Ooh! A Miranda fic! Welcome, everyone! Mr. Ree (and Mr. Meenor in the background) here! Welcome to 'Miranda Lotto: A Survivor's Tale'! This is surprisingly new for me, because I haven't stared any of the few female characters yet. And Miranda, well, she was perfect for this new plot. It is slightly based of off 'Maus', but it's not about the Holocaust, just for your information. I hope you enjoy! So! Let us commence forthwith with Chapter 1 of 'Miranda Lotto: A Survivor's Tale'!
Disclaimer: D. Gray-Man is property of Katsura Hoshino and Funimation. This series is a parody and nothing more, so please support the official release. Got it? Damn well better.
~O~
1. The Orphan Named Allen
"P-Please! Just give me another cha—"
"No! It's expensive to break windows! Please leave!"
The wooden door slammed shut in her face, scattering dust on the doorstop as her eyes watered with tears. Pedestrians walked by her, casting odd glances to the tearful woman, though none of them asked what was wrong. Her shoulder hunched over as she sobbed pitifully for a moment longer before forcing herself to stand up. It was the ninety-ninth job she got fired from, and soon, nowhere would have any jobs available.
The dusty roads beneath her spiraled sand and tumbleweeds about, the summer heat nearly unbearable. Buildings were rundown and abandoned as a result of World War III, which was the final nail on America's—and the rest of the worlds—coffin. What was considered to be the 'modern' lifestyle was lost to atomic bombs and billions of dead bodies. Countries burned to the ground, and now, in this new age, everything was starting over, down to every last island. Jobs seemed to float away as poverty reached an all-time high, and thousands died of starvation everyday. The human race was becoming an endangered species.
Luckily for her, she managed to find a rundown cabin amidst a dead forest and dried-up wetland that suited her just fine. No one else dared to venture far into the broken branches and bones of rotting animals, but she traveled from her home to the main part of town in search of food and water. She kept a barrel of the precious substance at home and tried to keep it from getting stale occasionally.
Her stomach growled at her as she kicked the dirt at her feet. Her dress, stained with sweat and blood, torn here and there, was stepped on, causing her to trip and land face-first into a rock. It cut her forehead open, making her wince in pain, but she just stood back up and kept walking. She needed to find a new job, or else she would starve, just like nearly everyone else.
"Thief!"
She turned to the yell, seeing an elderly woman pointing at a young child, apples in his hands. He rushed passed her, giving her a glimpse of his face. Blue eyes with a scar with unnatural white hair, tattered clothes and a gloved hand made up the child. At first, she thought it was a ghost, but the way people chased the child, she could tell it wasn't only she who could see him. He was quick for a child, though, unnaturally quick.
"Blast… That's the tenth time that kid stole from me," she heard the old woman mutter. "Damn kids, they've got nothing better to do than to steal from the hardworking."
She watched as the woman retired back to a fruit store, her gait a bit too slow, before turning her head back to see the men shaking their heads, muttering amongst themselves. There were no apples in their hands, so she figured the kid managed to escape from their clutches. She clapped inside her head before walking again, wondering where he went. Seeing children as dirty as that wasn't too rare, but something compelled her to find him.
The blood from her cut dripped off her chin as she ducked down a trash-covered alley, the smells of urine nearly making her gag. She proceeded onwards, however, stepping over broken glass and torn dolls. It led her further down a maze of bones and coughing alcoholics, past the old bar and into an old building. The door was unhinged from the top, it tilting at an awkwardly inviting angle. She paused and swallowed. Cobwebs clung to the corner of the door, dead carcasses of a spider's meal wrapped in little cocoons.
She didn't know if the boy was here, but she was following her instinct, not her head, which was persistent in telling her to go home.
She wiped the blood from her forehead before walking into the lightless structure, the floorboards creaking beneath her feet. A table with three legs was in the center of the room, four chairs tipped on their sides. A family used to live here. She glanced about, eyes trying desperately to adjust to the dark. She could see a family portrait on the wall, the wallpaper curling at its tears. Toy trucks left in the wake of abandonment nearly caused her to fall on her face when she stepped on one, but she caught herself.
Something behind her moved.
Her head whipped around, the bun in her hair nearly coming out, as the scuttling ceased.
"H-Hello?" She took a step forward towards what looked to be a kitchen. "Is anyone here? Hello?"
A stomach growling caused her to jump, then blink as she rounded the corner. Hiding behind the half-wall was the little boy, two apple cores beside him. His eyes were round and adorable as they blinked up at her, looking fearful. He probably thought she was going to scold him for taking the apples. She looked him up and down. He wore a brown tunic and shorts, both of which had too many holes to count. The gloved arm looked bigger than normal. His feet were bare and cut up from running.
He was the definition of 'pathetic'.
"My name's Miranda," she began, her hand reaching towards him. He flinched away, causing her to stop. "There's nothing to be afraid of. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. I just wanted to ask if I could have an apple."
He shoved one in front of her face, arm trembling. She stared at the shiny skin for a moment, the redness almost sparkling despite the fact that it was dark within the falling structure. She smiled faintly before taking it out of his hands. "Thank you," she said. "Do you have a name?"
His head, placed on his knees, didn't move as a small voice answered, "Allen."
"Do you have parents?"
He shook his head.
"Do you have any brothers or sisters?"
Another shake of the head. He was truly alone, sort of like her. Her parents died in the war protecting her, which was a dumb mistake. She couldn't do anything right, no matter what she did, and couldn't even hold down a job. Her parents would be so ashamed if they saw her now. However, seeing this child, it almost made her feel happy. She was better off than someone else was, which made her saddened by the fact that she thought such a terrible thing.
"I don't have any, either," she said, sitting down next to him and ignoring the mealworms squirming their way to a new place. "I guess we're kind of the same, huh?"
He didn't respond, the apples sitting by his sides. He seemed shy. Up close, she could see bruises here and there, a big one forming around his eye. His face was pale and drawn, and she could nearly see the bones in his arms. He was truly starved.
"Do you live here?"
He nodded. "No one ever wants to come in here," he explained slowly. His voice was cracked and squeaky. "There are many spiders living here. It scares everyone away."
"You're not afraid of spiders?"
"I'm not afraid of anything."
Brave, unlike me, she admired. She stood up and offered a hand. "Here," she said, "you can live with me, if you wish. We can be two lonely people together, traversing great distant lands. Well, to my house, anyways."
He hesitated. "You're not just going to beat me, are you?"
"I would never—!" She stopped when she saw the tears in his eyes, a little bit of snot coming out of his nose. "No," she said calmly, hand still outstretched, "I want to help you, not hurt you, Allen."
He stared at her hand for a moment longer before he reached out and grabbed it. His fingers, boney and small, clung to her own as she led the way towards the front door, still dangling by one hinge. She lifted up her free arm to block out the burning sun, the clouds slowly moving in to cover it. Good. A chilled wind blew up some dust, indicating a storm coming. Maybe we can get some rain while we walk. That way, we can get him cleaned up when we get there.
She could feel his little trembles as she navigated back through the alleys and into the streets. The sky was turning an unfamiliar hue of red. She grimaced, suddenly realizing what it meant. It wasn't going to be a rainstorm. It was going to be a dust bowl. People were running about, looking for shelter to take cover in, as Miranda looked around desperately. Windows were being closed as shops were closed, abandoning its wares of food. She squinted towards the horizon. Judging by the wind, she gave it about two minutes before it would hit.
"Quickly!" She picked up the boy and ran, nearly tripping over her dress once or twice. The winds picked up and howled, threatening to shatter bones like a child playing a cruel game of 'step on as many ant hills as you can'. Allen clung to her shoulder, watching the storm quickly approaching. He watched as tiles blew off its house, small rocks breaking windows, and a drunken man being whipped about like a rag doll. His eyes widened before burying his head into Miranda's shoulder, not wanting to see anymore.
I-If I can just… make it to the trees! She stumbled and caught herself before completely falling over. The trees will slow down its force, with or without leaves, but it would be better if they had them! This is not just for my pathetic sake anymore; it's for his, too! C'mon, Miranda, move your legs faster!
She looked over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the havoc caused by the dust. Its funnel tore buildings apart. She turned forward to see the forest drawing closer, however she wasn't running fast enough, and she knew it. Allen shook like a plate in a house next to a train track while the train was going by. She grimaced, looking around for another alternative, dust filling her lungs.
"Don't breathe!" she yelled, but the roar of wind made her yells whispers. Her eyes focused in on another alleyway, but it looked like it wouldn't hold for very long. The dust bowl closed in on her and pushed her over, causing her to tumble into the ground, her grip tightening around the boy. The pressure around her kept her down, covering him from harm's way, as she heard screams of someone nearby. It was probably Allen or someone else unfortunate to get caught in the storm, she couldn't tell. All she knew was that she couldn't breathe, so that meant he couldn't, either. The boy needed to live, if nothing else.
Weakly, she tried to force herself to stand, keeping her head down while pressing his head into her shoulder. Bits of roofing blew by her, hitting the massive dead oaks and pressing up against its trunk. She blinked away the dust trying to get into her eyes as she took a slow step forward, feeling so close, yet so far away. If she tried to run, she would immediately get a face full of dirt again. It also didn't help that she was going uphill. Taking one step was bad enough, but what other choices did she have?
A door whipped by, nearly clipping her on the back of the head. She coughed as she took another step, then another, her feet feeling like they were sinking into quicksand. She pressed onwards, though, and, after what felt like hours, reached the massive trunk that kept the roofing tiles in place. She ducked behind it when a gust of wind toppled over some of the thinner trees, the trunks snapping in two and making a god-awful noise.
"Okay," she said, Allen coughing for air, "we should be safe until the storm passes."
"I," he started, then fell silent as the dust blew by the shelter of the oak.
"What is it?"
"I dropped the apples," he finished, looking ashamed.
She stared at him, blinking. "Was that why you screamed earlier?"
"More like crying, but yes." His nails dug into her dress, almost as if waiting to get hurt. "I'm sorry."
She laughed. It was sudden and even threw her off-guard, but she couldn't help herself as a tremendous wave of relief hit her. Allen looked at her, confused, as she wiped the tears away, her chuckles getting smaller. "Sorry," she said, "but we just survived all of that and you're worried about losing the apples. You're a lot like me. Hah…"
He glanced to his side and blinked. "Miranda? Miranda, the storm's gone."
She stopped laughing and looked about. What he said was true; the storm did subside. It came and went like that, though the amount of damage it caused was still to be determined. She stood up and brushed the dust off her dress before peering out from behind the oak. Down the sandy hill and a tenth of a mile was a pile of destruction. She stared, mouth agape, as all buildings, already damaged from war, had fallen to the ground, leaving nothing but rubble. Her fingers clutched the bark of the tree, not knowing what to do, as the little boy glanced out as well.
"Wow," he said. "The old building I lived in is completely gone."
She knew she should have checked for survivors, but the other half—the half that wanted to go back home—overwhelmed her and forced her to look away. People might have survived and would probably look for others. She would just trip and cause more work than necessary. "C'mon, Allen," she said, taking his hand. "Let's go see if my place survived, too."
"Okay." He followed her into the forest of dead trees as they treaded through the dust of the massive storm left behind.
~O~
The cabin, which the storm evaded, stood still among a clearing, dead trees and large boulders being its homemade gates. The forest floor was made up of orange pine needles, making it soft to touch with bare feet. He walked unsteadily behind her as his inspection continued further. He could see that the cabin itself had unbroken windows and a properly working door, unlike his old home. Barrels lined the outside with labels engraved into them: 'Fresh Water' and 'Still Needs to be Purified Water', though the labels were spelled wrong. Miranda didn't seem to exactly be the studious type, it seemed.
The wooden stair creaked beneath her feet as she stepped onto the small deck. The door even had a key, he approved, as she unlocked the door and opened it wide. The floors were covered with rugs made of pressed pine needles. A bookshelf rested in the corner of what appeared to be the living room, old books collecting a lot of dust. There was a sofa against the wall that had many stains, a table with a photograph, and a notebook with a chewed pen on top of it. Stepping in, he could see a small kitchen attached to a hallway, which led to a closed door. There was also a staircase leading up. Candles were everywhere. Miranda walked towards one of them before striking a match and lighting it.
"This is your home?"
"Yes. Well, it wasn't mine before," she explained. "When my parents died, I was only eleven, so I searched far and wide for a place to stay, and found this old thing." She lit another candle before continuing. "It was a lot worse than this, but after finding a lot of used furniture, I made it my own. One person's trash is another person's treasure."
"It's better than most peoples," he commented, eying the photo. A little girl who looked like the woman beamed in the middle, a man and woman beside her. They looked as if they were at a body of water. Was it the ocean? He had never been to the ocean before. "How did they die?"
"Protecting me. There was a bomb raid from Russia—oh, you probably don't know where Russia is, but it's a continent connected to Europe, which is across the Atlantic Ocean—and we had to evacuate, but the sirens were a bit delayed. I remember that there was a lot of smoke everywhere and corpses of my friends…" She trailed off, almost as if she were reliving the experience, her eyes clouded with thought, then picked up again. "Mother, in hearing a plane, told my father to throw me towards the troops that were helping with the evacuation. I didn't want to leave, but they wouldn't hear it, so they threw me, and I survived. My father was quite strong." She paused. "When the soldiers caught me was when the bomb went off. I didn't see them die, but the soldiers wouldn't let me look back. I asked them over and over again where my parents were.
"Eventually, I was taken to a safe house and they told me that my parents were dead. I wanted to cry, but I didn't. I couldn't. Part of me wanted to yell at my parents for not staying in Germany like I originally wanted." She stared at the picture before turning and smiling at Allen. "But they died for my sake because they loved me, and I have to remember that. Otherwise, their sacrifice would have been for nothing."
"Oh. I didn't know parents cared for us kids that much."
The comment almost made her gasp, but seeing his face made her stop. There was no emotion on his face, which meant he was serious. "What happened to your parents?"
"I don't know. They left me behind."
She frowned. Who can do that to their own child? Slightly angered, she patted him on the head. "Well, Allen, you won't have to worry about me leaving you. I'll protect you as long as you want me to."
"I can do it myself." He waved his hands as if he were embarrassed. "Really, I can. I have been for several years now."
"Well, that's not right. Children shouldn't be doing that. But I guess you're right in not wanting me to. I can't even protect myself these days." She laughed nervously, ashamed of her own weakness. It was right, though. She really couldn't protect anyone with the way she acted. All she could do was make more and more mistakes and run away from danger. "But I can at least give you a place to stay. What do you say? You want to live here?"
He stared back at her blankly. "You'll really let me live here?"
"Of course! I may not have much to offer, and I'm a little overbearing, but if you want—"
He hugging her legs, his head buried in her dress, cut her off. She almost couldn't catch the words as he whispered, "Thank you, Miranda."
It was so honest that it made her want to cry. Did she actually do something of worth? She faintly smiled at him and patted him on the head.
"You're welcome, Allen."
~O~
Well! Chapter 1, done! So! Did you like it? Hate it? Love it? Destroy it? Hit me with a review, por favor! I do try to reply to all of them (if the option is there, at any rate). Personally, I do not believe there are enough Miranda fan fics, so my aim is to get her character out there. See you in Chapter 2~! —Mr. Ree
