REPO! THE GENETIC OPERA: Emancipation
Mar. 28th, 2009 05:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
find_rightbrainTitle: Emancipation
Characters/Pairing: Shilo
Word Count: 357
Rating: PG
Summary: Now that she could go anywhere, and do anything...
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
trollopfop for the alphabet drabble meme. This was a fic I really wanted to write anyway, so that worked out well.
Disclaimer: I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera or any related characters. I am not making any money from this.
The house had always been quiet, somewhere between prison and funeral home, and somehow that made it worse that when Shilo got home, nothing had changed.
She let herself in and crept up the stairs out of habit, footfalls all but silent even when there was no one to hear her. The glass on the floor in the hall crunched under her boots, and static hissed at her where there should have been portraits. Not so different. Different enough that she couldn't stop to think about it, or she felt like she wouldn't be able to start moving again.
At the end of the hall, she didn't turn to go into her room. She didn't have to, now. No one to lock her away, no one to tell her she had to stay safe, no one... She turned the other way, nudged open a door without a lock and a peephole to it.
She'd only ever been in her father's room when she slipped out of her own room, when she went in there to steal a book, a pair of scissors, a razor. It was neat, simple, austere, the walls unadorned - not even a portrait of her mother, which she'd always found a little surprising.
For a moment, Shilo stood there in the doorway, staring at the neatly-made bed. If she just left it, closed the door and walked away, it would stay that way, collecting dust, waiting for him when he wasn't coming back.
She couldn't stay here in the doorway. Inertia would keep her here, and when she could go anywhere now, do anything she wanted...
She didn't intend to move forward, but she found herself doing so anyway, leaving the door open behind her, falling into the bed that smelled like him and curling in on herself. She was rumpling the sheets. Her hands and arms were still covered in blood, and it was flaking off on the bed in little rust-colored flakes now as she wrapped her arms around herself, flexed her fingers. She'd have cared, but she didn't see much point to it when Dad wasn't around to care either.
Characters/Pairing: Shilo
Word Count: 357
Rating: PG
Summary: Now that she could go anywhere, and do anything...
Notes: Written for
trollopfop for the alphabet drabble meme. This was a fic I really wanted to write anyway, so that worked out well.Disclaimer: I do not own Repo! The Genetic Opera or any related characters. I am not making any money from this.
The house had always been quiet, somewhere between prison and funeral home, and somehow that made it worse that when Shilo got home, nothing had changed.
She let herself in and crept up the stairs out of habit, footfalls all but silent even when there was no one to hear her. The glass on the floor in the hall crunched under her boots, and static hissed at her where there should have been portraits. Not so different. Different enough that she couldn't stop to think about it, or she felt like she wouldn't be able to start moving again.
At the end of the hall, she didn't turn to go into her room. She didn't have to, now. No one to lock her away, no one to tell her she had to stay safe, no one... She turned the other way, nudged open a door without a lock and a peephole to it.
She'd only ever been in her father's room when she slipped out of her own room, when she went in there to steal a book, a pair of scissors, a razor. It was neat, simple, austere, the walls unadorned - not even a portrait of her mother, which she'd always found a little surprising.
For a moment, Shilo stood there in the doorway, staring at the neatly-made bed. If she just left it, closed the door and walked away, it would stay that way, collecting dust, waiting for him when he wasn't coming back.
She couldn't stay here in the doorway. Inertia would keep her here, and when she could go anywhere now, do anything she wanted...
She didn't intend to move forward, but she found herself doing so anyway, leaving the door open behind her, falling into the bed that smelled like him and curling in on herself. She was rumpling the sheets. Her hands and arms were still covered in blood, and it was flaking off on the bed in little rust-colored flakes now as she wrapped her arms around herself, flexed her fingers. She'd have cared, but she didn't see much point to it when Dad wasn't around to care either.