[SP-F1] L'arc en Ciel: Faces of the Sky

[Azide 0]

Azide/Nouel | McGonagall | Ciel/Celine

~

10 Years ago

"You shouldn't be so afraid," said the girl, her hands placed squarely upon her hips.

At that moment, she looked about thirty years older, and he half-expected her to begin scolding him about anything and everything he'd done over the course of the day. All in all, she was the spit and image of their caretakers, only about half as big and twice as feisty. Still, at least she never carried around one of those long wooden sticks which seemed to be endorsed oh-so-heavily by their Lord and Savior. He wasn't sure exactly where in that darn book it said that such strict punishments were necessary, but those ladies sure as hell seemed to believe it all the same. Pawing nervously at his shoulder, he wondered if perhaps his back still bore the telltale signs; the skin itself felt normal enough, and had since lost its blistering heat, but it was always hard to tell. Mirrors were not exactly common around these parts, after all.

Perhaps that strange boy might be able to sneak one in the next time he stopped by- or at least, he might, if he wasn't such a snobby little jerk. Even then, he wouldn't put it past the kid to throw them a bone just for the fun of it, like tossing scraps to a pack of starved dogs. Come to think of it, what was his name again...? Pascal, maybe? Usually, his memory was a bit sharper with this sort of thing, and so it seemed a testament to the extent of his disinterest in the affairs of that little priss. All he knew was that this 'Pascal' or whatever had been paying more and more visits lately- or rather, perhaps it was more accurate to say that it was Pascal's parents whom had taken to these visits. After all, Pascal himself couldn't be any older than eight or so. No, it was his folks whose interest had been aroused by their 'humble institution'. But for the love of all that was holy, if they could just keep that little monster at home-

Edited February 19, 2016 by Azide

[Azide 0]

10 Years ago

"Nouel!" She clapped her hands twice in front of his face in rapid succession, making him blink slowly as the haze of his daze was lifted from his mind. "Anyway, like I was saying," she continued, hands sliding down to grip at her sides. The slight pout of her lips had since faded, and in its place was a smile he recognized well. It was the same one that said, everything is okay. "Don't be scared, okay? Because if you start wimping out on me, I swear..."

The brown-haired boy straightened his ragged coat and tie, raised himself to full attention- and then raised himself just a touch beyond even that. "Hey, hey, hey! Come on Celine, I am not a wimp," said Nouel, his tippy toes lifting him a further inch or two off of the ground. All-too-aware of what he was doing, he moved his own hands to his hips, flaring his elbows outward in a dramatic fashion. "Do I have to remind you who the older and taller one here is? I'm not afraid of a bunch of nuns- I'm practically as much of an adult as they are!" whispered the boy. He stole a quick glance at the door behind them, breathing a sigh only upon confirming that the knob had indeed been locked. "Besides," he continued, a twinkle in his eye, "Why should I be scared? Nobody's gonna come up here besides us, except for maybe the rats." He paused, expecting her to shudder or shriek, but carried on when neither of these things took place. "After all, I'll have you know I didn't pick this place all willy nilly. Now, if you'll just..."

Edited November 26, 2015 by Azide

[Azide 0]

Present day

"Excuse me, McGonagall?" asked Azide. He coughed into the fist of an unfettered hand, and though the case could be made that he was 'sick', this particular gesture had not been born of any conventional illness. His coffee-colored gaze currently tangled between the starving stares of four, words were just about the limit of what he could spare for the buffoonish man. Even for the briefest moment, one should never throw his company under the bus- especially when that company consisted of ravenous, likely man-eating creatures and beasts. All things considered, it seemed a safe bet to say that these monsters wanted nothing less than to satisfy their curiosities as to how this human might taste.

Autumnal leaves crunched crisply alongside the snaps of fallen twigs as the mobs inched ever closer, enticing his fingers to clasp tighter around the handle of the knife entrusted to them. "Er, McGonagall, you have my sincerest apologies if I happen to be imposing..." the young man began, backing away from the group as slowly as possible. He cleared his throat, louder than before. "...but I do believe that it'd be in both of our best interests if we were to swap adversaries."

Ever since he'd returned, various patches to the system mechanics had made it exceedingly dangerous for him to engage with more than a single opponent at a time, let alone four. Meanwhile, his friend with the heavy-hitting, multi-hitting sword over there was absolutely hamming it up over there against a single bear-like creature.

Edited November 27, 2015 by Azide

[Azide 0]

Present day

"Not quite sure what you're tryin' to say over there, pal," said McGonagall. The words hung in the air in a manner rather in-your-face, which was likely owing to the air with which they'd been delivered. Simple words and a simple mind, and not very much going on in between; McGonagall had never exactly been prone to complication. As a result, it was not so difficult to re-attribute the dismissiveness of the statement as miscomprehension, or even as good old-fashioned ignorance. Even so, it didn't help that the man seemed to underestimate the natural loudness of his voice in the way an elephant might underestimate its strength. Asking McGonagall to keep his voice down was like entrusting said elephant to massage the back of a mouse without splattering its entrails all over the floor.
 
Substantial hands gripped the base of the wooden handle, his fingers coiled around it like a python closing in. A tremendous weight was lifted quite literally from the man's shoulders as he raised his hefty blade. With a dexterity which eclipsed all expectations, the blade propelled through the air with a certain swiftness which had traditionally been reserved for decidedly daintier tools. As the blade descended diagonally upon its target, perhaps the only indication of its true burden was the mighty grunt which accompanied it: a guttural cry which boomed throughout the clearing like a clap of thunder.

Edited February 29, 2016 by Azide