002 || dream; action

[cruciverbal]

There's a hazy sort of half-light that filters in through the palm trees lined against the road - twilight, or perhaps dawn. The sky overhead is darker, unobstructed, but not quite clear; the pervasive smog in this city makes it difficult to call any day (or night, for that matter) truly clearB walks for another few steps, then stops, looks up at

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[petalsofdeath]

Boy, you shouldn't wait here.
[Marluxia slipped around the graves, his tread light as if worried about awakening the dead. Crouching beside him, he looked around hesitantly, his cloak pooling about them.]
This is their world. We'd all best not disturb it...
[He walked across the grass, trying to reach the younger boy, to take him by the arm gently.]
Let us make haste.

[cruciverbal]

[The boy doesn't move, doesn't acknowledge Marluxia. B doesn't look over at them, but he does speak:]

He's not ready to leave yet.

[petalsofdeath]

What's he waiting for?

[Marluxia looked up from the boy over to B, curious.]

[cruciverbal]

[B rests his chin on his knees, glances up.]

I don't think he knows. For the heavy feeling in his heart to dissipate, perhaps.

[cruciverbal]

[B takes no notice of her; the boy glances over, eyes wide and curious.]

Who are you?

[His tone isn't frightened or hostile, only mildly interested.]

[cruciverbal]

[He nods.]

Lie. It's nice to meet you.

[His gaze turns back to the headstones in front of them.]

Did you know them?

[guide2hell]

He's in the form of a nine year old again, too tired to focus on the older form, settling with the one he wore the night things all went to hell and back. Bloodied blue pajamas, Yamato tied to his wrist by its tassels, blood soaking his hair and bare feet. The jarring notes to his appearance are the MP3 player slid into a crudely sewn pocket and the handful of reddish purple, dried flowers that he carries. He kneels near a grave, ignoring B, brushing plant life back from the name on it.

Eva.

He lays the flowers down, whispering.

"Please stop haunting him, Mother." He ignores the other grave by it, open as if there's no body in it, except to smack a chunk of crumbling stone off it as if in punishment.

[cruciverbal]

Both B and the boy watch him as he moves about the grave, but it's B who speaks up first:

"Something the matter?"

His tone's calm, flat, unruffled, as if seeing a child covered in blood is the most ordinary thing ever.

[guide2hell]

He moves about, cleaning up the overgrown grave as best he can in a child's form, ignoring the second one completely. After a bit, he speaks, calmly.

"I'm asking Mother to stop haunting Brother's dreams, but I doubt she'll do what I ask."

[cruciverbal]

The boy speaks this time: "She can't hear you anymore."

[whiskeykillshot]

Oh joy. Gloomier and gloomier... did nobody in this damn dream world have any kind of good dreams for once? Rubi never was a sunshine and lollipops sort of person, but the whole undead/gothic nonsense was starting to get repetitive. The fact she kept stubbing her toes on lower standing tombstones didn't do much to help her temper.
Noting both B as well as the mystery boy several meters ahead, she halted. "Great place to have a babysitting job." Malone drawled under her breath, staring the two down with an unreadable expression.

[cruciverbal]

The boy is the one who glances up at her, pushing a stray bit of hair out of his eyes. "Who are you?" His tone is calm, not hostile, not accusing, only mildly curious.

[whiskeykillshot]

She grimaced and dug a toe into the turf like a kid caught stealing candy from the store. Had she been that loud? "Probably a person responsible for half the corpses here." Rubi muttered, settling her arms over her chest. "Not that it matters at this point."

[cruciverbal]

B chimes in without looking up: "Importance is relative." It's deadpan, the way he speaks, and the boy's gaze returns to the two headstones in front of them. "You didn't kill them." He unwraps his arms from around himself and shoves his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.