[fic] Untitled Chin Yisou/Kanan drabble(s)
"I'm thinking of posting the CHin Yisou drabble because if I have to suffer others do too,"I tell Ranith.

She replies, "That tends to be the general rule we function by."

So. Have a short fic drabble thing that I wrote down because it wouldn't get out of my head and I feel icky and yeah. WARNING. Traumatic rape. Issues. It makes me feel ICKY. CHIN YISOU WARNING seriously, Ranith pointed out "Chin Yisou" SHOULD BE a fic warning.

Probably on some level triggered by the picture from manga vol 4's inside cover.



Twenty-eight hours after they took her in they throw her into a cell. She's cold and afraid and, curled up against the back wall, can't make herself vomit.

He comes down with clean clothing for her and smiles at her through the bars as she clutches them to her. "Poor girl," he says. "Tell me about yourself."

He is the first person who has talked to her as if she exists. At first the words choke in tears and then she's talking and she isn't even sure what she's saying. She wants to go home. She wants to go home. She catches scattered bits, about Gonou, about home, about him waiting for her that she thinks she should hold back but they keep coming.

"Ah, how terrible," he says when she stops because the tears are coming too hard to talk. He opens her cell and comes in with her, crouches across from her. Asks her questions about home about Gonou about about everything she's lost about everything and when she's drained and empty and cried herself out and almost strangely gentle he takes the clothing away that she is still clutching to her bosom, and he rapes her, and he leaves, and she lies there and thinks that it's over.

The next day when they put her back he comes again.



Edit:


2:

"Nice girls shouldn't cry, you know," he tells her. "You're prettier when you cry. Do you really want to be pretty in a place like this?"

She doesn't answer.

"Honestly," he says. "I'm just looking out for you."


3:

"Ah," he says, almost sympathetically. "You've gone and torn your dress."


4:

"I brought you this." He smiles at her, holds it through the bars. "For protection. You need some, don't you?"

The crucifix hangs from his fingers, picking up vague torchlight and reflecting it into her eyes.

She reaches out and takes it, clutches its sharp edges in her hand, and feels something drain out of her, some hope that she could do this by herself.


5:

"With your brother?" he touches her cheek, her hair, her throat. "You're a terrible person, you know. Ah, I suppose I shouldn't be one to talk! But then it's that much easier for me to identify someone horrible -- do you understand?"

"Yes," she says. "Yes, I understand."