fahye | so this is what responsibility feels like

Wow. Having a dead computer makes me actually behave like a med student. I went to my two labs this morning -- Jesus Christ, bones are tricky little buggers when you actually look at them, and I am rethinking my love of the clavicle -- and then I spent some time in the LIBRARY with my NOTES and I've thoroughly revised my upper limb anatomy and the entire text chapter on clinical examination of the respiratory system. Man. The things you have time to do when you don't have classes from 8am-5pm (this week is remarkably light \o/) and also don't have fic writing itself feverishly in your head.

Tomorrow classes finish at 11am and I am determined to be likewise productive in the afternoon, but you know what, I'm kind of enjoying this being-uncharacteristically-prolific thing, so for the gaps in between study:

Drabble requests?

You know what I write. Though if you're having trouble deciding, I'm on this serious animated-things kick at the moment, so throw me Avatar/anime-of-your-choice prompts and everyone will be happy.

(Please note that due to the fickle natures of both free time & inspiration, I am not putting my hand on my heart and swearing to finish every request this time, but...request away anyhow! We'll see how I go.)

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"Do you believe in God?"

It is not the first time Ignacio has been asked this question and it won't be the last; "No," he says, pausing with the snuffer held at such an angle that the man's face is reflected in the conical gold surface.

The man laughs. Ignacio has never heard a psallopiano but he has heard the sound described, and he thinks that it might sound like this, like this shifting note that holds more complexity than should be possible considering the technical specifications of the human throat. "Good for you," he says.

It is growing cold in St Stephen's and there is only this single man with his pipe clothing and his pipe voice and something weirdly tube about the angle of his hands in his pockets and the way he looks at the cross above the altar. Ignacio has never seen the Pipe, nor the Tube, but he keeps his eyes open and he listens and he reads, and he is learning. It is odd that he should only be able to think of this man in terms of descriptions given by others. Certainly Ignacio has never seen him before, either, and he is younger than the average parishioner by a good few decades, but this did not seem to stop him from wandering in and sitting at the back throughout the evening service, listening intently, his feet resting on the prayer cushions. Father Nolan talks sometimes, hopefully, about the conversion of the young. Ignacio wonders if this is what has happened here, or if he is just another of those who turn to God only when things turn sour.

And so: "Would you like me to light a candle for anyone?" he asks politely. "Someone you are mourning, perhaps?"

"I am not in mourning, eyai." Again the odd resonance to his voice that is not due to the church, the way he pronounces eyai as though it is a curiosity and not a technicality. "What is your name? Do you have one, or just a number?"

"No, I have a name. Father Nolan calls me Ignacio." He is not sure why he should express it thus, with the qualifier -- Father Nolan calls me -- but it seems reasonable that some day someone else will give him a new name, and then another, and so on: it is perhaps too much to hope for that he should be granted definition beyond the lifespan of a human being.

A pause, then -- "What a coincidence. Our names have almost the same meaning." -- and the man smiles exactly like one of the figures in one of the stained glass windows that Ignacio has gazed at, and though he can remember everything he has ever read he cannot recall which saint or angel or blessed figure this smile belongs to.

OH.

MY.

GOD.

Er...so it kind of veered away from eyai/Les Mis and into Lucifer-and-Nacio, but I got Ji's approval first!

so this is what responsibility feels like

this could be terrible and I would honestly be unable to tell.

Re: this could be terrible and I would honestly be unable to tell.

Re: this could be terrible and I would honestly be unable to tell.