pace as he walked in, heading for the kitchen area.
He was sure Frankenstein was watching him, but Frankenstein didn’t say anything, focused on whatever he was doing. Don’t always have to acknowledge the other person is there. ‘People’ can come and go as they please.
M-21 reached for one of the cabinets, the one that held the glasses. He could do this. He was a ‘person’. He could drink from a glass like a ‘person’.
He grasped one glass -not too hard, don’t squeeze- and brought it closer to him.
He had enough time to hear his claws scratch against the glass before it shattered in his palm.
He yelped both from surprise and pain as glass stabbed his palm. And then he stared in wide eyed horror at the sparkling pieces scattered around him.
On the counter.
All over the floor.
Some of them still bouncing, not stopping yet.
No no… Nononono, he’d made a mess.
He cringed, backing away when he heard Frankenstein hurrying towards him. He couldn’t get his throat to work, all words gone. He knew Frankenstein hated a mess. That was what made Frankenstein act like a Union owner, the flickering dark aura putting pressure on everyone in the room until the mess was cleared away. It was usually the children who made a mess and Frankenstein wouldn’t hurt them but he was only a hound, something disposable, something that-
“-your hand?”
He could hear Frankenstein but it was fighting against the buzzing in M-21′s ears, everything in him trying to overwhelm his senses. But he had to concentrate, had to hear what Frankenstein was saying or else Frankenstein would be angrier.
He sucked in shallow breaths as he trembled. He’d pressed himself up against the counters, curled up in a protective ball. Frankenstein was crouched a little distance away from him.
“M-21, please,” Frankenstein said. “I need to see your hand.” His voice was soft, not holding the thread of constrained anger it did when there was a mess. There was something else there, but M-21 couldn’t place it (and that was bad, bad, if he didn’t know what an owner was feeling), his thoughts scattering as he had them.
M-21 did as he was ordered, holding his shaking hands out towards Frankenstein.
Frankenstein took M-21′s injured hand, turning it over. M-21 braced himself for more pain.
“Stay here, all right?” Frankenstein said. “I’ll be right back.”
M-21 kept his hands out in front of him, following orders, as he watched Frankenstein head for another cupboard. Frankenstein pulled out a big red bag, one M-21 had seen a few times before, Union owners using it when one had been injured in the lab.
“A couple of the shards embedded into your palm — I’ll need to remove them before you heal around them.”
But. That was fine? He could still use his hand afterwards.
Frankenstein pushed M-21′s other hand down with light fingers. “You don’t need to keep holding this hand up.” Okay… “This will hurt a little,” Frankenstein said as he pulled out a small set of forceps.
M-21 had heard that phrase before. It meant it would hurt a lot and he braced himself for the pain.
“This one is the largest, so I’ll pull that one out first.”
Frankenstein was still talking? M-21 whined as Frankenstein pulled out the shard.
“There, that’s one done. There are a couple more I have to pull out.”
He was still talking. And Frankenstein didn’t stop, describing everything he was doing, warning M-21 when what he did would sting. It ended with Frankenstein wrapping a bandage around M-21′s hand and M-21 peered at it afterwards, flexing his hand. His hand felt fine, no jolts of pain with every movement. Why did he need the bandage?
“How does that feel?” Frankenstein asked. “Not too tight?”
M-21 shook his head.
“Good.” Frankenstein cleared away the items he’d used on M-21′s hand. “I’ll clean this up.”
He didn’t have to clean the mess? But he’d made it in the first place…
But that was Frankenstein’s decision, so M-21 ducked under the table to get away.
“M-21?”
He paused, glancing back, wary that Frankenstein had changed his mind.
Frankenstein smiled at him. “Thank you for trying. I’m glad you did.”
M-21 blinked, not understanding Frankenstein’s words.
“You did a good job.”
M-21 stared. But. He’d made a mess. But. Frankenstein hadn’t been angry. Still wasn’t angry.
M-21 scurried away on all fours, up the stairs until he reached the safety of his own room, Frankenstein’s words still ringing in his ears.
He was a good boy…? He was still a ‘person’ even after making a mistake…?
Summary: M-21 tries; it doesn't go how he wants.
Notes: Set further along in the timeline. Thanks for @madameazzure for helping me figure out how this one would go.
Rating: G
Genre: General
Word count: 922
Total word count: 5,387
Status: Work in progress
M-21 walked down to the living room. Stairs were still a little difficult on two legs, his balance all wrong, and he held onto the banister to help. But he was able to do it without falling down. That was good. Successful.
He gazed at the living room door for a second before he poked his head through the gap, checking who was there.
Frankenstein was on the sofa and M-21 paused. Frankenstein was there.
Maybe he shouldn’t - but - M-21 nibbled his lip, not hard enough to break the skin.
Frankenstein was there and would be watching him.
M-21 closed his eyes and took a breath. That wasn’t bad. Maybe it would be good. Because he was a ‘person’ and what he was going to do was ‘normal’ for a ‘person’ to do.
Right.
He was still nervous, his heart picking up its pace as he walked in, heading for the kitchen area.
He was sure Frankenstein was watching him, but Frankenstein didn’t say anything, focused on whatever he was doing. Don’t always have to acknowledge the other person is there. ‘People’ can come and go as they please.
M-21 reached for one of the cabinets, the one that held the glasses. He could do this. He was a ‘person’. He could drink from a glass like a ‘person’.
He grasped one glass -not too hard, don’t squeeze- and brought it closer to him.
He had enough time to hear his claws scratch against the glass before it shattered in his palm.
He yelped both from surprise and pain as glass stabbed his palm. And then he stared in wide eyed horror at the sparkling pieces scattered around him.
On the counter.
All over the floor.
Some of them still bouncing, not stopping yet.
No no… Nononono, he’d made a mess.
He cringed, backing away when he heard Frankenstein hurrying towards him. He couldn’t get his throat to work, all words gone. He knew Frankenstein hated a mess. That was what made Frankenstein act like a Union owner, the flickering dark aura putting pressure on everyone in the room until the mess was cleared away. It was usually the children who made a mess and Frankenstein wouldn’t hurt them but he was only a hound, something disposable, something that-
“-your hand?”
He could hear Frankenstein but it was fighting against the buzzing in M-21′s ears, everything in him trying to overwhelm his senses. But he had to concentrate, had to hear what Frankenstein was saying or else Frankenstein would be angrier.
He sucked in shallow breaths as he trembled. He’d pressed himself up against the counters, curled up in a protective ball. Frankenstein was crouched a little distance away from him.
“M-21, please,” Frankenstein said. “I need to see your hand.” His voice was soft, not holding the thread of constrained anger it did when there was a mess. There was something else there, but M-21 couldn’t place it (and that was bad, bad, if he didn’t know what an owner was feeling), his thoughts scattering as he had them.
M-21 did as he was ordered, holding his shaking hands out towards Frankenstein.
Frankenstein took M-21′s injured hand, turning it over. M-21 braced himself for more pain.
“Stay here, all right?” Frankenstein said. “I’ll be right back.”
M-21 kept his hands out in front of him, following orders, as he watched Frankenstein head for another cupboard. Frankenstein pulled out a big red bag, one M-21 had seen a few times before, Union owners using it when one had been injured in the lab.
“A couple of the shards embedded into your palm — I’ll need to remove them before you heal around them.”
But. That was fine? He could still use his hand afterwards.
Frankenstein pushed M-21′s other hand down with light fingers. “You don’t need to keep holding this hand up.” Okay… “This will hurt a little,” Frankenstein said as he pulled out a small set of forceps.
M-21 had heard that phrase before. It meant it would hurt a lot and he braced himself for the pain.
“This one is the largest, so I’ll pull that one out first.”
Frankenstein was still talking? M-21 whined as Frankenstein pulled out the shard.
“There, that’s one done. There are a couple more I have to pull out.”
He was still talking. And Frankenstein didn’t stop, describing everything he was doing, warning M-21 when what he did would sting. It ended with Frankenstein wrapping a bandage around M-21′s hand and M-21 peered at it afterwards, flexing his hand. His hand felt fine, no jolts of pain with every movement. Why did he need the bandage?
“How does that feel?” Frankenstein asked. “Not too tight?”
M-21 shook his head.
“Good.” Frankenstein cleared away the items he’d used on M-21′s hand. “I’ll clean this up.”
He didn’t have to clean the mess? But he’d made it in the first place…
But that was Frankenstein’s decision, so M-21 ducked under the table to get away.
“M-21?”
He paused, glancing back, wary that Frankenstein had changed his mind.
Frankenstein smiled at him. “Thank you for trying. I’m glad you did.”
M-21 blinked, not understanding Frankenstein’s words.
“You did a good job.”
M-21 stared. But. He’d made a mess. But. Frankenstein hadn’t been angry. Still wasn’t angry.
M-21 scurried away on all fours, up the stairs until he reached the safety of his own room, Frankenstein’s words still ringing in his ears.
He was a good boy…? He was still a ‘person’ even after making a mistake…?