code geass -- all the world is mad, liar, liar
title: all the world is mad
wordcount: 494
rating: G
synopsis: There is nothing he would change about his life. Nothing at all.
Milly often wonders how he deals with this new life of his, so far removed from that of opulence and luxury he once knew.
She asks him about it on his first day in Ashford Academy; they are little more than children, gap-toothed and knobbly-kneed, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the school hall long after the other students have gone home.
At least they have homes to go back to, Lelouch murmurs to the floor, as he idly draws patterns on the ground, sketching out a dozen, a hundred, a thousand different possibilities. His voice is a flat, carefully-controlled monotone, tinged with the barest hint of wistfulness and sorrow, and she is struck by how old he sounds, so very old and sad and tired.
Even though she does not fully understand, her heart goes out to him. The whole world was his oyster, once, and he could have had anything-he only had to say it.
He’s had to trade in his gold and rubies and emeralds for a simple, starched schoolboy’s uniform. He’s given up his brocaded vests and silk suits for a plain white shirt and black slacks, ill-fitting on his fragile young body, bent in upon itself like the spindly frame of a fledgling bird.
He never asked for any of this.
Do you miss being a prince? she asks him, tilting her head to the side as she surveys the fine contours of his chiselled features. Is there anything you would change?
He gazes implacably at her, with eyes as dull and distant as river-pebbles. No, he murmurs, and she believes him.
*
Lelouch knows that she cannot help but feel curious, though he also knows that she holds her tongue and stays silent, for fear of offending him.
She’s so much like a lady, unlike the so-called noblewomen of his father’s court, who whisper to one another behind their ornate paper fans when his mother’s coffin is borne out of the chapel. He hates it, hates every last little facet of this sham of a life in the lap of luxury, in the seat of royalty.
They play a game of deceit and trickery, hide their true natures behind fawning masks of cultured, genteel grace. He can taste the falseness of their words hanging in the air, toxic and choking, despite the plastic smiles which are pasted broadly upon their faces.
He never asked for any of this.
When he and Nunnally are banished, he finds that he does not have it in him to care. He has long been sick of the petty trivialities of the upper-class society, of the backstabbing and treachery. His siblings all squabble amongst themselves like quarrelsome vultures, vying for his father’s attention, all with their sights set on the throne.
There is nothing he would change about his life. Nothing at all.
If he can, though, maybe, just maybe, he will try and change the world, bit by bit.
title: liar, liar
wordcount: 497
rating: G
summary: They're living lies, every single one of them.
He’s living a lie.
He wonders if, deep down, anyone suspects him to be the guileless schoolboy with the appalling lack of physical prowess.
He wonders if, when the Britannian tacticians study him commandeering his troops, they see the same youth who plays chess with the rich barons of the upper echelons, translating his skills onto the battlefield.
Most of all, he wonders what Milly and the others will think if they uncover his true identity.
Zero of the rebellion.
He can play this game for only so long, he knows. One false move, one misstep, and his carefully-orchestrated plans could come tumbling down around him.
“Lelouch? Are you all right?” Shirley inquires; he surfaces from his reverie with a start, to meet the concerned eyes of his fellow student councillors boring into his.
He smiles.
“I’m fine,” he assures them, even as Rivalz’s brow furrows with doubt. “Fine,” he repeats, already preparing himself for the next betrayal of their trust.
*
She’s living a lie.
It’s the only thing she has known, the only thing she cares enough to hold on to. The rest of Ashford Academy sees her only as the fragile, ailing girl, dull-eyed and lethargic-never in a thousand years would they equate her with Q1, Zero’s most trusted lieutenant.
It’s a simple matter to camouflage herself. A hairhand, gel slicking up dark cherry-red hair in angular spikes, a yellow-cream school blazer traded for a pilot’s uniform. Those are her disguises, pseudo-masks she slips on and shrugs off with the ease of a snake shedding its skin.
Only the thought of revenge spurs her onwards, mercurial energies which have borne her through all her charades.
But without him, they are a rebellion without teeth.
She knows it. The Black Knights know it. The fact is, they need Zero.
He knows it too, even if he’s unaware of it.
She has to bring him back to the life of falsehoods he left behind.
*
He’s living a lie.
The world does not see him as the chosen pilot of the Lancelot.
They know him only as the downtrodden Eleven, swearing fealty to the Britannians and turning his back on his home country, on the beliefs of his father and all his ancestors before him.
They know him only as the Ashford Academy student, shunned by all his peers for the simple fact that he’s different.
I’m doing this for peace, he argues, fingers curled into a knotted fist-but nobody listens. I’m trying to change the world in a passive way, bit by bit-without bloodshed.
Is that true?
In the aftermath of the detonation of the bomb, he drifts through the barren ghost-town streets and turns unseeing eyes upon ravaged homes and shopfronts, and feels bitter irony settle leadenly into the pit of his stomach.
Despite himself, he throws his head back and laughs, howling his wild grief to the unfeeling stars.
He’s the biggest liar of them all.
back to index.
wordcount: 494
rating: G
synopsis: There is nothing he would change about his life. Nothing at all.
Milly often wonders how he deals with this new life of his, so far removed from that of opulence and luxury he once knew.
She asks him about it on his first day in Ashford Academy; they are little more than children, gap-toothed and knobbly-kneed, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the school hall long after the other students have gone home.
At least they have homes to go back to, Lelouch murmurs to the floor, as he idly draws patterns on the ground, sketching out a dozen, a hundred, a thousand different possibilities. His voice is a flat, carefully-controlled monotone, tinged with the barest hint of wistfulness and sorrow, and she is struck by how old he sounds, so very old and sad and tired.
Even though she does not fully understand, her heart goes out to him. The whole world was his oyster, once, and he could have had anything-he only had to say it.
He’s had to trade in his gold and rubies and emeralds for a simple, starched schoolboy’s uniform. He’s given up his brocaded vests and silk suits for a plain white shirt and black slacks, ill-fitting on his fragile young body, bent in upon itself like the spindly frame of a fledgling bird.
He never asked for any of this.
Do you miss being a prince? she asks him, tilting her head to the side as she surveys the fine contours of his chiselled features. Is there anything you would change?
He gazes implacably at her, with eyes as dull and distant as river-pebbles. No, he murmurs, and she believes him.
*
Lelouch knows that she cannot help but feel curious, though he also knows that she holds her tongue and stays silent, for fear of offending him.
She’s so much like a lady, unlike the so-called noblewomen of his father’s court, who whisper to one another behind their ornate paper fans when his mother’s coffin is borne out of the chapel. He hates it, hates every last little facet of this sham of a life in the lap of luxury, in the seat of royalty.
They play a game of deceit and trickery, hide their true natures behind fawning masks of cultured, genteel grace. He can taste the falseness of their words hanging in the air, toxic and choking, despite the plastic smiles which are pasted broadly upon their faces.
He never asked for any of this.
When he and Nunnally are banished, he finds that he does not have it in him to care. He has long been sick of the petty trivialities of the upper-class society, of the backstabbing and treachery. His siblings all squabble amongst themselves like quarrelsome vultures, vying for his father’s attention, all with their sights set on the throne.
There is nothing he would change about his life. Nothing at all.
If he can, though, maybe, just maybe, he will try and change the world, bit by bit.
title: liar, liar
wordcount: 497
rating: G
summary: They're living lies, every single one of them.
He’s living a lie.
He wonders if, deep down, anyone suspects him to be the guileless schoolboy with the appalling lack of physical prowess.
He wonders if, when the Britannian tacticians study him commandeering his troops, they see the same youth who plays chess with the rich barons of the upper echelons, translating his skills onto the battlefield.
Most of all, he wonders what Milly and the others will think if they uncover his true identity.
Zero of the rebellion.
He can play this game for only so long, he knows. One false move, one misstep, and his carefully-orchestrated plans could come tumbling down around him.
“Lelouch? Are you all right?” Shirley inquires; he surfaces from his reverie with a start, to meet the concerned eyes of his fellow student councillors boring into his.
He smiles.
“I’m fine,” he assures them, even as Rivalz’s brow furrows with doubt. “Fine,” he repeats, already preparing himself for the next betrayal of their trust.
*
She’s living a lie.
It’s the only thing she has known, the only thing she cares enough to hold on to. The rest of Ashford Academy sees her only as the fragile, ailing girl, dull-eyed and lethargic-never in a thousand years would they equate her with Q1, Zero’s most trusted lieutenant.
It’s a simple matter to camouflage herself. A hairhand, gel slicking up dark cherry-red hair in angular spikes, a yellow-cream school blazer traded for a pilot’s uniform. Those are her disguises, pseudo-masks she slips on and shrugs off with the ease of a snake shedding its skin.
Only the thought of revenge spurs her onwards, mercurial energies which have borne her through all her charades.
But without him, they are a rebellion without teeth.
She knows it. The Black Knights know it. The fact is, they need Zero.
He knows it too, even if he’s unaware of it.
She has to bring him back to the life of falsehoods he left behind.
*
He’s living a lie.
The world does not see him as the chosen pilot of the Lancelot.
They know him only as the downtrodden Eleven, swearing fealty to the Britannians and turning his back on his home country, on the beliefs of his father and all his ancestors before him.
They know him only as the Ashford Academy student, shunned by all his peers for the simple fact that he’s different.
I’m doing this for peace, he argues, fingers curled into a knotted fist-but nobody listens. I’m trying to change the world in a passive way, bit by bit-without bloodshed.
Is that true?
In the aftermath of the detonation of the bomb, he drifts through the barren ghost-town streets and turns unseeing eyes upon ravaged homes and shopfronts, and feels bitter irony settle leadenly into the pit of his stomach.
Despite himself, he throws his head back and laughs, howling his wild grief to the unfeeling stars.
He’s the biggest liar of them all.
back to index.