The Devil’s Symphony
Chapter 8:
Disclaimer: The D.Gray-Man manga is way to interesting to have come from me. (:
A/N: Enjoy!
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“Dearest Lenalee,
Please make sure you get this message across to the others.
The inscription insides your instruments are as follows:
Kanda: ‘Obscur Aile Chevalier’ which means ‘Black Winged Knight’.
Lavi: ‘Minuit Soliel’ which means ‘Midnight Sun’.
Lenalee: ‘Crepuscule Colombe’ which means ‘Twilight Dove’.
Allen: ‘Lucinia Soir Ciel’ which means ‘Nightingale of the Evening Heaven’.
‘Chevalier’ which means ‘Knight’.
Have a good breakfast Lenalee. And make sure you come home safe after.
Countdown: Three Days to Entrance Exams!
Signed,
You’re Loving Brother Komui”
“Huh.”
The ebony haired-girl had just uncovered the horrendous scribble of a message from her pocket.
Maybe this was what her brother had stayed up so late to research.
But all these names.
Her brows furrowed.
Having studied all the names of any existing Stradivarius instruments, she knew that this could not be possible.
Then again, her brother, certified to determine the genuineness of Antonio Stradivari’s world-renown instruments, had confirmed that their instruments were authentic.
So what on earth was going on?
The clatter of a plastic tray on the table snapped her back to reality and Lenalee started momentarily.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare ya. You looked kinda distant. Something wrong?”
Lenalee looked at the redhead.
‘Now I’ll never talk to Allen about that properly…”
She shook her head.
His emerald eye glistened, and he grinned.
The amethyst eyed girl figured he was smiling behind his eye-patch too.
“You were daydreaming about Allen-chan, weren’t you? Hm?”
The girl was taken aback.
Similarly, Allen, whom had arrived at the table and quietly put down the tray unnoticed, nearly dropped his mocha latte mid-air.
“Yo, Allen-chan! How are ya?”
“F-F-F-Fine.”
Lavi blinked numerous times.
“Don’t seem fine.”
He turned to Lenalee, his voice drenched with a masked sense of seriousness.
“So, are you going to ask him?”
Allen’s relief dissipated.
At first, when Lavi had showed up, he’d thought that now, Lenalee wouldn’t be able to ask him those questions.
But instead, the redhead knew what was going on.
“W-What? You knew about this, Lavi?”
Now puzzled, Allen pondered upon the possibility that Lenalee hadn’t been the one to tell Lavi anything, and that he’d simply found out himself.
But maybe it was just an act?
Then again, there was nothing to be concerned about. And Lenalee wouldn’t lie.
He didn’t even know what she wanted to ask him.
So there was no need for alarm.
Was there?
The eighteen year-old folded his arms, feigning a stern demeanour.
“I’m a Bookman apprentice,” he announced, “I should know about anything that may be going on.”
He seated himself next to Allen.
“So go about your business.”
He smiled and winked.
“Pretend I’m not here.”
Lenalee looked at him lamely.
“You just made your presence very obvious. How are we supposed to pretend you’re not there?”
“Aw, come on, Lena-chan! Be creative.”
Said teenager rolled her eyes.
“Fine then.”
She looked out the shop window, at the sunrise far beyond the small buildings that were the post office and bank.
The large ball of fire was just rising over the top of the buildings, and it was still quite dark.
She shut her eyes.
‘Compromise, Lenalee, compromise.’
“I… um…”
‘Crap, what do I say?’
Opening her eyes, she asked slowly, “I wanted to ask you about your scar and your arm…”
Allen looked surprised, and his eyes goggled slightly.
“I-If you don’t mind.”
She sounded awkward to herself already.
Who knew what Allen would think?
Said person turned away from her, and Lenalee bit her lip.
“It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.”
“No, no.”
She looked up.
His grey eyes gazed at her truthfully, but he wasn’t facing her. Looking at her from his peripherals, he looked like an angel.
He smiled.
The sunlight was reflected in his storm grey eyes and they sparked gold for a split second before he turned away.
“I don’t mind.”
Lenalee watched as he suppressed the urge to gulp.
“Well, this arm…”
He unbuckled the cuff on the left sleeve of his shirt.
“I was born with it.”
He shrugged.
“As a small child, I was abandoned because of this deformity, and was left without a place to live. So, I wandered around for a while, coming across a circus sometime when I was five. They agreed to hire me; they needed an extra worker to help clean up quick after acts...”
Lenalee looked at him curiously, worriedly.
“They hired a five year-old without a second thought…?”
A crooked smile played on Allen’s lips.
“The world may seem cruel after you hear such a thing…”
His tone darkened.
“But there are even worse things than that.”
And suddenly he was smiling again.
“And better things.”
“Well, what happened after that…”
Flashback-
“Is he dead?”
He dug his hands into his pockets, attempting to keep them warm in the cool night air.
The clown looked at him.
“He’s dead.”
“…He’s covered in bruises.”
The clown lifted the small ball off the ground, placing it gingerly on the top of the small mound.
“Cosmo probably did it. ‘Cause the audience likes you more than him.”
The boy looked at the clown strangely as he sighed.
Sighs looked just wrong on painted-on smiles.
“He hates it when people are better’n than him,” he went on, “He’s got no talent except when it comes to stuff like this.”
The younger of the two remained silent.
Dusting off his hands, he added, “He was an old dog. He wouldn’t have lived much longer anyway. It’s alright.”
“…hmm.”
He thought for a moment.
“You’re not gonna get revenge?”
The clown smiled.
“If I do that, I’ll get thrown out of here and won’t get paid.”
He clapped his hands together, and chanted, “Namu Amida BooBoo.”
The boy looked at him lamely, disgusted.
‘Ugh.’
“I’m a newcomer after all.”
The boy’s silver eyes glanced at him briefly from the side, then returned his gaze to the small mound before them.
“After Christmas tomorrow, I’ll move on to somewhere new…”
“I see.”
The boy leaned his head on his palm, looking away from the clown.
“Hm?”
He cocked his head to the side.
“Who are you anyway?”
Still facing away from the clown, the boy replied monotonously, “I do odd jobs around here. I’ve brought you your dinner before.”
“I have a bad memory for faces.”
The clown let out a startled gasp.
The boy paid it no mind.
“Oh my!”
He stuck out his tongue and licked the tip of his finger.
“You’re covered in bruises too, aren’t you?”
He touched the wet finger to the boy’s swollen cheek, and he started.
“WAH, GROSS! GET YOUR SPIT OFF ME DUMMY!”
He glared ferociously at the clown.
“It’s disinfectant,” the clown insisted.
He withdrew his finger.
“Did Cosmo beat you up?”
The boy wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“SHUT UP.”
He refused to look at the irritating clown.
“Don’t you have friends?”
A vein threatened to pop on Allen’s forehead.
“SHUT UP!”
He folded his arms and drew his knees up to his chest, looking away.
“When I grow up…I’m getting out of here as soon as I’m strong enough, so I don’t need any friends…”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the clown make a stupid face.
Staring straight ahead, the distorted face having no effect on him, he asked, “What’re you doing?”
The clown withdrew himself back into his original sitting position.
“You didn’t think it was funny?”
“Sorry, but I don’t like clowns and stuff.”
He thought for a moment.
Why was he even talking to the idiot?
“In fact, I hate ‘em.”
“My, my.”
He raised his nose, acting indignant.
“Well, I hate crowds and children who don’t laugh.”
“Hmph.”
A silence settled between them.
“Aren’t you gonna cry?”
The boy’s voice shook.
“He lived with you for a long time, didn’t he?”
He stared at the small mound of earth before him.
“Aren’t you sad?”
“So sad I could die.”
The clown was ‘hanging’ from a noose that was tied to the tree.
“QUIT IT!!”
‘Is this guy dangerous?’
“But I can’t cry.”
He looked at the clown incredulously.
He returned the disbelieving look.
“Maybe my tears are dried up.”
He unfastened the noose.
“They just won’t come.”
The boy’s breath escaped his lips, forming a cloud of steam around his mouth.
“What’s up with that…?” he murmured.
He continued to stare at the hillock of earth under which rested the dogs dead body.
His voice shook again, rust-coloured locks hiding his eyes.
“What… was his name?”
The clown did not answer, but the boy didn’t notice.
“He licked my hand yesterday.”
He raised his deformed left hand up, observing its disgusting features, horrible texture, the colour of blood.
“His tongue was warm…”
He had tried to stop them, reinforce the dam, but to no avail.
They spilled over his cheeks, and he sniffed, his nose beginning to run as well.
“So how come…”
And everything just poured out.
“I’m crying…over him?”
He bit his lip, trying to suppress the wails that threatened to escape him.
But the urge to cry was too strong for him.
He howled and wept into the cold winter air, and the clown stood by, watching him.
“I see…”
And he seemed to understand everything.
“Well, this clown of a person became my foster father.”
He smiled, eyes distant.
“He taught me everything, gave me everything. He taught me manners, words, anything you needed to know in order to survive in the world. He gave me a name, a birthday, anything a child needed to feel love. All the while, he carried a special case. I never knew what it was until…”
The white-haired boy tensed slightly.
His gaze fell to the table, observing the wood lines.
“He…” he began, still slightly shaken by the thought he had hoped to forget, denied.
Lenalee could easily anticipate what he would say next.
Gulping, he continued.
“He died. And my eye… it…”
Flashback-
“Mana Walker, 17th September 1981 to 24th December 2004.”
There was no other inscription.
They hadn’t carved anything else onto the slab of stone.
Hadn’t acknowledged his role as the most wonderful foster father anyone could have.
The boy took it back.
No, they hadn’t acknowledged his role as the most wonderful father anyone could have.
The bronze-haired boy leaned back against the gravestone dazed and disoriented.
His lips moved and the breath escaped into the cold winter air in wisps of clouded steam.
“Death. Mana. Gone. All my fault…”
The whisper rang around him like an echo, the stillness in the graveyard shaken just by those few words.
“Bring him back…”
His voice grew in volume.
“Bring. Him. Back.”
And the silence was utterly shattered to pieces.
“BRING HIM BACK!”
The air grew cold as the last drops of silence evaporated.
“Good evening~”
The discreet looking boy stared up at the rather large man.
“What…?”
“You want someone back?”
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Well, that's about it for this chapter.
...
No, I was just kidding.
(:
I've been at this page for over three weeks. This stupid thing hasn't moved since the last time I typed it. D:
Anyway, I'll see you soon.
♪.moonrise.♪
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♪.Sing to the Heaven of the Dawn.♪
§//.Melodramatic obstinate love haunts the ensanguined hearts of the broken.The torn melodist sings his final aria of dreams.\\§
