crossmyheartandhope (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2022-03-19 02:12 pm
crossmyheartandhope) wrote2022-03-19 02:12 pm
Entry tags:
Memory 36: Expensive
The phone screen’s full of horror movie monsters, cartoony but sinister, all sharp edges and jagged teeth. There’s Dracula, and the wolfman, and a mummy, and three different ghosts. They’re making their slow way up the path toward the haunted house, where a little girl is up on the rooftop, peeking out periodically with frightened blue eyes.
All along the path, little waystations of defense do their best against the monsters. A giant slingshot stakes the vampire. A series of fans turn on and try to blow away the ghosts.
But the mummy and the wolfman, they’re at the doorstep.
Hurricane checks his points – 500, then 600 as another ghost bites it. He taps the equipment button and an array of monster-fighting gear shows up as an overlay. In the background, the mummy and the wolfman keep coming, not paused.
“Ah, dammit,” says Hurricane.
“That’s what I was going to say,” says a voice, and Hurricane starts so hard he almost drops the phone.
For the first time, he glances up from the screen to take in the room: the hospital bed that he’s lying in, and the IV feeding a clear fluid into his arm, and his left leg, there beside the metal right one, done up in a cast.
And in the middle of the stringent white and bleached hospital sterility, there’s Corporal Fielding, all broad shoulders and no-nonsense glare, in full uniform.
“Sir,” says Hurricane, and sits bolt upright, trying without thinking to spring to attention.
The pain comes crashing through the swimmy distance of the painkillers all at once, reminding him why that’s a bad idea. He groans, and falls back to his elbows, phone slipping down to the covers beside him.
“No need to get up,” says Fielding. “I’ll only need a moment of your time.”
“Yessir,” manages Hurricane, distantly, and bites at his lip, waiting for the pain to subside.
It hasn’t settled back into something bearable before Fielding begins speaking.
“Do you have any idea,” he says, “how much one of those practice suits costs?”
Hurricane breathes slow and steady, through his nose, until he can relax enough to ease back down to the pillow. Then he says, “56 billion yen? Give or take.”
For an instant, Fielding looks taken aback. Then he gives Hurricane a hard, appraising look. “Ah. You’re Dr. Cross’ son, aren’t you?”
“Uh,” says Hurricane. “Yeah. That’s me.”
Fielding’s face is hard and unforgiving. “Then you should know better than anyone how little we can afford this kind of mishap.”
The smile flickers and fades. Hurricane picks at his fingernails and stares down at the hospital blankets.
“In addition to the repair costs, we’re looking at three months in the shop for those practice suits,” says Fielding. “We can’t afford to lose that kind of time.”
“Yeah,” says Hurricane.
“I don’t expect every recruit that goes on the field to be perfect. In a situation like that, there's only so much that can be done. But at some point, it becomes necessary to think about damage control.”
Hurricane says nothing. He peels at the skin of his cuticle.
“Equipment malfunction or no, you need to be better. Do you understand me?” Fielding raps his knuckles against the wall, as though to emphasize his point. “Today was unacceptable.”
“Yessir,” says Hurricane, voice barely audible.
“Good,” says Fielding. “Now, work on healing up. I want you back out on the field ASAP.”
Hurricane glances up, sharp and sudden – takes in the set of Fielding’s shoulders, and the hard line of his jaw. “We’re still in?”
“You’re still in,” says Fielding. “Dr. Wada thinks the pair of you might be worth something.”
Hurricane lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you, sir. We’ll do our best to prove her right.”
The silence stretches for a few eternal seconds. Corporal Fielding fixes him with a very long, evaluating sort of look.
“See that you do,” says Fielding, and turns for the door.
As soon as he’s gone, Hurricane slumps back against the pillow and closes his eyes. It takes him almost three minutes to remember his game – to yelp and scramble for the phone, where the girl on the haunted house has long since been devoured by monsters.
“Aw, man,” says Hurricane.
“Yeah,” says Xia’s voice from the doorway. “Same feel.”
When he looks up, she’s leaning against the door jamb, trying to look casual. It would be more successful if it wasn’t for the ginger way she holds herself and the crutch tucked under one arm.
“Lemme guess,” says Hurricane. “You got Fielding, too?”
Xia adjusts her glasses and sets her face into a scowl. “Do you have any idea,” she says, “how much one of those practice suits costs?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane. “You’ve even got the face down.”
Xia sticks her tongue out and makes her way over to the bed – deposits herself beside him, pressed up against Hurricane’s hip through the blankets. “It’s the only one he ever makes. That guy’s an asshole.”
“I mean,” says Hurricane, and ducks his head. “The suits are pretty pricey.”
“Yeah,” says Xia. “So maybe they should have checked whether their EMP was gonna mess with the sync network before they set it off on the practice range.”
Hurricane grimaces. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.”
There’s a beat of silence. Hurricane spends it staring down at the GAME OVER screen on his lap.
“Hey,” he says, at last. “Wanna go a round two-player?”
Xia glances down at the screen. “That dumb tower defense game you’re always playing?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane. “It won like three People’s Choice awards last year. You can’t fight the will of the people.”
Xia rolls her eyes. “Bring it, nerd. You’re going down.”
Hurricane feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Says you.”
And he reaches out to tap the button that says BEGIN AGAIN.
All along the path, little waystations of defense do their best against the monsters. A giant slingshot stakes the vampire. A series of fans turn on and try to blow away the ghosts.
But the mummy and the wolfman, they’re at the doorstep.
Hurricane checks his points – 500, then 600 as another ghost bites it. He taps the equipment button and an array of monster-fighting gear shows up as an overlay. In the background, the mummy and the wolfman keep coming, not paused.
“Ah, dammit,” says Hurricane.
“That’s what I was going to say,” says a voice, and Hurricane starts so hard he almost drops the phone.
For the first time, he glances up from the screen to take in the room: the hospital bed that he’s lying in, and the IV feeding a clear fluid into his arm, and his left leg, there beside the metal right one, done up in a cast.
And in the middle of the stringent white and bleached hospital sterility, there’s Corporal Fielding, all broad shoulders and no-nonsense glare, in full uniform.
“Sir,” says Hurricane, and sits bolt upright, trying without thinking to spring to attention.
The pain comes crashing through the swimmy distance of the painkillers all at once, reminding him why that’s a bad idea. He groans, and falls back to his elbows, phone slipping down to the covers beside him.
“No need to get up,” says Fielding. “I’ll only need a moment of your time.”
“Yessir,” manages Hurricane, distantly, and bites at his lip, waiting for the pain to subside.
It hasn’t settled back into something bearable before Fielding begins speaking.
“Do you have any idea,” he says, “how much one of those practice suits costs?”
Hurricane breathes slow and steady, through his nose, until he can relax enough to ease back down to the pillow. Then he says, “56 billion yen? Give or take.”
For an instant, Fielding looks taken aback. Then he gives Hurricane a hard, appraising look. “Ah. You’re Dr. Cross’ son, aren’t you?”
“Uh,” says Hurricane. “Yeah. That’s me.”
Fielding’s face is hard and unforgiving. “Then you should know better than anyone how little we can afford this kind of mishap.”
The smile flickers and fades. Hurricane picks at his fingernails and stares down at the hospital blankets.
“In addition to the repair costs, we’re looking at three months in the shop for those practice suits,” says Fielding. “We can’t afford to lose that kind of time.”
“Yeah,” says Hurricane.
“I don’t expect every recruit that goes on the field to be perfect. In a situation like that, there's only so much that can be done. But at some point, it becomes necessary to think about damage control.”
Hurricane says nothing. He peels at the skin of his cuticle.
“Equipment malfunction or no, you need to be better. Do you understand me?” Fielding raps his knuckles against the wall, as though to emphasize his point. “Today was unacceptable.”
“Yessir,” says Hurricane, voice barely audible.
“Good,” says Fielding. “Now, work on healing up. I want you back out on the field ASAP.”
Hurricane glances up, sharp and sudden – takes in the set of Fielding’s shoulders, and the hard line of his jaw. “We’re still in?”
“You’re still in,” says Fielding. “Dr. Wada thinks the pair of you might be worth something.”
Hurricane lets out a shaky breath. “Thank you, sir. We’ll do our best to prove her right.”
The silence stretches for a few eternal seconds. Corporal Fielding fixes him with a very long, evaluating sort of look.
“See that you do,” says Fielding, and turns for the door.
As soon as he’s gone, Hurricane slumps back against the pillow and closes his eyes. It takes him almost three minutes to remember his game – to yelp and scramble for the phone, where the girl on the haunted house has long since been devoured by monsters.
“Aw, man,” says Hurricane.
“Yeah,” says Xia’s voice from the doorway. “Same feel.”
When he looks up, she’s leaning against the door jamb, trying to look casual. It would be more successful if it wasn’t for the ginger way she holds herself and the crutch tucked under one arm.
“Lemme guess,” says Hurricane. “You got Fielding, too?”
Xia adjusts her glasses and sets her face into a scowl. “Do you have any idea,” she says, “how much one of those practice suits costs?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane. “You’ve even got the face down.”
Xia sticks her tongue out and makes her way over to the bed – deposits herself beside him, pressed up against Hurricane’s hip through the blankets. “It’s the only one he ever makes. That guy’s an asshole.”
“I mean,” says Hurricane, and ducks his head. “The suits are pretty pricey.”
“Yeah,” says Xia. “So maybe they should have checked whether their EMP was gonna mess with the sync network before they set it off on the practice range.”
Hurricane grimaces. “Yeah,” he says. “Maybe.”
There’s a beat of silence. Hurricane spends it staring down at the GAME OVER screen on his lap.
“Hey,” he says, at last. “Wanna go a round two-player?”
Xia glances down at the screen. “That dumb tower defense game you’re always playing?”
“Dude,” says Hurricane. “It won like three People’s Choice awards last year. You can’t fight the will of the people.”
Xia rolls her eyes. “Bring it, nerd. You’re going down.”
Hurricane feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Says you.”
And he reaches out to tap the button that says BEGIN AGAIN.