D.Gray-Flashfic for November
Title: A Piece of Quiet
Word Count: 1254
Requester: matchstick
Request: Marie and Daisya
Genres: General. (Man, I never think about this! D:)
Rating: G.
Notes: Difficult POV. Author is not entirely happy. Um. Yes. My lack of plot, let me show you it.
Marie had come to the chapel in search of silence, or the closest to it that one could find in a place as well-populated as headquarters. This was his favourite part of the tower: a large room, blessed with thick walls and the permanent atmosphere of meditation that came with the old, layered scents of incense and candle-smoke. The constant bustle and noise of the headquarters was muffled here, audible only as a rushing sound like a nearby river. Perhaps the place was built that way so a distracted god could hear prayers more easily. Marie hadn’t come to pray, though: only to enjoy peace and quiet.
Unfortunately, it seemed, like all else in the life of an Exorcist, peace and quiet were short-lived. He had been here scarcely a quarter hour, but there was a door at the other end of the great room creaking open. Someone else was drawn to the empty chapel, then: an easily-recognised someone, too, his presence and identity announced by the jingling of a bell. Marie had never known Daisya to be fond of solitude and quiet, and suspected he had a different reason to be there. Wasn’t this the largest flat floor in the headquarters, temptingly empty with the pews stacked against the wall?
If I were more old-fashioned than I am, Marie thought, I might take that bell as a warning, and run away, for fear of disease. But the only disease Daisya carried was his inability to sit still, and that wasn’t catching. Besides, it wouldn’t be polite to get up and leave at the first sound of a friend approaching, even if you did half-expect a football to smack you in the head at any moment.
At least he knew Daisya couldn’t be meaning to play any more subtle joke, at least not on him. It hadn’t taken them long after being introduced to figure out that without the Charity Bell’s helpful sound, Marie couldn’t pick Daisya out of a crowd -Until he started talking, anyway, at which point his accent was unmistakeable.
(People with eyes, Daisya said, play hide-and-seek very differently from you, ol’ man. They can tell me from anyone else, too, like that - snapping his fingers - You’re easy to spot, too, you know. You stand out. Which Marie half-knew, but it was always strange to hear it, because often he let himself believe he was hidden from the eyes of others just as they were hidden from his.)
The door slammed shut, echoes running around the room and rubbing out the momentarily clearler noise from outside. Boots and the Charity Bell made their way up the room, keeping to an even rhythm that was reassuring because it promised that their owner wasn’t kicking a ball. Marie waited for Daisya to notice him, figuring he should be obvious enough, a lone figure on the lone pew not stacked aside. When he knew himself obvious, he preferred not to make the first move, because being too quick to notice people tended to unnerve them. He couldn’t count the number of times he had forgotten, and opened a door before it was knocked on. He could tell shock and nervousness when he heard them, and tried his best to always wait for people.
“Oh,” said Daisya, coming to a stop, “It’s the silent Noise. What are you doing?”
“I was enjoying the silence,” said Marie, “And you? I didn’t think you had the patience for prayer.”
“I wasn’t praying,” said Daisya, “Not really.” He sat down at the other end of the pew, or rather, threw himself down. If Marie were more given to talking he might have said something about old wood and polite conduct - but leave that to General Tiedoll, who enjoyed that sort of thing. He could feel Daisya swinging his legs as the silence stretched for a minute (the pause in conversation, that is; to Marie’s ears, silence was an elusive kind of paradise). Finally, Daisya seemed to decide Marie could be trusted with his reasons, because he said, “I get homesick sometimes. I guess everyone does. But the General once told me one of those pictures in the stained glass is my country. Doesn’t look much like it, I don’t know, it’s comforting somehow. I guess stained glass doesn’t mean much to you.”
“Not as such, perhaps,” Marie agreed, “But I think if you were to be quiet for a minute, and listen, you might hear my equivalent.”
Daisya might not hear as much as Marie could, even if he sat still and listened, but that was all right. Probably, everyone hears something different when they put a sea-shell to their ear, after all, and this was similar. Marie could hear people talking, footsteps, the noise of headquarters all blended together into the sound of a river (or maybe an ocean, but he heard it as a river, the river he’d known when he was young). Perhaps Daisya heard the Mediterranean sea. Or perhaps he didn’t hear anything at all, though he was sitting still at last, and even his breath was quieter than usual, which suggested he was trying to listen.
“What?” he said at last, “I don’t hear anything special, what do you hear that’s different?”
Of course, strictly speaking that was an impossible question to answer. Marie told him everything, instead. Footsteps on stone, conversations and scolding and people working, or avoiding work, or losing their tempers. All of that, echoing in hallways and down stairs, and through the pipes in the walls. The clash and rattle of those infernal elevators. Inside the chapel, much less - the chapel was empty, after all, except for the two Exorcists, and something (a mouse, perhaps - he hoped not one of Komui’s misguided creations) scrabbling about inside the organ. Probably a mouse. He often heard mice in the walls, making their nests in unwise places. The organ itself, complaining over its old age. Daisya, of course, who even when he was trying couldn’t be entirely silent. Elsewhere in the headquarters, Marie explained, you can hear the wind howling outside (it was a tall tower, after all), but not here.
Which was probably too much detail for Daisya. Marie wondered what he was thinking. Probably wishing he hadn’t asked. After all, Marie realised, he had given what could be termed a Tiedoll answer, getting lost in his own thoughts in the middle of the answer - which he didn’t usually do, since their were enough words in the air already without his help.
“Perhaps that was too much,” he apologised. Not something he had to say very often. He must have been distracted.
“Uh, no, sorry,” the Charity Bell chimed accession; Daisya must be shaking his head, “I was trying to hear it. I guess my ears aren’t good enough,” he laughed, “Must be true what the general says about my innocence damaging them, huh?”
“The hood, perhaps,” said Marie, amused.
“No, it’s you,” Daisya decided, “You’ve got an unfair advantage. And I have an unfair disadvantage, too! I can’t describe stained glass to someone who can’t see. That’s just not fair, is it. I guess I’ll just have to leave you to your lovely silence, instead. Or can I stay? If I promise to sit real still and listen real hard? Be quiet as a mouse, I promise.”
Marie thought a moment, then nodded. He chose not to point out that mice, to someone who listened close enough, couldn’t be counted quiet at all.
He took Daisya’s following silence as a thank you.
Word Count: 1254
Requester: matchstick
Request: Marie and Daisya
Genres: General. (Man, I never think about this! D:)
Rating: G.
Notes: Difficult POV. Author is not entirely happy. Um. Yes. My lack of plot, let me show you it.
Marie had come to the chapel in search of silence, or the closest to it that one could find in a place as well-populated as headquarters. This was his favourite part of the tower: a large room, blessed with thick walls and the permanent atmosphere of meditation that came with the old, layered scents of incense and candle-smoke. The constant bustle and noise of the headquarters was muffled here, audible only as a rushing sound like a nearby river. Perhaps the place was built that way so a distracted god could hear prayers more easily. Marie hadn’t come to pray, though: only to enjoy peace and quiet.
Unfortunately, it seemed, like all else in the life of an Exorcist, peace and quiet were short-lived. He had been here scarcely a quarter hour, but there was a door at the other end of the great room creaking open. Someone else was drawn to the empty chapel, then: an easily-recognised someone, too, his presence and identity announced by the jingling of a bell. Marie had never known Daisya to be fond of solitude and quiet, and suspected he had a different reason to be there. Wasn’t this the largest flat floor in the headquarters, temptingly empty with the pews stacked against the wall?
If I were more old-fashioned than I am, Marie thought, I might take that bell as a warning, and run away, for fear of disease. But the only disease Daisya carried was his inability to sit still, and that wasn’t catching. Besides, it wouldn’t be polite to get up and leave at the first sound of a friend approaching, even if you did half-expect a football to smack you in the head at any moment.
At least he knew Daisya couldn’t be meaning to play any more subtle joke, at least not on him. It hadn’t taken them long after being introduced to figure out that without the Charity Bell’s helpful sound, Marie couldn’t pick Daisya out of a crowd -Until he started talking, anyway, at which point his accent was unmistakeable.
(People with eyes, Daisya said, play hide-and-seek very differently from you, ol’ man. They can tell me from anyone else, too, like that - snapping his fingers - You’re easy to spot, too, you know. You stand out. Which Marie half-knew, but it was always strange to hear it, because often he let himself believe he was hidden from the eyes of others just as they were hidden from his.)
The door slammed shut, echoes running around the room and rubbing out the momentarily clearler noise from outside. Boots and the Charity Bell made their way up the room, keeping to an even rhythm that was reassuring because it promised that their owner wasn’t kicking a ball. Marie waited for Daisya to notice him, figuring he should be obvious enough, a lone figure on the lone pew not stacked aside. When he knew himself obvious, he preferred not to make the first move, because being too quick to notice people tended to unnerve them. He couldn’t count the number of times he had forgotten, and opened a door before it was knocked on. He could tell shock and nervousness when he heard them, and tried his best to always wait for people.
“Oh,” said Daisya, coming to a stop, “It’s the silent Noise. What are you doing?”
“I was enjoying the silence,” said Marie, “And you? I didn’t think you had the patience for prayer.”
“I wasn’t praying,” said Daisya, “Not really.” He sat down at the other end of the pew, or rather, threw himself down. If Marie were more given to talking he might have said something about old wood and polite conduct - but leave that to General Tiedoll, who enjoyed that sort of thing. He could feel Daisya swinging his legs as the silence stretched for a minute (the pause in conversation, that is; to Marie’s ears, silence was an elusive kind of paradise). Finally, Daisya seemed to decide Marie could be trusted with his reasons, because he said, “I get homesick sometimes. I guess everyone does. But the General once told me one of those pictures in the stained glass is my country. Doesn’t look much like it, I don’t know, it’s comforting somehow. I guess stained glass doesn’t mean much to you.”
“Not as such, perhaps,” Marie agreed, “But I think if you were to be quiet for a minute, and listen, you might hear my equivalent.”
Daisya might not hear as much as Marie could, even if he sat still and listened, but that was all right. Probably, everyone hears something different when they put a sea-shell to their ear, after all, and this was similar. Marie could hear people talking, footsteps, the noise of headquarters all blended together into the sound of a river (or maybe an ocean, but he heard it as a river, the river he’d known when he was young). Perhaps Daisya heard the Mediterranean sea. Or perhaps he didn’t hear anything at all, though he was sitting still at last, and even his breath was quieter than usual, which suggested he was trying to listen.
“What?” he said at last, “I don’t hear anything special, what do you hear that’s different?”
Of course, strictly speaking that was an impossible question to answer. Marie told him everything, instead. Footsteps on stone, conversations and scolding and people working, or avoiding work, or losing their tempers. All of that, echoing in hallways and down stairs, and through the pipes in the walls. The clash and rattle of those infernal elevators. Inside the chapel, much less - the chapel was empty, after all, except for the two Exorcists, and something (a mouse, perhaps - he hoped not one of Komui’s misguided creations) scrabbling about inside the organ. Probably a mouse. He often heard mice in the walls, making their nests in unwise places. The organ itself, complaining over its old age. Daisya, of course, who even when he was trying couldn’t be entirely silent. Elsewhere in the headquarters, Marie explained, you can hear the wind howling outside (it was a tall tower, after all), but not here.
Which was probably too much detail for Daisya. Marie wondered what he was thinking. Probably wishing he hadn’t asked. After all, Marie realised, he had given what could be termed a Tiedoll answer, getting lost in his own thoughts in the middle of the answer - which he didn’t usually do, since their were enough words in the air already without his help.
“Perhaps that was too much,” he apologised. Not something he had to say very often. He must have been distracted.
“Uh, no, sorry,” the Charity Bell chimed accession; Daisya must be shaking his head, “I was trying to hear it. I guess my ears aren’t good enough,” he laughed, “Must be true what the general says about my innocence damaging them, huh?”
“The hood, perhaps,” said Marie, amused.
“No, it’s you,” Daisya decided, “You’ve got an unfair advantage. And I have an unfair disadvantage, too! I can’t describe stained glass to someone who can’t see. That’s just not fair, is it. I guess I’ll just have to leave you to your lovely silence, instead. Or can I stay? If I promise to sit real still and listen real hard? Be quiet as a mouse, I promise.”
Marie thought a moment, then nodded. He chose not to point out that mice, to someone who listened close enough, couldn’t be counted quiet at all.
He took Daisya’s following silence as a thank you.