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About a year ago, I'd signed up to do ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
20_inkspots with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
frozenflight, with Allen Walker (from D.Gray-man) as our subject. Due to a number of circumstances, we never got terribly far (pause for dramatic spotlight) -- BUT! We did finish a few pieces, and she asked if I'd go ahead and post the ficlet that corresponds to this image so she could put it on her devART (just let me know when it's up there, and I'll change the link, okay? ♥).
Because I'll take any distraction at all from the cleaning I'm doing today, HERE WE GO. :Db
P.S. Even if you don't read the fic, look at the picture and tell her how awesome she is. :<
"my days are the highway kind"
D.Gray-man -- Allen Walker
543 words
++++++
In all his life, Allen doesn't think he's ever stopped traveling.
He can't really remember the vague hazy days before Mana adopted him, but he thinks he must have been traveling even then; I found you on the street, Mana always said, I found you and you were lost, so I brought you with me.
And then afterwards, when the creak and groan of the caravan became his lullaby, and the quiet voices of the others over mending or script discussion. Every morning he found himself in a different place from where he'd fallen asleep the night before. There were days when he'd sit with the driver and watch flat landscape melt into cities, and cities fade away into barren planes.
When Mana died, the entire world had taken a deep breath and held it, so that for just a moment, a profound stillness descended. He'd stopped moving. Allen remembers the weight of a cold hand in his, and how it felt like it could pull him down as well, into whatever final silent place Mana had gone.
But he was still alive, and even as his legs tried to fail him he moved forward.
And then the Count. (Do you want to revive Mana Walker?)
And then the AKUMA. (Allen, I love you.)
And then, and then, and then.
Like a puppet jerking into motion, things after that had come in short, jerky bursts -- his master and dozens of sleepless nights, trying to come up with the cash for their debts, the training to master his Innocence, and then India.
Allen can sometimes still feel a cold ache in his bones, or in the lines of his scar, like a headache that never quite goes away. Sometimes it worries him, but often it's a comfort, in a way he can't quite describe. Even as he continues to move forward, and the rest of the world with him, there is a single solid point that always remains
still. When he touches the pentacle on his forehead, it feels like Mana's stiff fingers reaching back for his own.
Maybe he thinks, peering at his face in the tiny, dirty mirror, someday that stillness will spread, and he'll find that finishing line that Mana had always spoken of. He wonders what it will be like, to live and not be moving. He can't quite imagine it, no matter how hard he tries.
"Hey," says Khanda. His voice is sudden and sharp, and it cuts through cobwebs and leaves only the present behind. "Beansprout."
Allen drops his hair and glances back. "My name is Allen," he says. "Allen."
Khanda looks singularly unimpressed. "We're going," he says. The rain slicks his hair down, and one hand is loosely wrapped around Mugen's hilt. "The train will be here soon."
He stands and pulls his hood up and then tugs it low over his eyes. "Fine," he says. He flexes his fingers a few times and adjusts the straps of his glove. Very distantly, he can hear the sound of a train's shrill whistle.
"Ready?" Khanda asks. He doesn't even look to check.
Allen looks through the rain, squinting as it begins to fall harder.
"Let's go," he says.
20_inkspots with frozenflight, with Allen Walker (from D.Gray-man) as our subject. Due to a number of circumstances, we never got terribly far (pause for dramatic spotlight) -- BUT! We did finish a few pieces, and she asked if I'd go ahead and post the ficlet that corresponds to this image so she could put it on her devART (just let me know when it's up there, and I'll change the link, okay? ♥).Because I'll take any distraction at all from the cleaning I'm doing today, HERE WE GO. :Db
P.S. Even if you don't read the fic, look at the picture and tell her how awesome she is. :<
"my days are the highway kind"
D.Gray-man -- Allen Walker
543 words
++++++
In all his life, Allen doesn't think he's ever stopped traveling.
He can't really remember the vague hazy days before Mana adopted him, but he thinks he must have been traveling even then; I found you on the street, Mana always said, I found you and you were lost, so I brought you with me.
And then afterwards, when the creak and groan of the caravan became his lullaby, and the quiet voices of the others over mending or script discussion. Every morning he found himself in a different place from where he'd fallen asleep the night before. There were days when he'd sit with the driver and watch flat landscape melt into cities, and cities fade away into barren planes.
When Mana died, the entire world had taken a deep breath and held it, so that for just a moment, a profound stillness descended. He'd stopped moving. Allen remembers the weight of a cold hand in his, and how it felt like it could pull him down as well, into whatever final silent place Mana had gone.
But he was still alive, and even as his legs tried to fail him he moved forward.
And then the Count. (Do you want to revive Mana Walker?)
And then the AKUMA. (Allen, I love you.)
And then, and then, and then.
Like a puppet jerking into motion, things after that had come in short, jerky bursts -- his master and dozens of sleepless nights, trying to come up with the cash for their debts, the training to master his Innocence, and then India.
Allen can sometimes still feel a cold ache in his bones, or in the lines of his scar, like a headache that never quite goes away. Sometimes it worries him, but often it's a comfort, in a way he can't quite describe. Even as he continues to move forward, and the rest of the world with him, there is a single solid point that always remains
still. When he touches the pentacle on his forehead, it feels like Mana's stiff fingers reaching back for his own.
Maybe he thinks, peering at his face in the tiny, dirty mirror, someday that stillness will spread, and he'll find that finishing line that Mana had always spoken of. He wonders what it will be like, to live and not be moving. He can't quite imagine it, no matter how hard he tries.
"Hey," says Khanda. His voice is sudden and sharp, and it cuts through cobwebs and leaves only the present behind. "Beansprout."
Allen drops his hair and glances back. "My name is Allen," he says. "Allen."
Khanda looks singularly unimpressed. "We're going," he says. The rain slicks his hair down, and one hand is loosely wrapped around Mugen's hilt. "The train will be here soon."
He stands and pulls his hood up and then tugs it low over his eyes. "Fine," he says. He flexes his fingers a few times and adjusts the straps of his glove. Very distantly, he can hear the sound of a train's shrill whistle.
"Ready?" Khanda asks. He doesn't even look to check.
Allen looks through the rain, squinting as it begins to fall harder.
"Let's go," he says.
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Love this piece as much as I did a year ago. ♥
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