[March 8th] [D.Gray-man] Caravan
Title: Caravan
Day/Theme: March 8th - Alone in a crowd one night.
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character/Pairing: Allen Walker
Rating: PG
The one way that Allen had been able to travel so quickly across the continent toward the headquarters of the Black Order was because he was able to work as part of a caravan. On the occasion, he did stay longer than he had initially planned, but eventually, he would hop off of the cart or wagon and wave as they went on one way and he another. Partings were things that the boy had grown much too used to.
No matter how much he smiled and laughed and called that he would definitely be on the lookout for the group of traveling performers, Allen knew that he was lying through his teeth. For all he knew, going to the Order would be a permanent arrangement and he'd never see those people again. Still, it was the only way he could bare with the separation. Especially from the people who took him in and treated him almost as their own. Partly because of the fact that he was able to connect with them easily without any obvious effort on either of their parts.
Partly because they had known of Mana Walker and his adopted son.
One such group of a performers were traveling through south-eastern France. He was able to get a ride up to Paris thanks to them, though it had taken considerably longer than any of them had imagined. For some reason, there seemed to be some force working against them only to be countered by some sudden bout of good luck.
Perhaps it was his curse, Allen would think to himself at night when they sat by the campfire, sharing stories and laughing. He would try hard not to bring too much attention to the scar on his face on most nights, but on that night, an old story he had once heard Mana tell him when they would travel was told and the memory mixed with the recently round of wagon breakdowns--this time, the axel snapping neatly in half without any apparent cause. Suddenly not so hungry, Allen put aside his fifth bowl of stew and put his left hand to his left eye, wishing again that he truly understood the burden his father had left him with.
To save the humans... to free the Akuma from their eternal suffering...
A small face had then put itself right in front of his immediate view, jolting him into sitting upright and putting his hands into his lap, stammering with nervousness, "W-w-what is it?"
The little girl, no older than he had been when Mana had found him, had just stared up at him for a moment before reaching out to him. "Does it hurt?" she'd asked innocently.
Allen had blinked at that before looking around the camp site, realizing that all had gone silent. They were all watching him, poor boy who had evidently gone through so much. Hair white and that scar over his face certainly wouldn't make it anymore easier for him to fit in with others even if he did cover his left hand. He knew that they didn't care very much about his oddities, but they understood only too well what they meant in the world around them.
He also understood that they also did not understand exactly what those oddities meant.
So it was with a smile that Allen had picked up his fifth serving again in his right hand while he used his left hand to pat the child on the head. "It hasn't hurt for a long time," he'd assured her quite honestly.
And yet it was still a lie because every time Allen was reminded of the scar on his face, of the curse that allowed him to see the suffering souls of the Akuma... he could always hear Mana's voice asking, pleading with Allen to know why his son had done such a thing, yelling as he cursed the young, orphaned boy...
Worst of all, he would hear his father's last words, words of love that explained everything and yet nothing at all at the same time.
And it was with similar words that Allen parted with this troupe in Paris, each of them wishing him the best, giving him words of encouragement because they knew of the trials ahead for him even if they still didn't quite understand everything themselves. Each one of them also had something to say about Mana, about what Mana would think if he could see his boy standing so tall (and yet still so small, several would say teasingly much to his chagrin).
Somehow, despite the horrible pang in his heart every time he heard those words, he was still able to smile a sincere smile born from having spent the past years wondering exactly what Mana would think of him if he could see him, all the scars and the years worn into his body and the abilities and thoughts that he possessed--most in no part thanks to that master of his. Somehow, while smiling so, he was able to clearly say, even as a lump in his throat threatened to make his voice crack just slightly, "I hope he is."
-fin-
I almost ended it too soon.
And yet, I probably should have ended it earlier. It seems kind of forced, doesn't it? *pokes at*
Day/Theme: March 8th - Alone in a crowd one night.
Series: D.Gray-Man
Character/Pairing: Allen Walker
Rating: PG
The one way that Allen had been able to travel so quickly across the continent toward the headquarters of the Black Order was because he was able to work as part of a caravan. On the occasion, he did stay longer than he had initially planned, but eventually, he would hop off of the cart or wagon and wave as they went on one way and he another. Partings were things that the boy had grown much too used to.
No matter how much he smiled and laughed and called that he would definitely be on the lookout for the group of traveling performers, Allen knew that he was lying through his teeth. For all he knew, going to the Order would be a permanent arrangement and he'd never see those people again. Still, it was the only way he could bare with the separation. Especially from the people who took him in and treated him almost as their own. Partly because of the fact that he was able to connect with them easily without any obvious effort on either of their parts.
Partly because they had known of Mana Walker and his adopted son.
One such group of a performers were traveling through south-eastern France. He was able to get a ride up to Paris thanks to them, though it had taken considerably longer than any of them had imagined. For some reason, there seemed to be some force working against them only to be countered by some sudden bout of good luck.
Perhaps it was his curse, Allen would think to himself at night when they sat by the campfire, sharing stories and laughing. He would try hard not to bring too much attention to the scar on his face on most nights, but on that night, an old story he had once heard Mana tell him when they would travel was told and the memory mixed with the recently round of wagon breakdowns--this time, the axel snapping neatly in half without any apparent cause. Suddenly not so hungry, Allen put aside his fifth bowl of stew and put his left hand to his left eye, wishing again that he truly understood the burden his father had left him with.
To save the humans... to free the Akuma from their eternal suffering...
A small face had then put itself right in front of his immediate view, jolting him into sitting upright and putting his hands into his lap, stammering with nervousness, "W-w-what is it?"
The little girl, no older than he had been when Mana had found him, had just stared up at him for a moment before reaching out to him. "Does it hurt?" she'd asked innocently.
Allen had blinked at that before looking around the camp site, realizing that all had gone silent. They were all watching him, poor boy who had evidently gone through so much. Hair white and that scar over his face certainly wouldn't make it anymore easier for him to fit in with others even if he did cover his left hand. He knew that they didn't care very much about his oddities, but they understood only too well what they meant in the world around them.
He also understood that they also did not understand exactly what those oddities meant.
So it was with a smile that Allen had picked up his fifth serving again in his right hand while he used his left hand to pat the child on the head. "It hasn't hurt for a long time," he'd assured her quite honestly.
And yet it was still a lie because every time Allen was reminded of the scar on his face, of the curse that allowed him to see the suffering souls of the Akuma... he could always hear Mana's voice asking, pleading with Allen to know why his son had done such a thing, yelling as he cursed the young, orphaned boy...
Worst of all, he would hear his father's last words, words of love that explained everything and yet nothing at all at the same time.
And it was with similar words that Allen parted with this troupe in Paris, each of them wishing him the best, giving him words of encouragement because they knew of the trials ahead for him even if they still didn't quite understand everything themselves. Each one of them also had something to say about Mana, about what Mana would think if he could see his boy standing so tall (and yet still so small, several would say teasingly much to his chagrin).
Somehow, despite the horrible pang in his heart every time he heard those words, he was still able to smile a sincere smile born from having spent the past years wondering exactly what Mana would think of him if he could see him, all the scars and the years worn into his body and the abilities and thoughts that he possessed--most in no part thanks to that master of his. Somehow, while smiling so, he was able to clearly say, even as a lump in his throat threatened to make his voice crack just slightly, "I hope he is."
-fin-
I almost ended it too soon.
And yet, I probably should have ended it earlier. It seems kind of forced, doesn't it? *pokes at*