Lucetific - *blows dust off*
Jul. 10th, 2014 06:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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31_days October: 05. The ‘me’ that you wouldn’t want to see
Fandom:![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Tales of Phantasia
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: 676 this part, ?? overall
Disclaimer: I don't own the above media.
Summary: Dhaos comes back to himself only at the sound of a knock at the door.
Author's Notes: Something I blew the dust off to post, because man oh man am I behind. I was trying something a little different that I think was at least reasonably successful? So yeah.
Eventually, it was the sound of someone knocking at his door that pulled Dhaos from his blankness. He blinked, and he became aware of the floor of his apartment. He blinked again. His gaze focused on a shard of glass. It was lying on the floor in front of him. What was it from?
The knock again. Even before there were words called out in a gentle and cheerful voice, even before his mana senses told him who it was, he knew. Grune was the only one who visited him, after all.
His attention returned to the glass. It was from a vase Grune had given him. She was always bringing him flowers, to make his bare apartment "feel more like a home."
He very nearly laughed. Perhaps he should give up and let her do as she wished. He was certainly powerless to save his true home. Why not accept defeat?
Her voice calling his name once more broke his concentration and stopped his thoughts from travelling down that path. He raised his head and let his dulled gaze drift around the ruins of his apartment. He couldn't let Grune see this. But neither could he simply ignore her. More than once, he had returned to his apartment after an excursion to find her asleep against his door. She would only wait faithfully for him until he emerged.
"Dhaos?"
He forced himself from his knees. Glass gritted underfoot; he stepped over the pieces of a small table. Focused on his destination, he registered none of it.
Grune's smiling face seemed tinged by unreality when he opened the door, and it took him a moment to recognise that what she was holding were flowers. For him. Where had they come from? It was winter. Was he imagining . . . ? They seemed real, but then, so did many of his dreams.
"I brought you some more flowers for your—oh, you're hurt!"
He followed where she was looking, then lifted his hand. It was bleeding. He looked at it, still with that sense of unreality. The vase.
Grune was taking his hand in both hers. Light flared. There was no glass in the wounds. He could be properly healed.
". . . You have filial magic?" His first words to her.
"Yes, Nala and I became friends a little while ago."
He watched her. When the colour began to fade from her cheeks and sweat appeared at her temples, he pulled his hand away. "Stop."
She reached for him; he hid his hand in his cloak. "Oh, I'm almost done. I just need a little more time."
"It is healed enough." He pulled away.
She tried again, and her gaze slipped past him. "Oh, my, what happened?"
"I . . ." Could not stop thinking last night. My mind raced through my helplessness, my failure, and the deaths of my people, cycling over and over, faster and faster, until I knew nothing but rage. And then I knew nothing. ". . . had an accident."
. . . Her arms were around him. Her cheek was resting on his shoulder. Her body was warm against his. "Are you all right?"
". . . Yes." It did not matter it was a lie. It was the only answer he would ever give her.
She pulled back to smile warmly at him. Guilt struck him. "I'm glad."
Then she let go and walked past him into the apartment. Before he could react, she had set her bouquet down by the doorway and had retrieved his broom and dustpan from the closet.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to help you clean up," she said with a proud smile.
He could only stare. "There is no need."
"Oh, but I want to help." Without another moment's hesitation, she set to work.
He stared at her for a moment longer before he joined her in picking up the pieces of his apartment. He made certain to travel a little ahead of her. He refused to let the glass cut her.
31_days October: 05. The ‘me’ that you wouldn’t want to seeFandom:
luceti, Tales of Legendia, Tales of PhantasiaGenre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: PG
Words: 676 this part, ?? overall
Disclaimer: I don't own the above media.
Summary: Dhaos comes back to himself only at the sound of a knock at the door.
Author's Notes: Something I blew the dust off to post, because man oh man am I behind. I was trying something a little different that I think was at least reasonably successful? So yeah.
Eventually, it was the sound of someone knocking at his door that pulled Dhaos from his blankness. He blinked, and he became aware of the floor of his apartment. He blinked again. His gaze focused on a shard of glass. It was lying on the floor in front of him. What was it from?
The knock again. Even before there were words called out in a gentle and cheerful voice, even before his mana senses told him who it was, he knew. Grune was the only one who visited him, after all.
His attention returned to the glass. It was from a vase Grune had given him. She was always bringing him flowers, to make his bare apartment "feel more like a home."
He very nearly laughed. Perhaps he should give up and let her do as she wished. He was certainly powerless to save his true home. Why not accept defeat?
Her voice calling his name once more broke his concentration and stopped his thoughts from travelling down that path. He raised his head and let his dulled gaze drift around the ruins of his apartment. He couldn't let Grune see this. But neither could he simply ignore her. More than once, he had returned to his apartment after an excursion to find her asleep against his door. She would only wait faithfully for him until he emerged.
"Dhaos?"
He forced himself from his knees. Glass gritted underfoot; he stepped over the pieces of a small table. Focused on his destination, he registered none of it.
Grune's smiling face seemed tinged by unreality when he opened the door, and it took him a moment to recognise that what she was holding were flowers. For him. Where had they come from? It was winter. Was he imagining . . . ? They seemed real, but then, so did many of his dreams.
"I brought you some more flowers for your—oh, you're hurt!"
He followed where she was looking, then lifted his hand. It was bleeding. He looked at it, still with that sense of unreality. The vase.
Grune was taking his hand in both hers. Light flared. There was no glass in the wounds. He could be properly healed.
". . . You have filial magic?" His first words to her.
"Yes, Nala and I became friends a little while ago."
He watched her. When the colour began to fade from her cheeks and sweat appeared at her temples, he pulled his hand away. "Stop."
She reached for him; he hid his hand in his cloak. "Oh, I'm almost done. I just need a little more time."
"It is healed enough." He pulled away.
She tried again, and her gaze slipped past him. "Oh, my, what happened?"
"I . . ." Could not stop thinking last night. My mind raced through my helplessness, my failure, and the deaths of my people, cycling over and over, faster and faster, until I knew nothing but rage. And then I knew nothing. ". . . had an accident."
. . . Her arms were around him. Her cheek was resting on his shoulder. Her body was warm against his. "Are you all right?"
". . . Yes." It did not matter it was a lie. It was the only answer he would ever give her.
She pulled back to smile warmly at him. Guilt struck him. "I'm glad."
Then she let go and walked past him into the apartment. Before he could react, she had set her bouquet down by the doorway and had retrieved his broom and dustpan from the closet.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm going to help you clean up," she said with a proud smile.
He could only stare. "There is no need."
"Oh, but I want to help." Without another moment's hesitation, she set to work.
He stared at her for a moment longer before he joined her in picking up the pieces of his apartment. He made certain to travel a little ahead of her. He refused to let the glass cut her.
