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31_days2009-11-18 12:42 am
smakn.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2009-11-18 12:42 am
November 17 (D.Grayman) Answers
Title: Answers
Day/Theme: November 17 // before I doubt my memories, my memories doubt me
Series: D.Grayman
Character/Pairing: Hints of Lavi/Lenalee, Kanda/Lenalee, and there would-have been Allen/Lenalee.
A/N: This story isn't complete, but I'm nodding away while sitting here, so there's no possible way I'm finish this right now. Hope you enjoy what ever I did put.
Summary: She couldn't tell if it was a dream or not, if those stars that were her blanket stung her heart or her flesh.
Day/Theme: November 17 // before I doubt my memories, my memories doubt me
Series: D.Grayman
Character/Pairing: Hints of Lavi/Lenalee, Kanda/Lenalee, and there would-have been Allen/Lenalee.
A/N: This story isn't complete, but I'm nodding away while sitting here, so there's no possible way I'm finish this right now. Hope you enjoy what ever I did put.
Summary: She couldn't tell if it was a dream or not, if those stars that were her blanket stung her heart or her flesh.
...
...
...
...
"Who are you?"
Lavi stares at the speaker, unsure of whether to reply or not. Is there even a need, considering who's asking?
(Does he really want to know, remember who it is?)
"Who are you?" Insistance this time, an urgent need.
"I'm..." His voice sounds dry and parched, like the papers Bookman likes to write on. He swallows, chokes on the sand, and continues. "I'm Lavi."
"..." The speaker stares steadily at him, two green eyes meeting, a shock of fire passing for hair. Even this incarnation had the eyepatch, Lavi thinks before he looks down to the ground.
Lake. A thousand coffins lie around him, a small portion of them closed. The rest swing open, inviting him in (come, sleep, rest, never go back).
Inviting the future verisons to their depths.
Choppy sentences, choppier words flood his mind. He chooses the least coarse one. "What?"
-x-
Kanada is her first memory. Here, at least, and the only one she really counts.
(The other ones refuse to fade to the background, their straps melding in her skin, their training forcing her limits),
She first sees a blurr of silver and black, midnight shot through flesh and bone, and it is that vision that kept her calm for three days.
"His name is Kanda," a nurse tells her when he strides pass her door. "He's an excorist, like you."
Something changes after that. Perhaps they realized she is finally interested in something, perhps they see a way to gain control over hr. Either way, he starts to stop by every now and then. Mandatory check-ups forcing him past the threshold of her door, he gives her a cool glance before strips off his shirt and waits for the ordeal to be over with.
She wishes she had the will to say something, but there is a fear that gnaws her at night and that stops her more than her broken cords do.
They aren't friends, not even aquitances really. She keeps track of his swishing coats and ill-used voice and he gives a silent nod if he found her awake in the room.
It isn't much but for a girl prone to be suicidal, it is the world in a handbasket.
-x-
Allen dashes to and fro, to and fro, and eventually calms down long enough to sit down. His fingers drum on the bed and his feet tap out a tune he doesn't know.
(But he does.)
With a sigh, he falls back into the plush pillows and waits for the next trial to begin. So far, he isn't sure of how he's doing. Sometimes, he has to pause and think about hat he does.
The memories are coming faster and faster, a jet train blurring past. Not all of the windows are lit, not all of them are understandable.
He doesn't even recongize them most of the time.
Allen sometimes sees a piano, phantom hands drifitng down the keys. At others, he is teasing someone, talking to someone, confiding with someone. They are all strangers, all people he should not know.
All people that call him theirs an them his.
Allen walks over to the piano in the corner and for the first time ever, plays something.
-x-
Lenalee's second memory is Lavi, a boy who shot past the stars. His hammer swang him from place to place and he would always as her to go wtih him.
She couldn't, the table her only bed and the room her only home. They wouldn't allow it and she would not be capable of escaping.
Instead, he tells her stories about places he's been, people he's seen. It's a new world every day and when Kanada's not there, he slips in for a small break.
When she finds out that her innocence can make her fly, she dreams of flying beside, beyond the boy of fire and seeing those places herself.
...
...
...
...
......
...
...
"Who are you?"
Lavi stares at the speaker, unsure of whether to reply or not. Is there even a need, considering who's asking?
(Does he really want to know, remember who it is?)
"Who are you?" Insistance this time, an urgent need.
"I'm..." His voice sounds dry and parched, like the papers Bookman likes to write on. He swallows, chokes on the sand, and continues. "I'm Lavi."
"..." The speaker stares steadily at him, two green eyes meeting, a shock of fire passing for hair. Even this incarnation had the eyepatch, Lavi thinks before he looks down to the ground.
Lake. A thousand coffins lie around him, a small portion of them closed. The rest swing open, inviting him in (come, sleep, rest, never go back).
Inviting the future verisons to their depths.
Choppy sentences, choppier words flood his mind. He chooses the least coarse one. "What?"
-x-
Kanada is her first memory. Here, at least, and the only one she really counts.
(The other ones refuse to fade to the background, their straps melding in her skin, their training forcing her limits),
She first sees a blurr of silver and black, midnight shot through flesh and bone, and it is that vision that kept her calm for three days.
"His name is Kanda," a nurse tells her when he strides pass her door. "He's an excorist, like you."
Something changes after that. Perhaps they realized she is finally interested in something, perhps they see a way to gain control over hr. Either way, he starts to stop by every now and then. Mandatory check-ups forcing him past the threshold of her door, he gives her a cool glance before strips off his shirt and waits for the ordeal to be over with.
She wishes she had the will to say something, but there is a fear that gnaws her at night and that stops her more than her broken cords do.
They aren't friends, not even aquitances really. She keeps track of his swishing coats and ill-used voice and he gives a silent nod if he found her awake in the room.
It isn't much but for a girl prone to be suicidal, it is the world in a handbasket.
-x-
Allen dashes to and fro, to and fro, and eventually calms down long enough to sit down. His fingers drum on the bed and his feet tap out a tune he doesn't know.
(But he does.)
With a sigh, he falls back into the plush pillows and waits for the next trial to begin. So far, he isn't sure of how he's doing. Sometimes, he has to pause and think about hat he does.
The memories are coming faster and faster, a jet train blurring past. Not all of the windows are lit, not all of them are understandable.
He doesn't even recongize them most of the time.
Allen sometimes sees a piano, phantom hands drifitng down the keys. At others, he is teasing someone, talking to someone, confiding with someone. They are all strangers, all people he should not know.
All people that call him theirs an them his.
Allen walks over to the piano in the corner and for the first time ever, plays something.
-x-
Lenalee's second memory is Lavi, a boy who shot past the stars. His hammer swang him from place to place and he would always as her to go wtih him.
She couldn't, the table her only bed and the room her only home. They wouldn't allow it and she would not be capable of escaping.
Instead, he tells her stories about places he's been, people he's seen. It's a new world every day and when Kanada's not there, he slips in for a small break.
When she finds out that her innocence can make her fly, she dreams of flying beside, beyond the boy of fire and seeing those places herself.
...
...
...
...