Al had to admit that it had been an indulgent, frivolous thing to buy that journal. Sure, he could explain it to himself that it might be a way to find his brother, but first, he'd have to find someone who might know him. Not only that, but he'd gotten all those fancy features, like cross-world capabilities, large monitor, fancy stylus (the fingers of his gauntlets were so big they wouldn't let him type properly), and glowy screen
( ... )
Zexion paid no attention to the metal footsteps. He dropped his gloves into his lap, catching the ends of wire with his bare fingers. There was a low hiss of pain as he unwrapped it, careless and irritated that he couldn't keep it from cutting his fingers. (The gloves limited some of the manuvarability required to dig fishing line out of one's neck.)
His fingers made it halfway to his lips before he dropped them into his lap again. He knew better than to suck on them like some backwoods islander. "Bastard." He muttered under his breath, leaning back against the wall.
He was mildly startled to see a suit of armor standing there. Everything living thing had a scent, be it human, heartless or nobody - this creature did too, but something about it was so strange he hadn't recognised it as living at first. He'd completely dismissed it; the sound of the armor moving, the words, everything.
Zexion tilted his head very slightly, uncomprehending and curious. It showed in his voice. "And what are you?"
Al watched with horror as the figure unwound something from around his neck. The guy had had wire, dangerously thin, wrapped around his throat, and from his expression and mutters, it had not been pleasant. Al doubted that it had been done voluntarily.
When the stranger turned to look at him, Al was a bit surprised at how calm the guy was. How could he be so calm when it looked like someone had tried to kill him? He only half noticed the question that was posed so mildly, and did not notice the "what" that he used instead of "who" at all. Kneeling down as best he could in front of the man, he spoke in a worried voice, "Uh, I'm Alphonse. Are you okay? That looks like a terrible wound."
Zexion gave the suit of armor a bemused look. Was it a puppet of some kind? He didn't smell anyone near enough to control it.
He ran his thumb along the wound in response to its question, apparently trying to wipe away some of the blood. It had the opposite effect. "It's only terrible if I lose more blood than I need."
It sounded like a child. The strangest thought filtered across his mind, something about the heart and how thin a shield that suit really was, but it was gone again before he could grasp it.
"Why so concerned about a stranger? It's dangerous to wonder on your own."
The blood had clotted enough by now but Zexion was still feeling a little lightheaded and weary. "Do you think so?" He asked, smiling just barely. "And what if I deserved it? You'd be kneeling in front of a very evil man."
He leaned forward a little, trying to peer into the darkness of the armor. It was harder than it should have been. "I could be a pirate." He teased. "Or a villain."
Al thought about that while a small part of him was considering the best way to help the guy. There was indeed a good chance that this person was what someone might call a bad guy. It would explain why he was alone in the the darkness, unafraid of what might be lurking. But still...
"I couldn't just leave you here when you're hurt." He reached out to scoop the man into his arms. Injuries like his were beyond Al's capabilities. They were close to the hotel, though. Maybe that nice Lady General and that her companion with the long, long hair could help.
Zexion wasn't physically able to stop someone more than twice his size and strength from picking him up, but it seemed to stir him out of the semi-pleasant lull he'd been in. He reached around and grabbed onto Al, more out of the instinctual need for safety than any actual wish. For a heartbeat, he really was afraid to fall.
"What are you doing?" Zexion growled, offence overriding the initial shock. He hated to be carried or tended or picked up like he was some kind of invalid. A year bedridden left him with some viciously bitter memories for a nobody.
Zexion's words were slow, measured, calm again despite the fact that Al had ignited something decidedly unpleasant. "Put me down."
Al looked around the waterway before looking down at the injured man. He was pretty sure that the man was angry; possibly he was insulted at being carried like a princess being swooped away by her knight in shining armor. Edward could be that way too. He was so conscious about his diminutive status and so sensitive about anything that might detract from his masculine pride.
"I'm really sorry, but I can't just leave you hurt like that," Al said, apologetic but not releasing his bundle. He started walking along the street. "You should get that looked at. Maybe we can find a doctor."
Zexion stopped struggling. It was a completely inorganic change, sudden like a switch had been flipped. He released the thing's neck, resting as comfortably as he could manage while being carried, arms draped across his stomach.
He tilted his head down when he rested it against Al, a sigh for good measure and to wipe away the remaining revolution. He would wipe away everything that reminded him of that island. It was better, wasn't it?
"You have such a heart." He replied, tilting his face up. A pout drew itself across his features, slightly melancholy. "But the only place I can be helped...is in the third district. I can't ask you to carry me there in good conscience."
"Oh, I don't mind," Al answered immediately. He had not been to this third district yet, but the first and second were pretty nice. And of course the guy wasn't heavy, so it was no problem to carry this man. Not that it would have mattered, since he didn't have a body that got tired. "As long as you tell me which way to go."
He paused, wondering if there was a doctor there that this man...this man, this man, he couldn't keep calling the guy "this man" could he? "You see, mister...um...mister..."
He didn't seem to need any more encouragement than that. Zexion stretched his arm out and pointed. His last visit to Traverse Town had been a very long time ago, and even then he'd been on business and using the corridors to get where he needed to be.
He remembered the third district itself, though. The scent of darkness was always very strong.
"Zexion." He filled in, not continuing any further. Al seemed like he wanted to say something and Zexion wasn't about to interrupt.
There was something about this boy's scent that kept getting lost in translation - the more Zexion tried to grasp it, the faster it slipped away. Perhaps he was rushing things, leading them to the third district right away. There was no need to rely solely on heartless for his information.
He picked out a more scenic route. It would give them a little time to talk.
Al nodded and obediently set out again, heading in the direction Zexion had pointed. "You see, mister Zexion, I'm pretty new here, and I don't really know where anything is right now."
Al's feet clanged hollowly on stone as he found the entrance and stepped into the main streets. No doubt they looked a bit of a sight, a giant suit of armor carrying a man covered in blood. There was no help for it, though. He was just following the man's directions, after all. Thank goodness there weren't many others around.
"This place is different from where I come from," Al continued. He thought about the journal tucked into his loincloth. "Very different."
That explained it. Zexion still thought this man's heart was far too open, far too light. He even sounded like a child. "I haven't been here in a long time." He explained almost boredly. "Things may have changed since then."
His head resting against the suit, he finally realized why the scent had confused him so much. It was like a puppet, the most macabre kind. He drew his hand back and rapped against the suit.
"Hollow." He mused. He looked up at Al, curiosity veiled by a scientist's eyes. "Is everyone from your world like that? A heart in a shell?"
"Huh?" Al jumped at the hollow clang his body made. He sometimes forgot that he was still not a normal human. Expecting the man to freak out, his hands held on tighter. Most people tried to run when they realized that there was no person in the suit of armor that housed his soul. But Zexion was hurt, and he didn't want the man to hurt himself more, so he held on.
To his surprise, Zexion didn't panic at all, and he stared down at him for a minute, his face completely expressionless. When he spoke though, his voice held uncertainty. "Uh, n-no. I was in an...er...accident. You...aren't afraid of me?"
Zexion shifted a little in Al's hands, the only sign of discomfort when they held him tighter. He forced himself to be still again soon after, his hand still resting flat where he'd knocked against the armor.
"An accident." Zexion repeated, his voice laced with something unidentifiable. "I'm sorry."
At Al's question, he tilted his head, traces of amusement in his expression. "Are you going to kill me?"
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His fingers made it halfway to his lips before he dropped them into his lap again. He knew better than to suck on them like some backwoods islander. "Bastard." He muttered under his breath, leaning back against the wall.
He was mildly startled to see a suit of armor standing there. Everything living thing had a scent, be it human, heartless or nobody - this creature did too, but something about it was so strange he hadn't recognised it as living at first. He'd completely dismissed it; the sound of the armor moving, the words, everything.
Zexion tilted his head very slightly, uncomprehending and curious. It showed in his voice. "And what are you?"
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When the stranger turned to look at him, Al was a bit surprised at how calm the guy was. How could he be so calm when it looked like someone had tried to kill him? He only half noticed the question that was posed so mildly, and did not notice the "what" that he used instead of "who" at all. Kneeling down as best he could in front of the man, he spoke in a worried voice, "Uh, I'm Alphonse. Are you okay? That looks like a terrible wound."
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He ran his thumb along the wound in response to its question, apparently trying to wipe away some of the blood. It had the opposite effect. "It's only terrible if I lose more blood than I need."
It sounded like a child. The strangest thought filtered across his mind, something about the heart and how thin a shield that suit really was, but it was gone again before he could grasp it.
"Why so concerned about a stranger? It's dangerous to wonder on your own."
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In his mind, however, he was thinking that the stranger needed to think about himself and danger. Al wasn't the one with the bleeding neck after all.
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He leaned forward a little, trying to peer into the darkness of the armor. It was harder than it should have been. "I could be a pirate." He teased. "Or a villain."
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"I couldn't just leave you here when you're hurt." He reached out to scoop the man into his arms. Injuries like his were beyond Al's capabilities. They were close to the hotel, though. Maybe that nice Lady General and that her companion with the long, long hair could help.
Reply
"What are you doing?" Zexion growled, offence overriding the initial shock. He hated to be carried or tended or picked up like he was some kind of invalid. A year bedridden left him with some viciously bitter memories for a nobody.
Zexion's words were slow, measured, calm again despite the fact that Al had ignited something decidedly unpleasant. "Put me down."
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"I'm really sorry, but I can't just leave you hurt like that," Al said, apologetic but not releasing his bundle. He started walking along the street. "You should get that looked at. Maybe we can find a doctor."
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He tilted his head down when he rested it against Al, a sigh for good measure and to wipe away the remaining revolution. He would wipe away everything that reminded him of that island. It was better, wasn't it?
"You have such a heart." He replied, tilting his face up. A pout drew itself across his features, slightly melancholy. "But the only place I can be helped...is in the third district. I can't ask you to carry me there in good conscience."
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He paused, wondering if there was a doctor there that this man...this man, this man, he couldn't keep calling the guy "this man" could he? "You see, mister...um...mister..."
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He remembered the third district itself, though. The scent of darkness was always very strong.
"Zexion." He filled in, not continuing any further. Al seemed like he wanted to say something and Zexion wasn't about to interrupt.
There was something about this boy's scent that kept getting lost in translation - the more Zexion tried to grasp it, the faster it slipped away. Perhaps he was rushing things, leading them to the third district right away. There was no need to rely solely on heartless for his information.
He picked out a more scenic route. It would give them a little time to talk.
Reply
Al's feet clanged hollowly on stone as he found the entrance and stepped into the main streets. No doubt they looked a bit of a sight, a giant suit of armor carrying a man covered in blood. There was no help for it, though. He was just following the man's directions, after all. Thank goodness there weren't many others around.
"This place is different from where I come from," Al continued. He thought about the journal tucked into his loincloth. "Very different."
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His head resting against the suit, he finally realized why the scent had confused him so much. It was like a puppet, the most macabre kind. He drew his hand back and rapped against the suit.
"Hollow." He mused. He looked up at Al, curiosity veiled by a scientist's eyes. "Is everyone from your world like that? A heart in a shell?"
How ironic.
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To his surprise, Zexion didn't panic at all, and he stared down at him for a minute, his face completely expressionless. When he spoke though, his voice held uncertainty. "Uh, n-no. I was in an...er...accident. You...aren't afraid of me?"
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"An accident." Zexion repeated, his voice laced with something unidentifiable. "I'm sorry."
At Al's question, he tilted his head, traces of amusement in his expression. "Are you going to kill me?"
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