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31_days2011-06-18 12:07 am
seta-suzume.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2011-06-18 12:07 am
[June 18] [Crossover: Durarara!! x Fullmetal Alchemist] Niceties After the Apocalypse
Title: Niceties After the Apocalypse
Day/Theme: June 18, 2011 "Try to praise the mutilated world"
Series: Crossover - Durarara!! x Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Shizuo & Kimblee
Rating: PG-13, angst, death, post-apocalyptic Tokyo scenario...
Author's comments: Continued from Lone Wolves. This is just gets more and more depressing... >_> Why do I write this stuff?
In the days that followed, the devastation of Tokyo was not something Shizuo wanted to discuss. His usually tireless body ached from the labor he had pushed it through. His sole companion in this midnight of the soul had less strength than him, but was clever enough to overcome any difficulties that arose. Where Shizuo threw himself blindly at piles of rubble, groping about for a hand stretched toward the sky or a tiny voice calling for help (but the hands he found were cold and the voices silenced), the man in white, Solf J. Kimblee, tiptoed behind, lashing curtains into pulleys, turning tables into levers.
He blasted holes in the earth and Shizuo did not care enough to ask how as they buried Tom, Kasuka, others he had known and still others he had not. There were too many to handle them all. "I lost my own younger brother when I was close to your age," Kimblee said. From time to time, something appeared to amuse him. Shizuo saw him become hungry and tired and dirty, but never sad. He was not Japanese, but he spoke the language adroitly and Shizuo did not inquire as to his origins. In the too-deep darkness of the starless night, Kimblee hummed to himself and Shizuo wondered if maybe there was a hell, this was it, and Kimblee, all garbed in smiles and white, was his own personal devil sent to torment him. ...But did your demons rubs your aching shoulders, fry you eggs over a campfire, and find you a damaged vending machine full of cigarettes?
Kimblee tinkered with a radio, but there were no broadcasts. As far as Shizuo could tell, all of Japan had shared the same fate. For all he knew, he (along with Kimblee?) was the last man on earth.
Of those he never found, he could not believe he could live and Celty not survive. Izaya too he couldn't help but picture somewhere out there. Others among the lost remained unknowns.
Kimblee was resourceful. Together they cooked and scavenged and squatted in empty apartments. Cigarettes were Shizuo's extravagance. Coffee was Kimblee's. They shaved side by side, gazing into a cracked mirror in a train station restroom. "You look funny with a beard," Shizuo ventured.
"Either way, you're handsome," Kimblee answered, not missing a beat.
Kimblee was like Izaya that way- good at making him feel awkward. With all the world turned upside down, he appreciated that touch of familiarity. Talking to Kimblee a little each day...well, maybe it was keeping him human. He doubted he was doing more for Kimblee than amusing him. One couldn't die of boredom.
Shizuo's dark roots started showing sooner than Kimblee's gray. "I wasn't gray before the disaster," Kimblee objected petulantly, "This is a completely new development." He dyed over the gray using supplies from a drugstore and a bucket of water taken from a decorative pond.
Shizuo, not half as vain, turned down his offer to help with a bleach job. "I'll go natural. Who's there to impress?"
"Perhaps me?" Kimblee suggested in a small voice that was difficult to pinpoint as joking or not. Was Kimblee somewhat attracted to him? It was a bizarre thought, but still Shizuo wondered.
It was on the day of the turned down dye job that Kimblee returned to their current camping site accompanied. The tiny girl in his arms- Shizuo did not know enough about small children to guess her age- was hungry and squalling. Her brown hair was pulled into two tiny braids. It was gratifying to learn there was someone else alive, but that did not temper his concerns that he would harm her as he held her. Gingerly, Shizuo accepted the fussing burden as Kimblee bustled off to try and find some decent means of feeding her.
"Your daughter," Kimblee took to calling her as quickly as he returned.
Shizuo shook his head and transferred her back to Kimblee's arms for bottle-feeding. He handled her easily, with the same confidence he took to every task Shizuo had watched him approach. Kimblee fed her and burped her and gently stroked her hair. Whether anything about her other than her sheer desire to live, which he remarked upon, touched Kimblee it was impossible to tell.
"You should name her," he suggested, firm in tone, their second night as a trio, awakened by her cries.
"I can't," Shizuo turned him down.
But Kimblee never seemed easily deterred by any of his statements. "You can. You should," he insisted. When she quieted and slept, he laid her on her back on the futon between them.
[to be concluded here on June 22nd. it will get worse before it gets better. and it doesn't get much better.]
Day/Theme: June 18, 2011 "Try to praise the mutilated world"
Series: Crossover - Durarara!! x Fullmetal Alchemist
Character/Pairing: Shizuo & Kimblee
Rating: PG-13, angst, death, post-apocalyptic Tokyo scenario...
Author's comments: Continued from Lone Wolves. This is just gets more and more depressing... >_> Why do I write this stuff?
In the days that followed, the devastation of Tokyo was not something Shizuo wanted to discuss. His usually tireless body ached from the labor he had pushed it through. His sole companion in this midnight of the soul had less strength than him, but was clever enough to overcome any difficulties that arose. Where Shizuo threw himself blindly at piles of rubble, groping about for a hand stretched toward the sky or a tiny voice calling for help (but the hands he found were cold and the voices silenced), the man in white, Solf J. Kimblee, tiptoed behind, lashing curtains into pulleys, turning tables into levers.
He blasted holes in the earth and Shizuo did not care enough to ask how as they buried Tom, Kasuka, others he had known and still others he had not. There were too many to handle them all. "I lost my own younger brother when I was close to your age," Kimblee said. From time to time, something appeared to amuse him. Shizuo saw him become hungry and tired and dirty, but never sad. He was not Japanese, but he spoke the language adroitly and Shizuo did not inquire as to his origins. In the too-deep darkness of the starless night, Kimblee hummed to himself and Shizuo wondered if maybe there was a hell, this was it, and Kimblee, all garbed in smiles and white, was his own personal devil sent to torment him. ...But did your demons rubs your aching shoulders, fry you eggs over a campfire, and find you a damaged vending machine full of cigarettes?
Kimblee tinkered with a radio, but there were no broadcasts. As far as Shizuo could tell, all of Japan had shared the same fate. For all he knew, he (along with Kimblee?) was the last man on earth.
Of those he never found, he could not believe he could live and Celty not survive. Izaya too he couldn't help but picture somewhere out there. Others among the lost remained unknowns.
Kimblee was resourceful. Together they cooked and scavenged and squatted in empty apartments. Cigarettes were Shizuo's extravagance. Coffee was Kimblee's. They shaved side by side, gazing into a cracked mirror in a train station restroom. "You look funny with a beard," Shizuo ventured.
"Either way, you're handsome," Kimblee answered, not missing a beat.
Kimblee was like Izaya that way- good at making him feel awkward. With all the world turned upside down, he appreciated that touch of familiarity. Talking to Kimblee a little each day...well, maybe it was keeping him human. He doubted he was doing more for Kimblee than amusing him. One couldn't die of boredom.
Shizuo's dark roots started showing sooner than Kimblee's gray. "I wasn't gray before the disaster," Kimblee objected petulantly, "This is a completely new development." He dyed over the gray using supplies from a drugstore and a bucket of water taken from a decorative pond.
Shizuo, not half as vain, turned down his offer to help with a bleach job. "I'll go natural. Who's there to impress?"
"Perhaps me?" Kimblee suggested in a small voice that was difficult to pinpoint as joking or not. Was Kimblee somewhat attracted to him? It was a bizarre thought, but still Shizuo wondered.
It was on the day of the turned down dye job that Kimblee returned to their current camping site accompanied. The tiny girl in his arms- Shizuo did not know enough about small children to guess her age- was hungry and squalling. Her brown hair was pulled into two tiny braids. It was gratifying to learn there was someone else alive, but that did not temper his concerns that he would harm her as he held her. Gingerly, Shizuo accepted the fussing burden as Kimblee bustled off to try and find some decent means of feeding her.
"Your daughter," Kimblee took to calling her as quickly as he returned.
Shizuo shook his head and transferred her back to Kimblee's arms for bottle-feeding. He handled her easily, with the same confidence he took to every task Shizuo had watched him approach. Kimblee fed her and burped her and gently stroked her hair. Whether anything about her other than her sheer desire to live, which he remarked upon, touched Kimblee it was impossible to tell.
"You should name her," he suggested, firm in tone, their second night as a trio, awakened by her cries.
"I can't," Shizuo turned him down.
But Kimblee never seemed easily deterred by any of his statements. "You can. You should," he insisted. When she quieted and slept, he laid her on her back on the futon between them.
[to be concluded here on June 22nd. it will get worse before it gets better. and it doesn't get much better.]