Kanda Yuu (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sixillusions) wrote2024-05-24 07:33 pm
sixillusions) wrote2024-05-24 07:33 pm
[memshare] Phantom
Something is wrong with Allen Walker.
Okay, a lot of things are wrong with him. He's fake as hell, though no one seems to mind but you. He's still clinging to his ridiculous idea of being "a destroyer who saves," insistent on freeing the pitiful bound souls that only he can see, even though "freedom" is no more than slaughter with added steps. Quite frankly, you think he's mostly still alive through spite and luck, though whether it's good or bad luck is a matter of opinion. You're pretty sure that deep down, he's only clinging to survival for the same reasons you are: Unfinished business, an identity constructed purely around a promise to the dead.
He's... a little better, these days, after the invasion. A little less naive, a little easier to trust. But you still can't stand him--the way he makes promises he can't keep, the way he throws himself on the first sword he sees because he thinks no one else will step in to block the blow. He doesn't like you any more than you like him, and you're glad for it. The less you see of each other, the happier everyone is.
But you've seen enough of him to know that this is... different. Even when he drops all his masks and facades, he doesn't make faces like this. Something is wrong: You know, from the sheen of gold in his eyes, that it has to do with what lurks inside of him--the enemy of your enemy, but certainly not your ally.
But whatever. It's not your problem. Why should you care what he is, what he's capable of? The Order could burn to the ground a thousand times over for all you care. Maybe you'd save a few people from the rubble, but Allen Walker isn't one of them.
-
Except then the stupid beansprout dives between you and the love of your life while you're killing each other, and you run him through with your sword, which sets off a whole messy chain of events, and he's half-crazed with possession but he still grants you the freedom you never really thought you'd get, and--well. That makes it your business.
You die, and then you don't (again). You ache. You mourn. You pick yourself up, and for a while, you live as a free man.
Three months later, you walk through the front doors of your old prison. You weren't here for their cause before, and you certainly aren't now, but if you're going to repay your debts, then this is the best place to start.
-
You're exhausted.
You know it isn't just from the bar-crawling, even though that would've been a drain on your energy no matter what. But this is different. You feel woozy and sleepy in a way you never have before, no matter how much you drank.
Outside, you're attacked, because of course you are--but it gets your blood pumping, wakes you up a little, even if this low-level Akuma takes no effort whatsoever to kill. The monster's taunts don't bother you, because it's nothing you didn't already know.
Maybe it's the satisfaction of violence, or maybe it's the alcohol, loosening your tongue. Maybe it's the way you saw someone else in Johnny earlier, when he leapt from his seat with a bright smile and shouted about friendship. Whatever the reason: Johnny asks you a question, and for once, you're willing to answer.
Okay, a lot of things are wrong with him. He's fake as hell, though no one seems to mind but you. He's still clinging to his ridiculous idea of being "a destroyer who saves," insistent on freeing the pitiful bound souls that only he can see, even though "freedom" is no more than slaughter with added steps. Quite frankly, you think he's mostly still alive through spite and luck, though whether it's good or bad luck is a matter of opinion. You're pretty sure that deep down, he's only clinging to survival for the same reasons you are: Unfinished business, an identity constructed purely around a promise to the dead.
He's... a little better, these days, after the invasion. A little less naive, a little easier to trust. But you still can't stand him--the way he makes promises he can't keep, the way he throws himself on the first sword he sees because he thinks no one else will step in to block the blow. He doesn't like you any more than you like him, and you're glad for it. The less you see of each other, the happier everyone is.
But you've seen enough of him to know that this is... different. Even when he drops all his masks and facades, he doesn't make faces like this. Something is wrong: You know, from the sheen of gold in his eyes, that it has to do with what lurks inside of him--the enemy of your enemy, but certainly not your ally.
But whatever. It's not your problem. Why should you care what he is, what he's capable of? The Order could burn to the ground a thousand times over for all you care. Maybe you'd save a few people from the rubble, but Allen Walker isn't one of them.
-
Except then the stupid beansprout dives between you and the love of your life while you're killing each other, and you run him through with your sword, which sets off a whole messy chain of events, and he's half-crazed with possession but he still grants you the freedom you never really thought you'd get, and--well. That makes it your business.
You die, and then you don't (again). You ache. You mourn. You pick yourself up, and for a while, you live as a free man.
Three months later, you walk through the front doors of your old prison. You weren't here for their cause before, and you certainly aren't now, but if you're going to repay your debts, then this is the best place to start.
-
You're exhausted.
You know it isn't just from the bar-crawling, even though that would've been a drain on your energy no matter what. But this is different. You feel woozy and sleepy in a way you never have before, no matter how much you drank.
Outside, you're attacked, because of course you are--but it gets your blood pumping, wakes you up a little, even if this low-level Akuma takes no effort whatsoever to kill. The monster's taunts don't bother you, because it's nothing you didn't already know.
Maybe it's the satisfaction of violence, or maybe it's the alcohol, loosening your tongue. Maybe it's the way you saw someone else in Johnny earlier, when he leapt from his seat with a bright smile and shouted about friendship. Whatever the reason: Johnny asks you a question, and for once, you're willing to answer.