[March 4th] [D.Gray-Man] The Recounting of an Interesting Incident or Two
Title: The Recounting of an Interesting Incident or Two
Day/Theme: March 4th - This scar I carry proudly.
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character/Pairing: Allen Walker, Cross Marian
Rating: PG
Allen never thought to hide his scar. It was a part of who he was, who he had been. It was proof of his sin, his curse marked onto him by the father he'd made into an Akuma. He'd told himself from that moment on that he would never hide away that mark. It was his burden, his reminder, his strength. It was one of the last things Mana had given him, curse or no. He could never whole-heartedly think of covering it.
His master, however, was making him entertain the thought a bit more when, yet again, Allen found himself face-to-face with loan sharks after a long day at work. With his noticeably white hair hidden by the rag he wore on his head and his left arm and hand covered by sleeve and glove, it was his scarred eye that gave Allen away this time.
He almost felt like crying when he saw the looks on their faces. More in pure and unadulterated frustration and fury at his master than helplessness. He was going to kill the man. As soon as he got back. After he got himself out of this mess, with all the money in tact. This was their food for the next week, damn it!
It was only natural then that Allen, cornered and pressed against the wall of a building in a side alley, cried out in a high falsetto, "No! Someone help! Thieves! Molesters!"
The loan sharks froze, looking all at once confused and on guard.
They took a moment to deliberate while Allen slowly inched away from them, back still to the wall.
"I thought he said it was a boy?"
"Well, it looks like a boy--"
"Shit, I knew we should have--oi!" Allen froze for just a moment before springing into action, escaping the alley. "It's getting away!"
His gender now in question, Allen ran full-speed into the busy pedestrian walkway and all the way to where his master and he were staying for the time being. After all, the last time he'd pulled that trick, the men had thought it best to "check"--and Allen really did not want to have to explain to the authorities again why and how a slight fourteen-year-old boy with an "odd" hand like him could take out two fully-grown men.
It was because of his seemingly deformed hand that he was able to escape those past two times, of course.
And it was those two times that almost landed him into an asylum.
Luckily, he was able to reach the door of the inn with little incident--until Allen was greeted by the sight of the proprietor standing in front of it with a shotgun in hand, appearing grim and quite serious. And taking great care to study Allen's face.
He stammered, out of breath and now realizing the situation he was in, "M-Master didn't..."
The gun aimed at his face said otherwise.
Allen quickly dropped to the ground, covering his head and shouting, following the old routine of pleading mercy, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for my master's behavior! I have money if he owes--!"
"Tell him he owes for my daughter!" the man shouted back, cocking the gun.
Though he wasn't surprised to hear something of this nature, Allen still had time to wonder when it was exactly that his master had found the time to do anything of the sort before he was sent running for his life for the second time that night. This time with bullets nipping at his heels. Still, since this was becoming more common than he would like, the boy was able to still loudly curse his master's name and wish to God that he did not have such recognizable features.
It took another two weeks and a great sum of money to catch up with Cross Marian, who'd somehow literally cheated the pants off an American, charmed a French woman out of her husband's life-savings, and accused an Italian man of a crime he didn't commit--a new one for the growing list of things Cross's apprentice was responsible for, Allen noted when he'd been tossed out of the moving wagon, landing face-first into the camp of a traveling band of gypsies who'd yet to have any knowledge of his master, thankfully. Still, he arrived at the bar, opening the door and tiredly falling against the nearest table in pure and utter exhaustion.
So hungry, was the only thought left to him as he finally let the tears flow freely in relief and remembered pain and hardship.
Then, Allen heard the familiar voice accompanied by giggling sopranos and just... utterly... snapped.
The table went flying, flipping over seemingly of its own accord just before the patrons of the small bar in the Mediterranean were treated to a bit of a show.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"Huh? Oh, it's you. Go get me another beer, idiot apprentice--"
"With what money?! Do you know how much I've had to--"
"Allen..."
"Eh?"
"You lost me my money..."
"N-no, wait. M-Master, I can--NO, WAIT, DON'T! MASTER!"
When recounting this unique tale, people will often describe just how pale the boy's face became at the tone of his master's voice. So pale that the only color left to him was the odd scar on the left side over his face, crossing over his eye. Most of the patrons, however, are kind enough to leave out the horrid details of the boy's punishment.
Something about a sword and a jabberwock is all they would mutter.
-end-
... I have no idea. XDDD
Day/Theme: March 4th - This scar I carry proudly.
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character/Pairing: Allen Walker, Cross Marian
Rating: PG
Allen never thought to hide his scar. It was a part of who he was, who he had been. It was proof of his sin, his curse marked onto him by the father he'd made into an Akuma. He'd told himself from that moment on that he would never hide away that mark. It was his burden, his reminder, his strength. It was one of the last things Mana had given him, curse or no. He could never whole-heartedly think of covering it.
His master, however, was making him entertain the thought a bit more when, yet again, Allen found himself face-to-face with loan sharks after a long day at work. With his noticeably white hair hidden by the rag he wore on his head and his left arm and hand covered by sleeve and glove, it was his scarred eye that gave Allen away this time.
He almost felt like crying when he saw the looks on their faces. More in pure and unadulterated frustration and fury at his master than helplessness. He was going to kill the man. As soon as he got back. After he got himself out of this mess, with all the money in tact. This was their food for the next week, damn it!
It was only natural then that Allen, cornered and pressed against the wall of a building in a side alley, cried out in a high falsetto, "No! Someone help! Thieves! Molesters!"
The loan sharks froze, looking all at once confused and on guard.
They took a moment to deliberate while Allen slowly inched away from them, back still to the wall.
"I thought he said it was a boy?"
"Well, it looks like a boy--"
"Shit, I knew we should have--oi!" Allen froze for just a moment before springing into action, escaping the alley. "It's getting away!"
His gender now in question, Allen ran full-speed into the busy pedestrian walkway and all the way to where his master and he were staying for the time being. After all, the last time he'd pulled that trick, the men had thought it best to "check"--and Allen really did not want to have to explain to the authorities again why and how a slight fourteen-year-old boy with an "odd" hand like him could take out two fully-grown men.
It was because of his seemingly deformed hand that he was able to escape those past two times, of course.
And it was those two times that almost landed him into an asylum.
Luckily, he was able to reach the door of the inn with little incident--until Allen was greeted by the sight of the proprietor standing in front of it with a shotgun in hand, appearing grim and quite serious. And taking great care to study Allen's face.
He stammered, out of breath and now realizing the situation he was in, "M-Master didn't..."
The gun aimed at his face said otherwise.
Allen quickly dropped to the ground, covering his head and shouting, following the old routine of pleading mercy, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry for my master's behavior! I have money if he owes--!"
"Tell him he owes for my daughter!" the man shouted back, cocking the gun.
Though he wasn't surprised to hear something of this nature, Allen still had time to wonder when it was exactly that his master had found the time to do anything of the sort before he was sent running for his life for the second time that night. This time with bullets nipping at his heels. Still, since this was becoming more common than he would like, the boy was able to still loudly curse his master's name and wish to God that he did not have such recognizable features.
It took another two weeks and a great sum of money to catch up with Cross Marian, who'd somehow literally cheated the pants off an American, charmed a French woman out of her husband's life-savings, and accused an Italian man of a crime he didn't commit--a new one for the growing list of things Cross's apprentice was responsible for, Allen noted when he'd been tossed out of the moving wagon, landing face-first into the camp of a traveling band of gypsies who'd yet to have any knowledge of his master, thankfully. Still, he arrived at the bar, opening the door and tiredly falling against the nearest table in pure and utter exhaustion.
So hungry, was the only thought left to him as he finally let the tears flow freely in relief and remembered pain and hardship.
Then, Allen heard the familiar voice accompanied by giggling sopranos and just... utterly... snapped.
The table went flying, flipping over seemingly of its own accord just before the patrons of the small bar in the Mediterranean were treated to a bit of a show.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"Huh? Oh, it's you. Go get me another beer, idiot apprentice--"
"With what money?! Do you know how much I've had to--"
"Allen..."
"Eh?"
"You lost me my money..."
"N-no, wait. M-Master, I can--NO, WAIT, DON'T! MASTER!"
When recounting this unique tale, people will often describe just how pale the boy's face became at the tone of his master's voice. So pale that the only color left to him was the odd scar on the left side over his face, crossing over his eye. Most of the patrons, however, are kind enough to leave out the horrid details of the boy's punishment.
Something about a sword and a jabberwock is all they would mutter.
-end-
... I have no idea. XDDD