Close | Closed
Content was an odd sort of feeling.
There hadn't been much in Stitch's life that he could feel content with. Home had always been a disaster but he hadn't realized just how much he had missed out on until he'd been pushed onto this God-forsaken ship and although the ship itself was almost unbearable, the people on board were more than enough to make up for it. People seemed to care about him here. People wanted to be his friends here. He still wasn't entirely sure on why the wanted to or how he should even react to it. He was used to being alone save for the times when Reuben or even Leroy would bug him for his attention. Alone is what he was used to.
He took his time, surveying the area before he'd set to work. The kitchen seemed to be a place around the ship where he frequented often. Not that it was intentional, it just had the most things to break. Ironically enough it had the most things he needed to make something should he want to. But he didn't feel like making anything like he'd done with Roxanne. Now was just a time for his itch to be scratched. For the sound of shattered glass and splintering wood. The chairs in the dining hall had been easy enough to break apart but the legs were strong enough to hold even as he threw them against the walls and cabinets and things on higher shelves he couldn't reach.
Before the kitchen he'd visited the bathrooms, smashing mirrors, drawing grafitti, clogging the pipes with toilet paper. After that it had been the dining hall, but after the mess he and Roxanne had made of it a few weeks ago there hadn't been much to smash. At least the last time they'd been in the kitchen they'd been caught long before any real damage could be done. It left him a lot more to work with. Thinking about it now they really should have come back sooner. He'd have shown her how to really trash a place.
Stitch had no idea how Roxanne put up with him. How any of them put up with him, really, but Roxanne was so....Roxanne. There were a ton of other, better, influences on this ship and she snatched the opportunity to follow his. He couldn't help but feel a little pleased with himself at that. He was also grateful for the way she'd managed to completely jump any of his walls and work her way into his inner circle. He didn't know he could make friends other than Lilo. Especially ones like Roxanne. Or Tia. Without Tia, who knows he would have laid there unconcious after Barrel took him down?
He was grateful for everyone who's managed to get to him really. Roxanne, Tia...... Clopin.
Everytime Stitch let his mind wander it always seemed to turn to Clopin. It always caused him to feel something in his chest he couldn't really peg or describe but it was good. It was different, feeling wanted. Being wanted. There was no telling how the two of them had gone from threats and violence to this but Stitch was....content. Happy. How things were were better than he could have thought they would be.
Another plate broke into two against the wall and clattered against the floor with the remains of all the other dishes he'd tossed against the wall. The room looked like it'd been hit by a hurricane (or this case a little monster). Everything that had been on the countertops, in the cabinets, in the pantry, were now strewn about the floor, some in giant heaps and it would probably take someone a lifetime to clean this up. Oh well, it wasn't his problem. As Stitch pushed himself off the countertop from where he'd perched, the door to the kitchen opened, a staff member staring at the disaster in front of her a moment before she directed her attention towards the only other person in the room. She started towards him but slipped on the tile that he'd previously smeared with butter and landed on her back. He snickered as he jumped over her and out into the hall.
Learning the ship hadn't been a tough thing for him but there were still some areas he hadn't explored. As he ran, turning in random directions and trying to get as far from the kitchen as possible, he realized that this part of the ship he'd found himself in he hadn't been to before. It was a random door he threw open and flung himself into, closing it behind him and resting his back against it. This would be a good place to catch his breath. No one should have followed him. Even if they did it wasn't like they could do anything to him.
As he rested, he couldn't help but begin to take a sense of his surroundings. The smell of chlorine was nausiating here, and as he moved his feet, he could feel cold water against his skin. He knew which room he'd run into instantly and he didn't want to open his eyes but he did. The glassy surface of the pool stared back at him almost menacingly. While other people would maybe disagree, water was the most viscious thing that Stitch could possibly come into contact with. More than punches, more than Leroy. He felt frozen against the door, as if he feared the water would suddenly escape from the pool and come after him.
"Stupid." He chided himself. There shouldn't be any reason for him to be afraid of something so trivial. He willed himself away from the door, feet dragging along the wet floor as he approached the pool. Every part of him was screaming to turn around. Go back out. Never enter that room again. The bottom of the pool looked a million miles down from where he stood. He swallowed hard, his heart ramming inside his chest the unfamiliar sense of fear creeping along his skin and he needed something to support him suddenly. His hand found the metal ladder leading out from the water but slipped off as he leaned and suddenly he was submerged in ice.
It was as if the world had decided to come to a complete stop. Nothing was moving, not even his heartbeat, and then suddenly he was sinking toward the bottom. He opened his mouth to scream but under the water it was more of a desperate shout. It was as he had felt nine years prior, his six year old self struggling and reaching for the surface as he'd sunk into the pool in their backyard. He'd only had that image of the clouds above him and Leroy's face watching him over the side of the pool, merely sinking to the bottom until he'd run out of air and woken up to his father pushing the water from his lungs after Reuben had alerted him and had jumped in after him.
He felt helpless until his flailing hands found the railing of the ladder and he clung to it, limbs scrambling to hoist himself up and out of the pool and onto the concrete around it. He was soaked, cold, but the fear was still pushing him to rise to his feet and dash out back into the hallway.
