Footsteps

Disclaimer: The characters mentioned aren't mine. They're taken from the manga series "Dragon Knights" written by Mineko Ohkami.

Warnings: Was written immediatly after reading i The Catcher in the Rye /i for English. Pretty obviously written right after, too. Also: takes place at some vauge point in time, but presumably after the series ends.

A/N: As stated, this was written after doing reading for English. Actually, this piece was written for English. I debated taking out the random poetry before posting it, but decided to leave it in. It doesn't really affect anything, so it can just be skipped over. Mind, it'd be pretty hard for it to matter to the story, as this is a simple plotless thing that I had to scramble to mostly finish in time, so...

Love is out:

We have far too many addicts in our

Sacrificial(Blade) society.

cut for hope, cut for strength, cut for tears

So what else to sail on? Pain

Is irrelevant and far too

Impersonal,

Though I shy away from labeling it

fleeting.

Nature, perhaps

Could lend us refuge here.

sleep within her sky's reflection and fantasize of the bleach-and-heartglow heights above

--Or she would, were she not the very Queen

Of tripped cliché.

snow white, apple red, log-like sleep

So what else is left?

All sacrosanct is tainted

And all tainted is somehow

•elevated

•uplifted

•heightened

To sacrosanct;

I refuse to offer up my psyche to brooding gods.

Oh, wait...

Yet another overslept dream,

But (circular)Logic brings me back:

Love is out.

Should I be burning blank paper wishes instead?

:n:

I can hear footsteps down the hall behind me, soft rising clacks of heels on marble. The sound cuts briskly through the still air, and I realize that it's cold. The temperature, I mean. Not the sound, although it is far from warm.

It's got a hidden sunny note, or maybe that's just my interpretation of it. She's cheerful enough for all of us, anyway.

It's strange to be able to hear her coming so clearly, her shoes tapping sharply on the floor in hollow contrast to her lilting voice. I suppose I never have gotten used to the castle, as it's small things like this that still irritate me, several years later.

I know you can hear shoes stepping over cobblestone streets and wooden floors, but this is different. It seems so out of character for me to know that I can simply turn around and see Kitchel coming up behind me in one of those dresses they insist on furnishing all the female wardrobes here in. I probably wouldn't be able to see her shoes, even though they're what're alerting me to her presence in the first place: they'd be hidden under the long skirt. Hah, Kitchel in a skirt. That still throws me, though I've learned not to show it.

Jeez, the girl can be touchy. I guess my laughing annoyed her.

Her footsteps are growing louder. She's probably on her way to seek out companionship from Cesia or Delte or Ringleys or me. Good: this place could use a random adventure.

I don't mean for it to sound like I don't like it here. It's much more comfortable than scraping out a living on the streets, and the people have always been inviting. I just meant to say there are some things I've never gotten used to. The studying, for example. I never was much one for books, and the daily lessons they used to send me to were hell.

I'd be impressed at how easily she adapted to life at the castle, except Kitchel's always been like that.

"Thatz!"

Hah, she can't sneak up on me on this floor.

"Hey."

I stop walking as she comes up next to me and cross my arms, leaning languidly against the wall.

A defensive gesture, I realize after I've already fallen into position.

Jeez.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing.

:n:

Lovers are sweet but friends are safer,

Friends are perfect but acquaintances better.

The moon's latent curve waxes the flame

And sends gambled hearts to the cards.

Waiting for words while maintaining distance,

Keeping speech calm to uphold defense.

This candle'd burn out if the month's end is spun

But where will the dice chance to land?

Not craving to hope nor hoping to crave--

Wishing takes far too much luck.

The night's almost over, the gamblers'll turn in:

Last chance for the moon to be shot.

:n:

"I was thinking," she starts off cheerily, and I can hear her heels hit the hard floor as she steps closer, "that I'd head down to Chantel. I'm bored here, and they've always got something happening there. You wanna come?" Then, as an after thought, "I already asked the others but they're too busy."

She's still smiling at me, cocking her head to one side, and I can see her trying to widen her eyes cutely in her playful attempt to manipulate me into agreeing.

No choice but to believe her last line: I've never been good at catching her in a lie.

I could tell her to go bother someone else; that I've got my own duties I'm supposed to be attending to; that I don't have the time or the urge to go trekking a town over to escape the monotony of daily life. I never was much for paper work.

But the idea does interest me.

It'd be something to do, away from these restraints and some of these pressures, and I'm not one to pass up an opportunity to relax and have some fun.

Hell, It's not like they'd miss me for a few hours, anyway.

"Sounds good," I nod, grinning at her as both our eyes light up in anticipation of the money to be won in after-drinking bets with the patrons of whichever bar we decide to step into. Hah, suckers.

"I'll meet you in a few minutes," Kitchel laughs, already heading off for her chambers.

Her pace is quicker this time as she hurries off, her sharp steps gradually softening and fading. I never was able to figure out how she could run in that dress.

I glance out the window to my right. It's overlooking the gardens, and the trees are tinged with the falling night, long shadows spreading across the grounds. It looks cold out there; I should get a jacket.

I turn to head for my own rooms and listen to the sudden relative quiet within the hall. It'll be nicer once the floor reverts to cobblestone and I hope she hasn't thrown out her old boots.

Those didn't even whisper.

:n:

I wonder, sometimes, what the big deal is, anyway.

Love is love is love is...

Having your heart wrapped about the clack

Of nails on wood

And being drawn to the outer edges of the

To the exotic tastes of the

To the very limits of your

World?

That's infatuation, not love

Is love is love is...

Death by beholder through promise-laced

Prayer-laced

Poison-laced

Kisses,

And it makes my mind spin.

Why would one commit oneself to such agony?

Shameless,

That's what it is

...Love is love is love is...

It's a bargaining tool, an exalted point, a required trophy to be won through the

Mindless drabble of the

Leering comments of the

Lull in our

And call me in denial, but I can't see the point.

Love is love is love is.

:n:

Uh, yeah. Happy holidays and all that jazz.

Feedback would be muchly appreciated.