Penny Rose [ Serah Farron ] (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rememberher) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
pawnstorm2016-11-09 11:02 pm
rememberher) wrote in pawnstorm2016-11-09 11:02 pm
[CLOSED] Back to the world
Who: Lux and Allen
When: Slightly forward-dated to November 10th
Where: Petrosian
What: After sleeping for nearly a month, Lux wakes up to an unexpected guest.
Rating: PG I guess idk
Warnings: There is only pain here.
The room was cold and dark, the smallest glimmer of golden Chrysanth moonslight filtering in from her curtains that early morning when Lux finally awoke. Her head felt muzzy and heavy, it was hard to say whether she was still asleep or awake; a fuzzy, hazy heat settling between her eyes like a shroud. Everything seemed to hurt, and even sitting up felt like a chore, her body hot-cold and shivering gently despite her trying to will it to stop.
Ah. It wasn't this bad when she fell asleep, maybe she shouldn't have put off going to the clinic.
Everything felt heavy, detached and somehow very surreal, like she was both in and outside of her own body. In control of her movements yet somehow watching from a distance. Sitting up and pulling the downy white comforter off her, she swept her feet around the side of the bed, standing slowly. Not slowly enough to keep the dizzy rush from holding her there briefly, but pushing through it, she made the very short walk from her bed to the window. Drawing the curtain back slightly, looking down at the street below...
And stopping quite suddenly, her hand holding the curtain open, the lights from the street flooding in.
It was different. The leaves on the trees were gone, and a glittering frost clung to their branches. It blanketed the road, and the clouds looked like it might snow at any moment. It was nothing like the night before—it was far too early for a cold snap like this. Standing there, silhouetted by the lamplights down below, Lux felt lightheaded, that dull, gnawing ache in her body and heat between her eyes miles away. Was she still dreaming, or—
...The moons. Hanging in the sky, illuminating the street with their golden light, her heart stopped. The last that she saw them, they had been dark. Dread settling in, Lux froze, her hand holding the curtain like it was her only anchor to the world.
She had fallen into another deep sleep, hadn't she..?
The gentle coo of Berenice startled her and, turning quickly, Lux stopped. Staring not because of the griffin sitting there, craning her neck to see and getting quite ready to leap toward the mage, but whose lap the creature was resting on. Because surely she was imagining it, this was a dream, right?
"Allen..?"
Her voice dusty and hoarse, Lux stared, not daring to move. Why was he..?
When: Slightly forward-dated to November 10th
Where: Petrosian
What: After sleeping for nearly a month, Lux wakes up to an unexpected guest.
Rating: PG I guess idk
Warnings: There is only pain here.
The room was cold and dark, the smallest glimmer of golden Chrysanth moonslight filtering in from her curtains that early morning when Lux finally awoke. Her head felt muzzy and heavy, it was hard to say whether she was still asleep or awake; a fuzzy, hazy heat settling between her eyes like a shroud. Everything seemed to hurt, and even sitting up felt like a chore, her body hot-cold and shivering gently despite her trying to will it to stop.
Ah. It wasn't this bad when she fell asleep, maybe she shouldn't have put off going to the clinic.
Everything felt heavy, detached and somehow very surreal, like she was both in and outside of her own body. In control of her movements yet somehow watching from a distance. Sitting up and pulling the downy white comforter off her, she swept her feet around the side of the bed, standing slowly. Not slowly enough to keep the dizzy rush from holding her there briefly, but pushing through it, she made the very short walk from her bed to the window. Drawing the curtain back slightly, looking down at the street below...
And stopping quite suddenly, her hand holding the curtain open, the lights from the street flooding in.
It was different. The leaves on the trees were gone, and a glittering frost clung to their branches. It blanketed the road, and the clouds looked like it might snow at any moment. It was nothing like the night before—it was far too early for a cold snap like this. Standing there, silhouetted by the lamplights down below, Lux felt lightheaded, that dull, gnawing ache in her body and heat between her eyes miles away. Was she still dreaming, or—
...The moons. Hanging in the sky, illuminating the street with their golden light, her heart stopped. The last that she saw them, they had been dark. Dread settling in, Lux froze, her hand holding the curtain like it was her only anchor to the world.
She had fallen into another deep sleep, hadn't she..?
The gentle coo of Berenice startled her and, turning quickly, Lux stopped. Staring not because of the griffin sitting there, craning her neck to see and getting quite ready to leap toward the mage, but whose lap the creature was resting on. Because surely she was imagining it, this was a dream, right?
"Allen..?"
Her voice dusty and hoarse, Lux stared, not daring to move. Why was he..?
no subject
But she felt it, even if, in that instant, she didn't want to. Muscles tightening and breath hitched almost raggedly so as he flinched against her. And as quickly as she embraced him, Lux froze, even as he spoke peaceably against her ear. Words that were gentle, accepting and kind.
She panicked, her embrace easing as her arms almost seemed to hang suspended, that strength wavering for just a moment. Because, as he had observed before, she was nothing if not extremely perceptive. ]
...You're hurt.
[ It wasn't a question, but a half-startled statement, her posture quite rigid, holding him like he were made of glass before she drew back, her hands resting on his shoulders, eyes flickering between his and brow creased in worry. ]
What happened?
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Ah.. we were stuck fighting in the forest for several days before we found our way out.
I suppose some of us got a little beat up. [ And the way in which he says it is... well of course even he would be injured, right?
Allen's an Exorcist. It's just how he understands battle. They always come back with wounds that will heal. ]
It's fine— [ see he'll even offer her a much more merry, perfectly cheered sort of smile as he points up to himself.
That it's an act to try and make her feel better—well he is a performer, is he not? ]
—by now our wounds have recovered anyway.
[ It's also not disingenuous. ]
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It was worn, her voice, and her expression only changed slightly, hardening just so. Because the last time he made light of something like this...
That was something she wouldn't press him on ever again. His past. That instant when he nearly killed himself to destroy an akuma. Something that frightened her, that she promised that she would not allow to happen again. It couldn't, he said in jest.
(...then why did she have a sudden, sickening feeling of deja vu?)
Her signature wavering for the briefest moment, she gripped his shoulders a bit, staring up at him, her eyes burning with conviction. ]
But yours haven't.
Don't lie to me, Allen.
[ You can trust her. She was strong, she could take anything that happened there. Anything that happened to him. ]
What happened?
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To her credit, she manages to take him by surprise at that. Gripping him by the shoulders so suddenly and it is, ironically, probably for the first time in his life anyone's ever called him on it quite like that. Not to smile like he does, certainly. But like that?
Stop lying.. ]
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[ A little... pained, perhaps—he brings a hand up to touch her cheek. The ungloved right one. And will smile in such a way where it's so infinitely fond... and yet rather apologetic as well. ]
I'm not. [ One brush and then two, tucking some hair back behind her ear. ]
Even though the scars remain, our wounds will always heal. And because we have them, we remember what was so important to us to fight for.
[ Or to risk dying for. Not to let himself hurt anyone. ]
I could never regret something like that.
So please don't be sad about such a thing? [ Because he really is okay now, see?
At least, aside from the rotting-from-the-inside zombie plague. ]
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...That night, in the infirmary. When she learned the origin of that jagged scar that seemed to rend him in two.
"And because we have them, we remember what was so important to us to fight for."
The mark left by his own blade, something that should have killed him. That he would, could never regret, she knew.
He saw himself as a weapon. That was what he said, right? Such was the fate of a parasitic-type, one whose sole purpose was to destroy akuma. To protect. Allen Walker, someone who fought with his very being, who balanced on that tightrope of life and death for the sake of others; a person who she felt such much for, yet... knew so little about.
Who could, without so much as a second thought—
"I could never regret something like that. So please don't be sad about such a thing?"
The color seemed to drain from her face then as he smiled at her, as if he were apologizing for something. Even as her light spell began to fade, she could still see it in the dimming light. Silent, save for the slow breath she took from her nose, shoulders raising just so, rigidly.
She promised, that night when emotions were so raw, as she clung to her own mortality, that she would never allow such a thing to happen to him again. That he would never have to put himself through that, that she would protect him.
With her last breath, if it came to it. She would keep going, again and again, until she knew that he was safe. ]
...
[ ...And she failed. Had she been there, maybe he—
No. She knew better than that. Her being there wouldn't have changed a thing.
Something wet suddenly rolling over his fingers, that strength in her signature seemed worlds away, dulled by something else.
Overwhelming guilt and helplessness. ]
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[ Quiet and thin, she was quick to move away, pulling away from his touch and one-armed embrace with a helpless sort of laugh, putting her hands on her cheeks as if to test her temperature. Quickly wiping away what few tears that had managed to fall. Trying to smile through it. Because it was ridiculous, wasn't it? All of this was ridiculous.
(Don't let him see.) ]
Sorry, I... I feel a bit warm. Maybe you're right, I should get some rest.
[ It was frayed, her voice, and the light spell finally flickering out in a quiet dispersion of colors, she let her chin dip, angling herself slightly away.
(Don't let him see.)
She laughed a bit at herself, to try to defuse the situation.
(She couldn't... actually protect him, could she? It was stupid to think so, to assume...) ]
I'm sorry...
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Crying... Because he got hurt?
Lux... he always gets hurt. It's who he is. But to shutter herself away like that, to dim and cut off feeling entirely— ]
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And it's why he will move both smoothly and certainly; one knee coming up onto the bedside and, pivoting to lean over her, both hands sweeping up to catch her face. ]
Lux— [ Strong as it is soft. Rough-soft, and bespeaking in a manner that while calm...
... he's actually a little upset about that.
Because it's something... it's something he didn't want to push on before. Because of knowing how much it hurt her and not ever wanting to do something to hurt her; as Allen is with all of his friends and why he will sacrifice himself and his honesty to keep them from being hurt by the nature of himself. Balancing one and then the other, being true to himself and trying to be mindful of how that nature itself pains people that care about him. So he'll catch her up like that in a gesture that's both a gently commanding please listen to me as much as it's about his thumbs sweeping along her cheeks and brushing away the lingering dampness. ]
...please stop.
[ And will, like someone who's just rushed to the edge of a cliff, come to a dead-soft stop.
A dead stop, where he might continued to speak in that quietly rough-soft impassioned tone...]
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Please stop, when if anyone broke their promise it's me.
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The actual one? Far more complicated than that.
This was war, people were going to get hurt. The both of them were going to get hurt. Getting hurt was inevitable, for the both of them. He shouldered it better to be sure, even outside of being a Rook, but that wasn't why she was upset. Why she cried despite knowing that something like this... wasn't something to cry over.
But to allow something like this to happen, to be helpless to stop him from hurting in that way—sad wasn't it. Anger, frustration; at herself, not at him. And an overwhelming sense that she couldn't do anything. Couldn't fix this.
As someone who prided herself on being a beacon of hope for others, who fought to solve problems, to keep others safe, knowing that she couldn't do that for someone she loved...
It went well beyond an idealistic promise that she made in the heat of the moment.
What if you had died, Allen?
What if you had died alone..?
...That was why she cried, knowing that no matter what she did, that was the extent of her ability. That scars like the one that jagged across his torso might (would) continue to happen, and she was helpless to stop that. That feeling of overwhelming guilt. ]
Thank you again for—
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Oh.
Oh, she made a terrible mistake just now.
"Please stop."
Did he know what he was asking? Did he truly know? Hesitantly looking up at him through her lashes, that put-upon smile miles away by now, she willed herself to stay composed just then. No, no this was all wrong, this wasn't... what she wanted. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. That much was clear on her face, even in the moons' light.
And as she readied herself to refute him, to plead her case— ]
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I... I don't...
[ The briefest look of confusion creeping into her features, she searched his face. What..? ]
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He smiles gently, palms sliding down to her neck instead—not quite to her shoulders—so as not to be quite so chiding, and his expression flickers. Something a little heavier but peaceable as she tries to read his expression, so obviously mystified. ]
...when I swore to be an Exorcist...
When I promised to be that no matter what—
[ How can he explain that, when she understands him so well but can't understand that? ]
..it was promising that it will always be this way.
No matter what. If we're the ones who are hurt, it's so someone else isn't. And I'm glad for that.
But even making that promise... I didn't mean it to make you sad or break my promise to you, either. [ Also because she wasn't there and literally couldn't do anything but... he doubts that would make her feel better.. ] Because we promised to fight together and protect each other—but because we fight so others don't have to, we're going to get hurt.
And just because we do, it doesn't mean we failed to protect each other.
Because we're both going to be hurt time and time again because we fight. But that's okay, because we're both doing it together and it means we believe strongly in having something to defend. [ Love and camaraderie.
—which causes a more fond and genuinely content sort of smile to tug lopsidedly at the corner of his mouth. ]
And because I have that to look forward to, I could never regret what happens. No matter what kinds of scars they are. [ And even if he's said a lot, the heart of the matter...
Well... more gently, he starts to release her to pull back. ]
But I am sorry to make you worry because I got hurt when you weren't there.
straps in.........
And moreover, that she couldn't be there, and was instead fast asleep and safe despite the fact that she should have been fighting. She was here, safe in Petrosian while others risked their lives—lost them, from what he had implied earlier... That feeling of guilt was almost insurmountable, that it was difficult to see over it. Knowing that it happened, knowing that this would keep happening and that she was powerless to stop it.
Knowing that she would continue to break her promise again, and again, and again...
There is understanding, Allen, and then there is blind acceptance. She was unwilling to hedge toward the latter, even if she knew (understood) that that might be her only option. And it hurt, that she couldn't stop it. That in wars such as these, ones that she was never truly meant to fight, she might lose those that she cared about. ]
You didn't—
[ Eyes snapping open, she stopped herself. Let him say his piece, this was important.
...Did he really think that he made her sad? Allen, it was uncanny how you could understand her so thoroughly at times, yet in others completely miss your mark. Getting hurt, that was a given. No, she would not be upset if it were just that.
It was that feeling that she couldn't help but shake, that somehow history had repeated itself. Because when she promised him that day that he would not have to bear another scar like the one he received that day, likely well before they met... That was the one she feared that she had broken, and it turned her stomach. Made her feel sick.
Feeling him pull back, she took another breath, a bit shallower this time. Slowly leaning over, she let the crown of her head rest just below his right shoulder, taking a deep breath. As if what she would say—what she needed to say—was not something that she wanted to. ]
I know that, and I accept it. I know that there will be times when we can't fully protect each other, that we'll get hurt... or worse. But...
[ She was thankful he couldn't see her face then. She might lose her nerve otherwise. A breath; ]
But the least I want to do is try to protect you from forgetting yourself.
[ Because to be willing to go to such lengths to protect others... That darkness he talked about in the woods...
You did something like that again, didn't you Allen? Throwing your own safety, your life on the line as a means to an end. ]
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Well, she gets the honor of being one of the few people able to say something he was so completely not expecting that he's startled speechlessness. Because it didn't even occur to him... To Allen, who sees bearing a scar like he received that day, getting hurt over and over—it's a fact of life. We get hurt protecting the things we believe are important.
(Even in the cases where he feels he must protect them from himself.)
But that the fact he was hurt when she could do nothing about it isn't why she was upset, but that it was because.. ]
! [ Ah. Well.
Looking down at the back of her head, expression a little mixed-up, he doesn't have a response at first. Is that what he did? Forget himself?
To the point where she felt she had to protect him from that...? ]
...
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[ Reaching for her hands after a moment, his expression settles finally. Smiling a little in a way that's both heavy and a little wry, and he gives her hands a small squeeze. Lightly apologetic, perhaps. Because...
..I guess I don't understand the difference then. Because maybe to Allen there isn't one.
But he won't say that aloud. It would be too cruel. Also also because— ]
Lux— [ featherlight. please look at him? ]
Having something to look forward to means having something to live for. [ And isn't that what she means to when she says not to forget himself in battle? Given..
.. given the battle on the plateau. But more important than that, the thing that makes decisions that risk himself hard, that make him rush headfirst into danger time and time again with a wordless apology on his lips even if it makes him no less certain of his decision—
(for the possibility of losing one's home and family and the grief it causes them)
—the thing she told him and promise they made before they left Caissa last. ]
Didn't you already give that sort of reason to me?
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Even if it was truly how she felt. Because she knew, even as those words fell from her lips, that somehow he would disagree. That he would, in a way that only he could, tell her that she had it wrong. That that was how he was. How he always would be. Thanking her, perhaps.
And listening to his words, she paused. That's... ]
Allen...
[ She took a deep breath then, finally moving. Lifting her head as she looked up at him.
"Didn't you already give that sort of reason to me?"
Honestly, Lux should be elated with those words. That he felt that way. Yet... words hardly seemed to match with actions, and while she couldn't be certain, could never truly be certain unless she pinned him, made him tell her what happened—
Knowing that he wouldn't, because if she knew him well enough, it was that he would never directly do or say anything to hurt her unless completely necessary. That he couldn't see it the same way she did, and for most things that was all right. But this— ]
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Something like this wasn't a thing that he could completely understand, so completely willing to make decisions like he had that day. Like she suspected he did in the forest. And she could never understand why.
"Having something to look forward to means having something to live for."
She couldn't be entirely sure what it was (she could certainly assume, and that thought itself was heady and dizzying and not something she wanted to address at the moment, lest she lose her nerve), but that it wasn't enough to make him consider himself even just a bit—
That he could still potentially lose himself so thoroughly that he might...
She pulled her hand away then, the one gripped by his ungloved right, slowly bringing it to his cheek, resting it there almost like a statement all its own. Her other hand gripping his left hand, the one that, were things different, represented so much of him that she both loved and hated, fingers weaving between his in a sort of resolute promise and apology (she would apologize later), she adjusted. Sat on her knees, level with him, and drew closer quite gingerly.
Foreheads touching first, then closing the space between, lips brushed against lips with a gentle sort of abrupt urgency as if to say:
Stop talking and listen and listen to what she's saying, Allen Walker.
(Color, just the same as it always was, but so vivid that they seemed alive, flowing from her like an aurora. Neither warm nor cold, but strong, buzzing with emotions. Frustration, a gentle tinge of anger. Fondness and a strange sense of longing even in that torrent of irritation. Fear.)
Not allowing her a moment to think of what she had just done, or to even enjoy the feeling of it, Lux drew back, forehead hovering just shy of his, her eyes fluttering open slowly. Her voice was soft, hardly above a whisper, and raw with emotion and illness. Yet her words were resolute, almost scolding. ]
Then don't act as if your life means nothing.
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Let's be honest. This probably isn't something that should surprise him? It really probably shouldn't.
And to be honest it doesn't. It doesn't so much surprise him—more that it rather floors him. A kiss...
...and yet not quite a kiss at the same time. A touch of lips to lips in something gentle and commanding. Loving and rebuking both. Brief. Like it's a simple touch to get one's attention and yet not simple at all. This is important.
So much so that, in drawing a quick breath as she begins to pull back, he's almost convinced he imagined it, were it not for the tingle of her mana still there and he will only just barely force himself not to bite his lip a little for it. But honestly—
Honestly she didn't even need to do that to stop him cold, eyes snapping to her fully startled by just being called out that bluntly.
Or that perhaps she felt that strongly about it. ]
Lux.. [ Eyes flickering rapidly between hers. Left, right. Left, right. ]
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Something that finally came to a head.
Allen, she would apologize for being so brazen later, but she must keep her resolve. Even as he faltered, she had to hold firm. And knowing that, Lux took a breath, bringing his left hand up to brush his knuckles against her cheek. Leaning against it not as an anchor for her, but for him. ]
You get angry at me for thinking so little of myself, you've said as much before. [ "Please don't talk like your life means nothing." ] And I realize that getting angry and frustrated that you won't consider yourself at all makes me the biggest hypocrite. I know that; frankly I don't care.
[ Squeezing his hand (the left), Lux let that hand, hers still gripping it, fall. Slowly she leans forward into him, forehead gently, tiredly rested against forehead. Her other hand falling away from his cheek to grip his other, holding it there as her gaze lowered slightly to the bridge of his nose. Looking down through heavy blond lashes, much of the fire had died down, leaving instead just a warm, impassioned ember. ]
And before you try to quiet me again, because I know you'll want to... This isn't about broken promises anymore.
I don't want you to stop being the noble, selfless person that you are, because that is something that I love so much about you. When a lesser person might curse fate for being cruel, when "cursed" to see humanity in something that everyone else hates; or retreat within himself when he is told to be a weapon in what might be a losing war. That, despite all of that, you can love and protect unconditionally even your fiercest enemies. That is something I would never want to change, because it is who you are, Innocence or not; Crown Clown or not.
But how can I be able to protect you when you care so little about yourself, about your own happiness and well-being that you would go so far as to sacrifice everything for someone else without question?
When you won't let me?
When I asked to walk by your side, I'm not sure that you fully understood. Yes, it was because you and I both feel so strongly about protecting everyone that we could, and easing their suffering. But more than that, I want to keep you safe, because you won't do that for yourself. Because when I close my eyes and see all those bright, shining people there, I see you so clearly there that it hurts. You, Allen Walker.
[ Easing her grip on both hands, she didn't break away as much as she shifted slightly. Foreheads no longer rested delicately against each other, she let her head tip to one side, eyes lowered and gazing at something that wasn't there. ]
For someone who seems to understand me so completely, you don't get it at all, do you?
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All the while she speaks his expression is as slack as if she had slapped him. In fact, she may as well have to the same effect. Awed too, because... ah, maybe he really has been stupid, hasn't he? Maybe in particularly because when said "I don't want you to stop... being that person."
She'll feel his fingers twitch. Nervous. Flighty, lacing throughout his normally stayed and resolute signature. The spark of mana that's generally so relaxed in her presence these days that's so restless and cagey it's like in a whirl he might bolt and vanish like mist.
Except that she also said "I don't want you to stop being that person."
So he swallows--stricken with a guilty sort of countenance--as his eyes flicker between hers one last time. Ah.
Lux.
Do you know what you're asking? (Does he?)
Is it even something he could actually promise? When we're talking about the core of him that'll never change. Something tied to and existing because of the core of him--
...the him that she loves, the part that because it exists also is the reason for the nature of his she hates. ]
I--
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Bollocks.
The only warning she'll get is when he takes her hand in his left and sets it aside. Gloved fingers just fanned delicately over her wrist like urging her not to startle. Please don't startle or be upset. Please give him a moment and try to understand.
Because like it's a simple sort of thing rooted in sudden certainty as much as it is terror, he's going to lean forward. And it's almost laughable how small a gesture it takes, how he only needs to dip his head a little to follow how she turned aside and urge her to turn towards him with the knuckle of his curled hand--terrifying that it's like following instinct even though he's quite sure he doesn't know what to do--to press his mouth softly to hers. Like some pledge or desperate sort of plea, breath shared in something so warm and gentle it's almost hard to call it a kiss. One that he leans into, as if with the very fiber of himself and wouldn't fear drowning in--
--and for something so gentle it's quickly swept in by such a ripped and ragged torrent that's the surge of mana (essence) from that contact. That gentle and what was flighty signature of his roaring to life in such a brilliant rush it would be like a wildfire burning white and is perhaps why it feels like there's a roar in his ears. Love, despair, devotion, camaraderie, sadness; the loneliness and longing of those when they're bundled together and held onto so tightly...
As, after all, Allen Walker is not one who... even would think to try and consciously control his signature enough to muffle or obscure it from someone. Except that he always holds himself back somewhat, composed and mindful--and right now...
...he is most certainly not. Not in a moment of wanting so desperately to say so many things he can't even hope to find the words for. "I know, I'm sorry."
"I love you."
(I'm scared, too.)
"There is something beautiful about it, how the power we lose by practicing magic and wielding the weapons attuned to us might be best restored by a coming together. By an understanding, such as this."
And yet... as he holds that kiss--and that intensity does soften after a moment to.. ah, be that--
..there is also such a lingering note of sorrow as well.
"But that's not going to change." ]
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