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Snap.
Crack.
‘There goes her hand bone.’
Qiqi thinks to herself.
“There goes her hand bone.”
Qiqi repeats to herself.
Her hand bone..?
What’d happen to it..?
Something.. Must’ve happened to it, no? Why else would she say that, right? It must’ve been something horrid, oh no.
Unfortunately, she wasn’t given the chance to dwell on it; no, she needed to run. Run run run run run, as far as her little legs can carry her, as fast as the wind will carry her. Why is she running? Why is the mitachurl chasing her? What had she been doing–
Oh me, oh my, it seems that Qiqi’s gotten into some trouble. Where’d the light go? Why is there only half of what she’s able to see? She remembers running and running and–
Oh, the mitachurl must’ve caught up with her. Her tiny legs could only run so far, and the gentle breeze could only give her the tiniest of lifts. The mitachurl must’ve hurt her head. It must’ve hurt her head.
And that proves to be true as her little hands reach up and feel a sticky liquid flowing from her head. It is not blood; no, she’s lived far too long to have blood running in her veins. Instead, it is a yellowish substance, and smells worse than the medicine mister Baizhu prepares, that she’s sure of.
With her head bashed in and one eye left to see, Qiqi reaches for her sword—or, well, whoever’s sword it is she has with her. It had to be hers, right? Whatever— and swings with the hand that is not on backwards. The exact reason behind it's twisted nature didn't even cross her mind as she ignores how heavy the sword is with just one hand. A sword is heavy enough as is with two hands, there'd be no point in dwelling on it's weight as she handles it with one. She doesn’t mind its trajectory, nor is she aiming for anything in particular. She finds aiming hard enough with two eyes, trying to do so with only one would just lead to another catastrophe.
All that swinging proved to be fruitful as a cold mist began surrounding the area in which she stands, enveloping the mitachurl and putting out its blazing axe. A few more rapid swings bring the monster down to its knees, and she finishes it off easily.
Things took another grim turn as she felt.. Cold. Not the good kind of cold; mind you, but the bad cold. The one she vividly remembers feeling at the early stages of her, well, being. The kind of cold that shakes her bones and rattles her skull and pounds into her head. Her already bashed in head.
Her head was still in pieces. Her head was still in pieces. However shall she get back to Mr Baizhu's? How would she even get there, pray tell, with her arm already shattered? When had it been shattered? Oh my, perhaps her body was in much, much, worse shape than she had imagined. She’d ask for a ride, but one of the only things she remembered was to never ask for help from passers-by, especially after things Mr Baizhu had called “rough situations”.
Her head’s bludgeoned in. That’s surely rough to a certain degree, no?
So Qiqi stands up tall and straight, or, well, as tall and straight as she could, before she sets her steps South. If the direction she’s facing is south, of course.
Probably not enough, not in Mr Baizhu's terms, at least. He'd wear the same smile as he always does and tell Qiqi that he'd seen worse. At this point, Qiqi doesn't know what to believe in anymore-- Mr Baizhu's very vague tales or her very own imaginary heart. Spoiler alert--She often opts for the former.
Then how'll she ever get back? Qiqi wonders. Bubu Pharmacy is placed pretty high up, and is brightly coloured simply for her sake; but she's not quite sure if she'd be able to find it at this very moment, even if it's right next to her, painted bright red. After what felt like days--very long ones--of pondering, Qiqi came to a decision. One of her brightest ones today, she thinks. She’d follow the sun, as she’d heard someone talk about back when she had followed Mr Baizhu along for what he called a bite—it was many bites, actually, in Qiqi’s own opinion—and overheard whom she’d assumed was a traveler, explain to his friend.
“The sun is a good compass, if you were to ever get lost.”
Qiqi had asked Mr Baizhu what a compass was right there and then, and had learnt that it was a device that acted as a guide, a show-the-way-er, in her own terms. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since, often finding herself imagining away of a guide, a seele, perhaps? Or perhaps they were similar to how torches lit the way, or lanterns and lamp posts showing her the exact path to take? It was the sheer will of wanting to see a compass that had kept the sun trick in her mind for so long.
Now, where was she?
Oh right, the sun.
The very sun that is currently shielded away by dark, heavy clouds, its arrival accompanied by the turret of thunder and lightning.
Only then did Mr Baizhu’s most, most, absolutely, extremely important warning come to mind.
Avoid the rain at all costs.
Qiqi’s sure her biological makeup is what prompted the warning, as even her guts are screaming at her to take cover, but as of now, her feet make no signs of wanting to make a move, as they stay rooted right where they are. For some reason, whatever reason, she just.. Didn’t feel like it. Running felt wrong, for once.
And so she stood there, feeling the first plip plops of rain on her face. They felt okay, good even, at first, before she was overcome with a sudden nauseating feeling.
It’s not nausea, no, she doesn’t have the guts for that, quite literally, as aforementioned by Mr Baizhu. Qiqi sure is doing a good job at remembering him today, isn’t she?
She then remembers–yet again, or rather, about time she did–about the gaping hole in her head. Qiqi didn’t need to be alive once more to know that a brain—regardless of its owner being dead or alive—is not supposed to be wet, at the very least.
And it surely is not supposed to be swimming in rainwater, is it?