Dark blurb
Sep. 28th, 2005 04:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ladybug_archiveLook at the icon. XD The screengrabs were taken by Donkeykongsong, and I've been pondering what to do with them. Then I came up with this. All hail the Von Schraiders! And the bikers . . . and the Ishtars . . . and the Kaibas. . . . And everyone else. X3
And this blurb is the counterpart to the blurb where Siegfried found Leonhard bleeding on the floor. ;__; Here, the opposite situation occurs. This blurb is much longer than the other one, though, and more detailed.
Leonhard pushed open the heavy door leading to the outer area of Siegfried's office, where his secretary had her desk and computer. The child swallowed hard as he looked around, remembering how he had argued with Siegfried only a moment before and then had left, running out through this area. He had gone to a different floor, hiding in a conference room until he had calmed down enough to think of returning.
He rubbed at the tears in his eyes. He hated arguing with his brother. It had only happened a handful of times, and each time Leonhard wished that it would be the last. Earlier in the day, Seto and Mokuba Kaiba had shown up and Seto had demanded to know if Siegfried had hacked into the infirmary computers and tampered with the results of several patients' tests, making it appear as though they had cancer when in fact they did not. Siegfried had been indignant, though he had kept his smooth, calm tone throughout their conversation. He had denied any involvement with such a plan, whereupon Seto had brought up the subject of the Grand Prix and what Siegfried had caused there, including using his own brother. Siegfried's retaliation had been to bring up what Seto had done to Mokuba during his own Death-T tournament---locking him in a darkened room with the safety measures on the holographic Duel Monsters turned off. Mokuba had been horrified at the mention of that dark time in the Kaibas' past, and Seto had been furious.
Leonhard had not thought it right for Siegfried to bring that up right in front of Mokuba. After the Kaibas had left, he had scolded Siegfried about it. Siegfried had conceded that perhaps he should have used some restraint, but he felt that Seto was in no position to enter the Schroider company building and to speak of what Siegfried had done to Leonhard, as if Seto had never made a mistake himself.
The boy sighed, heading over to the doors leading into Siegfried's office. Siegfried had apologized to him, but Leonhard had felt that he should apologize to Mokuba instead and he had left the office. "I love you, elder brother," he said quietly to the silence, "I really do. That's why I can't stand it when you do things like this. I know you're a good person, and you're trying hard. . . ." Usually Leonhard accepted his brother's ways in relative silence and moved on, so he was surprised that this had affected him so much. Perhaps it was because he knew how terrible Mokuba must have felt, having to hear such a dark secret dragged up again. It was the same way that he himself had felt when Seto had started talking about the Grand Prix and the events that had happened then.
He eased the door open, looking into the room and being surprised to find it almost in complete darkness. "Elder brother?" he called softly. The stillness made him uneasy, and he ventured in slowly, groping on the wall for the light switch. As he found it and as the room began to light up, he could see Siegfried slumped back in his chair, half-turned away from him. Leonhard blinked. He had fallen asleep? Well, it did not really surprise him---not with the long hours Siegfried kept---but something still seemed . . . off.
Slowly the child approached, his eyes widening in horror when he saw blood splattered on parts of the carpet. "Siegfried?" he whispered shakily, gripping his brother's shoulder. He received no response and quickly panicked, reaching to turn the chair towards him better.
He backed up when he saw. Feelings of revulsion and alarm coursed through his being and he suddenly felt as though he would be sick. Siegfried was dead. A knife had been plunged into his chest, and attached to it was a stiff piece of paper, stained with his blood. Trying to swallow his absolute horror, Leonhard leaned over to read it.
This man has sinned grievously
with his hatred and arrogance.
He can only atone for his mistakes
by his death.
Receive him into Hades!
Leonhard staggered backward, clapping a hand over his mouth. Immediately he turned and ran for the bathroom that was just off the office. He knew he would be sick now.
****
The child remained where he was for several moments, shuddering and shaking from the grotesque scene he had just been forced to view. His brother was dead. Someone, for some demented reason, had apparently decided to take justice into their own hands and to do what they felt needed to be done. But Leonhard knew that this could not have been right.
"If I'd stayed," he whispered aloud, seeming to be addressing the sink, "if I'd only stayed. . . ." But he knew in his heart that it would not have made a difference. Most likely he would have been killed too, or abducted. He splashed cold water on his face several times, but it did not do any good. He felt numb, and his stomach was starting to twist again as he thought about seeing Siegfried's lifeless body. How could that have been justice? Siegfried had not even done anything that warrented death! There were many others who deserved death more than Siegfried. He turned away from the sink.
Tears slipped endlessly from his eyes as he gripped the doorknob, not daring to turn it. And yet he knew that he would have to. He had to face the scene again, because there was the possibility---however slight---that Siegfried could still be alive. Leonhard had been so sickened by the sight of the knife and message that he had not even been able to investigate his brother's form. And yet he knew that his brother had looked very dead. The murder could have happened anywhere from five minutes ago to thirty minutes ago, shortly after Leonhard had left after the quarrel. As he thought about it, he realized that it had actually been dangerous for him to enter the bathroom. If the killing had happened as soon as five minutes before his arrival, then the murderer could have heard him coming and hid in there. Usually Leonhard was rational enough to think of such things, but under the circumstances he was understandably unable to think of everything that he normally would.
At last he forced himself to turn the knob and enter the office again. The bathroom door shut behind him loudly as he slowly made his way back to where Siegfried's body was. The tears continued to fall and only increased in number once Leonhard arrived back at the chair. He tried to ignore the knife as he gently lifted Siegfried's wrist and checked for a pulse. His hands shook as he felt the coolness of the man's flesh. "Oh elder brother . . . what happened to you?" Leonhard wailed in anguish, his tears splashing down on Siegfried's hand. "Who did this to you?" His finger pressed hard against the skin as he searched desperately for any trace of a pulse, but there was nothing that he could truly feel. He leaned back in sorrow, taking in the gore with heartbroken hazel eyes.
He knew that he could not bear to leave the knife where it was. And since Siegfried seemed to truly be dead, Leonhard saw no point in not trying to get it out. As long as he was gentle, he could not see how it would hurt. Carefully he grabbed a piece of blank computer paper and held it curled in his hand. With this he grasped the handle and very slowly eased the knife out of his brother's flesh. He desperately wished that there would be fingerprints on it that would help the police catch the murderer, but he doubted that there would be. The culprit had probably worn gloves.
"This can't be real," he choked out as he set the weapon aside on the desk---the paper still stuck through the blade. Then he turned to look back at Siegfried. His flesh looked so pale. . . . And why had he been in his chair? Had the person abruptly lunged and stabbed him before he could do a thing about it? Had it been someone that Siegfried had known and trusted to some extent? Maybe Siegfried had been standing when he had been attacked, but then had slumped backwards into his chair. At any rate . . . why had he not been able to get the knife out himself? Had the point of entry resulted in instantaneous death?
Gently Leonhard leaned over, hugging Siegfried around the neck and being careful to avoid hitting the wound. "I'm sorry, elder brother. . . . I know this wasn't my fault, but . . . I still feel guilty." He shut his eyes tightly, the tears spilling over again. "I . . . I never wanted this to happen. . . . I never wanted you to die!" He remained in that position for a moment longer before pulling back reluctantly. He knew that he needed to call the medics and let them know that Siegfried was dead, but he could not bring himself to. He was still struggling to accept it himself.
Abruptly the body jerked, as if released from some sort of pressure that the knife had been holding against it. Clapping a hand to his mouth, Siegfried leaned forward and coughed, shuddering as he slumped back again and stared up at the ceiling with glazed-over green eyes. Poor Leonhard, frightened half out of his mind by the sudden actions, stumbled back and slammed into the desk. He stared at Siegfried, not quite knowing what to think. Was he alive? Was this an insane dream? Was it the product of much wishful thinking?
"Elder brother?!" he finally cried at last, unsure of whether he dared to touch the form. Now the body was still again, but he could see that the eyes were open, still gazing blankly at the ceiling.
Siegfried tried to register the voice in his mind. He had indeed been dead for several moments, and during that time his spirit had unwillingly left his body and roamed the room. He still recalled it vaguely through the fog over his mind, and was highly disturbed by the experience. But now he was back, though he could not remember how that had happened, and he recognized the voice that had spoken. "Leonhard," he murmured at last, turning to look at him. The pain in his chest burned and he weakly reached to hold his hand over it. Blood oozed between his fingers.
Leonhard's heart and mind were racing. Siegfried was alive again, even though he definitely had been dead. So many questions whirled through his confused mind, but he pushed them back as he finally moved forward and took hold of Siegfried's free hand. "You're alive," he whispered in awe as more tears spilled---tears of happiness instead of sorrow. "Elder brother . . . you're alive!" He gripped the hand tightly, feeling its warmth returning, and looked up into the man's clouded green eyes.
For a brief moment, the blankness faded from Siegfried's eyes as he gave Leonhard a weak smile. Then he closed his eyes again wearily, shuddering as the pain became more pronounced.
Leonhard bit his lip. Everything had all happened so quickly. . . . And Siegfried was obviously still hurt, even though he miraculously had returned to life. He was not out of danger yet. Hurriedly Leonhard reached for the telephone, dialing Siegfried's private medics and telling them to hurry. After he hung up, he ran back into the bathroom and washed his hands before getting a first aid kit to try to treat Siegfried's injuries as best as he could.
Siegfried watched Leonhard blearily as the boy gently but firmly tried to stop the bleeding. Leonhard was talking to him all the time, trying to keep him awake and aware of things, but Siegfried only caught a word now and then. He felt dizzy from the blood loss and a headache had chosen to bother him. He could barely concentrate on anything that his brother was saying, but he did manage to hear him asking who had done this. He frowned as he realized he did not know.
Wow. That was longer than I thought. And it could end up being part of a fic. I like the way I wrote it, with all the detail.
It still fascinates me that I have such an obsession with death and that sort of thing. I remember as a kid I'd sometimes find stories involving death and I hated them because they made me sad, but something drew me to them anyway and I'd usually re-read them. My obsession with death obviously ties in with my love of hurt/comfort, as they often go hand in hand. It's hard to explain why that sort of thing intrigues me, but it does. I don't really think I'm that macabre of a person, though. My interest has its limits. For instance, I know I would never want to live in view of a cemetery. That would highly disturb me. XD; We passed a house for sale the other day that was kitty-cornered from the town cemetery, and I was thinking then about how unsettling it would be to live there.
And this blurb is the counterpart to the blurb where Siegfried found Leonhard bleeding on the floor. ;__; Here, the opposite situation occurs. This blurb is much longer than the other one, though, and more detailed.
Leonhard pushed open the heavy door leading to the outer area of Siegfried's office, where his secretary had her desk and computer. The child swallowed hard as he looked around, remembering how he had argued with Siegfried only a moment before and then had left, running out through this area. He had gone to a different floor, hiding in a conference room until he had calmed down enough to think of returning.
He rubbed at the tears in his eyes. He hated arguing with his brother. It had only happened a handful of times, and each time Leonhard wished that it would be the last. Earlier in the day, Seto and Mokuba Kaiba had shown up and Seto had demanded to know if Siegfried had hacked into the infirmary computers and tampered with the results of several patients' tests, making it appear as though they had cancer when in fact they did not. Siegfried had been indignant, though he had kept his smooth, calm tone throughout their conversation. He had denied any involvement with such a plan, whereupon Seto had brought up the subject of the Grand Prix and what Siegfried had caused there, including using his own brother. Siegfried's retaliation had been to bring up what Seto had done to Mokuba during his own Death-T tournament---locking him in a darkened room with the safety measures on the holographic Duel Monsters turned off. Mokuba had been horrified at the mention of that dark time in the Kaibas' past, and Seto had been furious.
Leonhard had not thought it right for Siegfried to bring that up right in front of Mokuba. After the Kaibas had left, he had scolded Siegfried about it. Siegfried had conceded that perhaps he should have used some restraint, but he felt that Seto was in no position to enter the Schroider company building and to speak of what Siegfried had done to Leonhard, as if Seto had never made a mistake himself.
The boy sighed, heading over to the doors leading into Siegfried's office. Siegfried had apologized to him, but Leonhard had felt that he should apologize to Mokuba instead and he had left the office. "I love you, elder brother," he said quietly to the silence, "I really do. That's why I can't stand it when you do things like this. I know you're a good person, and you're trying hard. . . ." Usually Leonhard accepted his brother's ways in relative silence and moved on, so he was surprised that this had affected him so much. Perhaps it was because he knew how terrible Mokuba must have felt, having to hear such a dark secret dragged up again. It was the same way that he himself had felt when Seto had started talking about the Grand Prix and the events that had happened then.
He eased the door open, looking into the room and being surprised to find it almost in complete darkness. "Elder brother?" he called softly. The stillness made him uneasy, and he ventured in slowly, groping on the wall for the light switch. As he found it and as the room began to light up, he could see Siegfried slumped back in his chair, half-turned away from him. Leonhard blinked. He had fallen asleep? Well, it did not really surprise him---not with the long hours Siegfried kept---but something still seemed . . . off.
Slowly the child approached, his eyes widening in horror when he saw blood splattered on parts of the carpet. "Siegfried?" he whispered shakily, gripping his brother's shoulder. He received no response and quickly panicked, reaching to turn the chair towards him better.
He backed up when he saw. Feelings of revulsion and alarm coursed through his being and he suddenly felt as though he would be sick. Siegfried was dead. A knife had been plunged into his chest, and attached to it was a stiff piece of paper, stained with his blood. Trying to swallow his absolute horror, Leonhard leaned over to read it.
This man has sinned grievously
with his hatred and arrogance.
He can only atone for his mistakes
by his death.
Receive him into Hades!
Leonhard staggered backward, clapping a hand over his mouth. Immediately he turned and ran for the bathroom that was just off the office. He knew he would be sick now.
****
The child remained where he was for several moments, shuddering and shaking from the grotesque scene he had just been forced to view. His brother was dead. Someone, for some demented reason, had apparently decided to take justice into their own hands and to do what they felt needed to be done. But Leonhard knew that this could not have been right.
"If I'd stayed," he whispered aloud, seeming to be addressing the sink, "if I'd only stayed. . . ." But he knew in his heart that it would not have made a difference. Most likely he would have been killed too, or abducted. He splashed cold water on his face several times, but it did not do any good. He felt numb, and his stomach was starting to twist again as he thought about seeing Siegfried's lifeless body. How could that have been justice? Siegfried had not even done anything that warrented death! There were many others who deserved death more than Siegfried. He turned away from the sink.
Tears slipped endlessly from his eyes as he gripped the doorknob, not daring to turn it. And yet he knew that he would have to. He had to face the scene again, because there was the possibility---however slight---that Siegfried could still be alive. Leonhard had been so sickened by the sight of the knife and message that he had not even been able to investigate his brother's form. And yet he knew that his brother had looked very dead. The murder could have happened anywhere from five minutes ago to thirty minutes ago, shortly after Leonhard had left after the quarrel. As he thought about it, he realized that it had actually been dangerous for him to enter the bathroom. If the killing had happened as soon as five minutes before his arrival, then the murderer could have heard him coming and hid in there. Usually Leonhard was rational enough to think of such things, but under the circumstances he was understandably unable to think of everything that he normally would.
At last he forced himself to turn the knob and enter the office again. The bathroom door shut behind him loudly as he slowly made his way back to where Siegfried's body was. The tears continued to fall and only increased in number once Leonhard arrived back at the chair. He tried to ignore the knife as he gently lifted Siegfried's wrist and checked for a pulse. His hands shook as he felt the coolness of the man's flesh. "Oh elder brother . . . what happened to you?" Leonhard wailed in anguish, his tears splashing down on Siegfried's hand. "Who did this to you?" His finger pressed hard against the skin as he searched desperately for any trace of a pulse, but there was nothing that he could truly feel. He leaned back in sorrow, taking in the gore with heartbroken hazel eyes.
He knew that he could not bear to leave the knife where it was. And since Siegfried seemed to truly be dead, Leonhard saw no point in not trying to get it out. As long as he was gentle, he could not see how it would hurt. Carefully he grabbed a piece of blank computer paper and held it curled in his hand. With this he grasped the handle and very slowly eased the knife out of his brother's flesh. He desperately wished that there would be fingerprints on it that would help the police catch the murderer, but he doubted that there would be. The culprit had probably worn gloves.
"This can't be real," he choked out as he set the weapon aside on the desk---the paper still stuck through the blade. Then he turned to look back at Siegfried. His flesh looked so pale. . . . And why had he been in his chair? Had the person abruptly lunged and stabbed him before he could do a thing about it? Had it been someone that Siegfried had known and trusted to some extent? Maybe Siegfried had been standing when he had been attacked, but then had slumped backwards into his chair. At any rate . . . why had he not been able to get the knife out himself? Had the point of entry resulted in instantaneous death?
Gently Leonhard leaned over, hugging Siegfried around the neck and being careful to avoid hitting the wound. "I'm sorry, elder brother. . . . I know this wasn't my fault, but . . . I still feel guilty." He shut his eyes tightly, the tears spilling over again. "I . . . I never wanted this to happen. . . . I never wanted you to die!" He remained in that position for a moment longer before pulling back reluctantly. He knew that he needed to call the medics and let them know that Siegfried was dead, but he could not bring himself to. He was still struggling to accept it himself.
Abruptly the body jerked, as if released from some sort of pressure that the knife had been holding against it. Clapping a hand to his mouth, Siegfried leaned forward and coughed, shuddering as he slumped back again and stared up at the ceiling with glazed-over green eyes. Poor Leonhard, frightened half out of his mind by the sudden actions, stumbled back and slammed into the desk. He stared at Siegfried, not quite knowing what to think. Was he alive? Was this an insane dream? Was it the product of much wishful thinking?
"Elder brother?!" he finally cried at last, unsure of whether he dared to touch the form. Now the body was still again, but he could see that the eyes were open, still gazing blankly at the ceiling.
Siegfried tried to register the voice in his mind. He had indeed been dead for several moments, and during that time his spirit had unwillingly left his body and roamed the room. He still recalled it vaguely through the fog over his mind, and was highly disturbed by the experience. But now he was back, though he could not remember how that had happened, and he recognized the voice that had spoken. "Leonhard," he murmured at last, turning to look at him. The pain in his chest burned and he weakly reached to hold his hand over it. Blood oozed between his fingers.
Leonhard's heart and mind were racing. Siegfried was alive again, even though he definitely had been dead. So many questions whirled through his confused mind, but he pushed them back as he finally moved forward and took hold of Siegfried's free hand. "You're alive," he whispered in awe as more tears spilled---tears of happiness instead of sorrow. "Elder brother . . . you're alive!" He gripped the hand tightly, feeling its warmth returning, and looked up into the man's clouded green eyes.
For a brief moment, the blankness faded from Siegfried's eyes as he gave Leonhard a weak smile. Then he closed his eyes again wearily, shuddering as the pain became more pronounced.
Leonhard bit his lip. Everything had all happened so quickly. . . . And Siegfried was obviously still hurt, even though he miraculously had returned to life. He was not out of danger yet. Hurriedly Leonhard reached for the telephone, dialing Siegfried's private medics and telling them to hurry. After he hung up, he ran back into the bathroom and washed his hands before getting a first aid kit to try to treat Siegfried's injuries as best as he could.
Siegfried watched Leonhard blearily as the boy gently but firmly tried to stop the bleeding. Leonhard was talking to him all the time, trying to keep him awake and aware of things, but Siegfried only caught a word now and then. He felt dizzy from the blood loss and a headache had chosen to bother him. He could barely concentrate on anything that his brother was saying, but he did manage to hear him asking who had done this. He frowned as he realized he did not know.
Wow. That was longer than I thought. And it could end up being part of a fic. I like the way I wrote it, with all the detail.
It still fascinates me that I have such an obsession with death and that sort of thing. I remember as a kid I'd sometimes find stories involving death and I hated them because they made me sad, but something drew me to them anyway and I'd usually re-read them. My obsession with death obviously ties in with my love of hurt/comfort, as they often go hand in hand. It's hard to explain why that sort of thing intrigues me, but it does. I don't really think I'm that macabre of a person, though. My interest has its limits. For instance, I know I would never want to live in view of a cemetery. That would highly disturb me. XD; We passed a house for sale the other day that was kitty-cornered from the town cemetery, and I was thinking then about how unsettling it would be to live there.
