[ So we're... not going to get so far as letters. And missions. And all that.
Not yet. First.. ] !
WAHH—HAH!? [ ???!
Because this morning... this morning in front of King 110 after that (BOY? GIRL? ??!) screech there is a very loud and resounding CLONG! that can only be... well, no one is likely to recognize what it sounds like to throw a mechanical pigeon against a wall, but it's that. Before a white-haired teenage boy flings the door open with an equally loud crash.
A very naked teenage boy.
BECAUSE COME BLOODY ON. WHO WAKES UP WITHOUT CLOTHES IN A STRANGE PLACE AND JUST ACCEPTS IT. YESTERDAY HE WAS IN LONDON PUTTING ON A CLOWN COSTUME FOR a pence here and there to get by CHILDREN. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PLACE AND WHERE IS IT/HE. THIS INN IS BOLLOCKS. THIS IS WHY HE HATES STAYING IN THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT.
Wait, speaking of— ]
Ah, Tim...? [ The boy straightens suddenly, suddenly quite... calm and normal-seeming, looking around and behind him.
And forgetting he's clutching the bedsheets quite tightly around his waist. His... very naked waist. Which is where an incredibly large and ugly scar ends, one that seems like someone tried to saw him in half from the shoulder down and mostly succeeded. There's also the pretty strangely tattooed and... red (plated??!) left arm. And another scar in his stomach that seems like someone... gutted him? What did this kid go through...
He seems to forgotten that though and is looking around in a borderline huffy impatience that slowly becomes... um..
The Oh Shit factor. ]
...hello?
ONE B | MAILROOM
[ Later on he can be found sucking somewhat sulkily on a candy in the mailroom. Uniformed now, a golden... marble? with wings? sitting atop his head after his white hair's been pulled back in a short ponytail, and leaning against a wall he reads through his mail.
And the letters. The very long letters. Ah...
Over a few minutes, his expression smooths from sulking to very smooth and quiet. Serious. Oh..
Allen swallows the candy then and touches the golden golem on his head reflexively. Like a small, reassuring sort of pat and it buzzes its wings in response. ]
... Okay. [ It's very soft, spoken to himself but if anyone were to catch his expression it's anything but okay. Flickering by quickly, conflicted, moved, but... Heavy. Guilty.
So very guilty.
And he taps the golem again, smiling in a small and stretched sort of way. ]
Alright then— [ He stops short, like he was about to say a name but doesn't.
"Tim." ] ...
[ His eyes hood. ] Mm. Sorry.
THREE
[ Anyone who's been around Allen up until this point would have known him to be... well, pretty oddly calm for someone very new. Asking questions, a soft heart and empathetic towards the carnage in the countryside when they got to it, but handling it with a straightforward earnesty like it's something he's done many times before. Missions. Death. Lives left upset in the wake of it and trying to give them comfort and answers even if they have none.
Anyone seeing him interact with the farmers might find it weird he's so warm and genuinely kind with them. Like he's been doing this forever—or is very good at feigning that familiarity if it means he can reassure someone.
But now, when they've traveled further and the skies have finally descended, the wind beginning to scream...
...behind the wings of dragons?!
Dragons are real? ]
Look out! [ Whoever you are he's tackled you now, a slim but very solid mass ploughing into your backside. Right before any protests or further things Allen might have said would be drowned out by the fireball that flies past them in an understated foom and scours the ground, whipping their hair. ]
Allen Walker | D.Gray-man
[ So we're... not going to get so far as letters. And missions. And all that.
Not yet. First.. ] !
WAHH—HAH!? [ ???!
Because this morning... this morning in front of King 110 after that (BOY? GIRL? ??!) screech there is a very loud and resounding CLONG! that can only be... well, no one is likely to recognize what it sounds like to throw a mechanical pigeon against a wall, but it's that. Before a white-haired teenage boy flings the door open with an equally loud crash.
A very naked teenage boy.
BECAUSE COME BLOODY ON. WHO WAKES UP WITHOUT CLOTHES IN A STRANGE PLACE AND JUST ACCEPTS IT. YESTERDAY HE WAS IN LONDON PUTTING ON A CLOWN COSTUME FOR
a pence here and there to get byCHILDREN. WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PLACE AND WHERE IS IT/HE. THIS INN IS BOLLOCKS. THIS IS WHY HE HATES STAYING IN THE RED LIGHT DISTRICT.Wait, speaking of— ]
Ah, Tim...? [ The boy straightens suddenly, suddenly quite... calm and normal-seeming, looking around and behind him.
And forgetting he's clutching the bedsheets quite tightly around his waist. His... very naked waist. Which is where an incredibly large and ugly scar ends, one that seems like someone tried to saw him in half from the shoulder down and mostly succeeded. There's also the pretty strangely tattooed and... red (plated??!) left arm. And another scar in his stomach that seems like someone... gutted him? What did this kid go through...
He seems to forgotten that though and is looking around in a borderline huffy impatience that slowly becomes... um..
The Oh Shit factor. ]
...hello?
ONE B | MAILROOM
[ Later on he can be found sucking somewhat sulkily on a candy in the mailroom. Uniformed now, a golden... marble? with wings? sitting atop his head after his white hair's been pulled back in a short ponytail, and leaning against a wall he reads through his mail.
And the letters. The very long letters. Ah...
Over a few minutes, his expression smooths from sulking to very smooth and quiet. Serious. Oh..
Allen swallows the candy then and touches the golden golem on his head reflexively. Like a small, reassuring sort of pat and it buzzes its wings in response. ]
... Okay. [ It's very soft, spoken to himself but if anyone were to catch his expression it's anything but okay. Flickering by quickly, conflicted, moved, but... Heavy. Guilty.
So very guilty.
And he taps the golem again, smiling in a small and stretched sort of way. ]
Alright then— [ He stops short, like he was about to say a name but doesn't.
"Tim." ] ...
[ His eyes hood. ] Mm. Sorry.
THREE
[ Anyone who's been around Allen up until this point would have known him to be... well, pretty oddly calm for someone very new. Asking questions, a soft heart and empathetic towards the carnage in the countryside when they got to it, but handling it with a straightforward earnesty like it's something he's done many times before. Missions. Death. Lives left upset in the wake of it and trying to give them comfort and answers even if they have none.
Anyone seeing him interact with the farmers might find it weird he's so warm and genuinely kind with them. Like he's been doing this forever—or is very good at feigning that familiarity if it means he can reassure someone.
But now, when they've traveled further and the skies have finally descended, the wind beginning to scream...
...behind the wings of dragons?!
Dragons are real? ]
Look out! [ Whoever you are he's tackled you now, a slim but very solid mass ploughing into your backside. Right before any protests or further things Allen might have said would be drowned out by the fireball that flies past them in an understated foom and scours the ground, whipping their hair. ]