well this was a strange...something.
Having just finished whining about how I don't understand Road...I wrote Road fic. Clearly. Eh, maybe I understand her a bit.
This is a prompt from Elle: DGM, any!Noah, competition, hodgepodge, anachronism (500 words)
I open a door.
The room on the other side is outside; trees and rocks and a sky I pulled from a Tyki-dream about blood-red butterflies and silver knives. And here he is, just where he should be. This is the room I made for Tyki, with its sky and its rocks and the white mansion he dreams about; the one he will never, ever go into. Once upon a different life.
This is what Tyki likes: quiet and calm and peace; the occasional hard day’s work (mines or murder). Tyki is a strange thing in this time of machines and bustle and hurry. So new to being a Noah, and already an anachronism.
“Good morning, Tyki.”
“Road, good morning. Is it morning?”
“It is if I want it to be, Tyki-Tyki."
“You’re wandering? I thought Cyril wanted you to do homework today.”
“Maybe today will be a long day, Tyki.”
“Hmm. Messing with time makes you tired, remember.”
“I’ll be careful, brother Tyki. Aren’t you cute to worry?”
I open a door.
The room I made for the twins is very different. A hodgepodge of knives and guns and sweets and pillows. This is what the twins like: a room like a cage, soft things and sharp things, nothing ever completely still.
Jasdevi is busy right now; one person, two people, throwing things, shouting. Their minds are confusing when they’re fighting. They blur and shatter and echo.
“I thought you said you were watching…was watching, where were you?…next to you! It’s not our fault, stupid fucking Cross… the Earl will blame us and then whose fault will it be?…but it isn’t our fault, we’ll explain, he’ll understand…I thought you were going to watch him!…I watched and he disappeared!...he did not disappear, you-“
They’re exhausting when they’re like this, and today I’m not in the mood.
I open a door.
Skin’s room is a room that reminds him of sweets. This is what Skin likes: bright colors and sharp edges and things that sparkle and twirl. He’s standing in a lake of confetti, and he’s lifting rocks onto a ledge.
This is what Skin does when he’s alone. He lifts heavier and heavier things; a competition against no one. Always so angry, poor Skin. If there’s no one around for him to be angry at, he can only be angry with himself.
“Good morning, Skin!”
“Road,” he says, because he never does have much to say.
“For you!” I chirp, and bounce over to pop a candy in his mouth. I always keep candy for my brother.
“Sweet,” he says. He looks happy, or as happy as he knows how to be. I’m glad I can make him happy, even though he always dreams of fire and breaking.
I’ll have a new brother soon; they promised me. I wonder if I’ll know how to make him happy. I wonder if anyone will. His dreams are all of leaving, and they’re only going to get worse.
I open a door.
This is a prompt from Elle: DGM, any!Noah, competition, hodgepodge, anachronism (500 words)
I open a door.
The room on the other side is outside; trees and rocks and a sky I pulled from a Tyki-dream about blood-red butterflies and silver knives. And here he is, just where he should be. This is the room I made for Tyki, with its sky and its rocks and the white mansion he dreams about; the one he will never, ever go into. Once upon a different life.
This is what Tyki likes: quiet and calm and peace; the occasional hard day’s work (mines or murder). Tyki is a strange thing in this time of machines and bustle and hurry. So new to being a Noah, and already an anachronism.
“Good morning, Tyki.”
“Road, good morning. Is it morning?”
“It is if I want it to be, Tyki-Tyki."
“You’re wandering? I thought Cyril wanted you to do homework today.”
“Maybe today will be a long day, Tyki.”
“Hmm. Messing with time makes you tired, remember.”
“I’ll be careful, brother Tyki. Aren’t you cute to worry?”
I open a door.
The room I made for the twins is very different. A hodgepodge of knives and guns and sweets and pillows. This is what the twins like: a room like a cage, soft things and sharp things, nothing ever completely still.
Jasdevi is busy right now; one person, two people, throwing things, shouting. Their minds are confusing when they’re fighting. They blur and shatter and echo.
“I thought you said you were watching…was watching, where were you?…next to you! It’s not our fault, stupid fucking Cross… the Earl will blame us and then whose fault will it be?…but it isn’t our fault, we’ll explain, he’ll understand…I thought you were going to watch him!…I watched and he disappeared!...he did not disappear, you-“
They’re exhausting when they’re like this, and today I’m not in the mood.
I open a door.
Skin’s room is a room that reminds him of sweets. This is what Skin likes: bright colors and sharp edges and things that sparkle and twirl. He’s standing in a lake of confetti, and he’s lifting rocks onto a ledge.
This is what Skin does when he’s alone. He lifts heavier and heavier things; a competition against no one. Always so angry, poor Skin. If there’s no one around for him to be angry at, he can only be angry with himself.
“Good morning, Skin!”
“Road,” he says, because he never does have much to say.
“For you!” I chirp, and bounce over to pop a candy in his mouth. I always keep candy for my brother.
“Sweet,” he says. He looks happy, or as happy as he knows how to be. I’m glad I can make him happy, even though he always dreams of fire and breaking.
I’ll have a new brother soon; they promised me. I wonder if I’ll know how to make him happy. I wonder if anyone will. His dreams are all of leaving, and they’re only going to get worse.
I open a door.