[ficlet][oneshot] Djinn Faces
Title: Djinn Faces
Fandom: D.Gray-Man
Characters/Pairings: Cross Marian, Allen
Genre: Gen
Words: 310
Rating: G
Notes: "Ficlets" are the umbrella term I use for anything between 101-1000 words. :) I tried to write Cross in one of his rarer, not-as-cruel moments. I'm sure he has them once a year or so.
The boy lay slumped against the wall, eyes wide and vacant. Cross looked down at the crown of white hair, the blood-caked cheek and that repulsive-looking left hand and waved away the cigarette smoke hanging in the frigid air. He shifted his weight onto his heels and picked up the boy's Innocence-deformed hand. Glazed silver-grey eyes blinked slowly, a reaction. "Looks like God's still with you, kid," Cross informed him, letting the hand go.
Another slow blink. Cross wondered if Mana had saddled him with a half-wit. "God?" The boy's voice was small, still cracked in so many places. "Who...?"
The redheaded general snorted and dropped his cigarette into the snow-slush-ice mix on the ground. "He's a fat old bastard who sits up somewhere no one can get to and rations out blessings that're more like curses," he replied, watching as the boy's brow creased slightly.
"Why is that good?"
"It’s not, idiot. But it's better than the Earl."
A semblance of life had begun to come into the boy's eyes, though Cross still had doubts about how smart the kid was. Persistent, maybe. Stubborn as hell, obviously, to have lived through the mess he'd made. Smart? Probably not.
"Who's the Earl?"
Cross lit another cigarette, letting that question linger for a moment or two. The boy was looking at him now, dirty face turned up to show the pale lines cut into the grime and blood by his tears. "The Millennium Earl. You saw him."
"I did?"
Definitely a half-wit. Maybe even less than half. "Another fatty giving out things you think you want until it comes back to bite you in the ass." He snorted. "He's like an evil Father Christmas."
"But... I like Father Christmas."
Cross studied the boy and shook his head, dropping a hand on the top of his hair. "They're all the same, kid."
The quote in the cut text is a line from "Angel With an Attitude" by the Ditty Bops.
Fandom: D.Gray-Man
Characters/Pairings: Cross Marian, Allen
Genre: Gen
Words: 310
Rating: G
Notes: "Ficlets" are the umbrella term I use for anything between 101-1000 words. :) I tried to write Cross in one of his rarer, not-as-cruel moments. I'm sure he has them once a year or so.
The boy lay slumped against the wall, eyes wide and vacant. Cross looked down at the crown of white hair, the blood-caked cheek and that repulsive-looking left hand and waved away the cigarette smoke hanging in the frigid air. He shifted his weight onto his heels and picked up the boy's Innocence-deformed hand. Glazed silver-grey eyes blinked slowly, a reaction. "Looks like God's still with you, kid," Cross informed him, letting the hand go.
Another slow blink. Cross wondered if Mana had saddled him with a half-wit. "God?" The boy's voice was small, still cracked in so many places. "Who...?"
The redheaded general snorted and dropped his cigarette into the snow-slush-ice mix on the ground. "He's a fat old bastard who sits up somewhere no one can get to and rations out blessings that're more like curses," he replied, watching as the boy's brow creased slightly.
"Why is that good?"
"It’s not, idiot. But it's better than the Earl."
A semblance of life had begun to come into the boy's eyes, though Cross still had doubts about how smart the kid was. Persistent, maybe. Stubborn as hell, obviously, to have lived through the mess he'd made. Smart? Probably not.
"Who's the Earl?"
Cross lit another cigarette, letting that question linger for a moment or two. The boy was looking at him now, dirty face turned up to show the pale lines cut into the grime and blood by his tears. "The Millennium Earl. You saw him."
"I did?"
Definitely a half-wit. Maybe even less than half. "Another fatty giving out things you think you want until it comes back to bite you in the ass." He snorted. "He's like an evil Father Christmas."
"But... I like Father Christmas."
Cross studied the boy and shook his head, dropping a hand on the top of his hair. "They're all the same, kid."
The quote in the cut text is a line from "Angel With an Attitude" by the Ditty Bops.