The Pen is Mightier than the Sword
Notes: Usual disclaimers apply. Not for profit, for fun
It is one of those rare times that Kanda has taken the time out to wander into town, but not so uncommon that people would make note of it. Kanda was relieved, because he didn't really want to answer any questions from the nosy, the interfering or well-meaning. Sometimes he just needed to get away. Although he has a specific task today, he's not sure if he would fulfil his quest, but he is Kanda Yuu and if he set his mind to something … well he hasn't failed yet.
He knows where he's headed and eventually finds himself in one of London's posher, well to-do areas. On the way he passes a bakery putting out fresh wares in their baskets and indulges in the opportunity to buy a couple of buttered teacakes to eat on the way. He's not keen on sweet things but these are lightly spiced with nutmeg, cinnamon and deliciously rounded of with a hint of rosewater. Indeed he is in a fancy part of town. Still he doesn't spend whatever stipends he gets from the Black Order too much, so this spree is kind of a treat for him too.
He attracts a lot of stares. He knows, he is an unusual sight, but Asians have been coming to Europe for at least a couple of hundred years now, and many have come to live and work here, so while people may gawk a bit, he allows them their sightseeing this day. The sun is shining, the breeze brisk, with autumn on its way and he is not wanting to murder anyone. Sometimes he can actually spend time within humanity's fold and be just one of many. Perhaps the slight (very slight) anonymity is due to the fact that he's not wearing his Order issue greatcoat, but a soft leather one with a napped finish (rather expensive) that he'd been loath to accept from Tiedoll for his birthday about two months ago. It's the first time he's used it really and he can admit to it being light and a snug-fit, but, he's uncomfortable wearing it. For a hundred reasons and for the fact that he wishes that Tiedoll would stop with the gifts already, he's old enough now to fend for himself and doesn't need handouts thankyouverymuch! He's indebted forever to the guy already anyway. He hopes that this will be the last of the gifts. Today however, he's glad for it, because he doesn't want the additional unwanted attention. The Black Order being what it is, exorcists are a magnet for trouble.
He starts walking from the top end of the street as he munches on his bread. The street itself bare of any trees, but up ahead he can see the big trees in the central garden, the leaves beginning to turn, into those familiar red-orange, vermilion of the season reminiscent of fiery flame and spice. He passes a tobacconist's, a sweet shoppe and nestled between that and antiquarian bookshop is the place he's looking for. W.H. Smith -Fine Stationers of Little Grosvenor Street.
If truth be told, he's not even sure why he's doing this. However when he observed the spectacle two days before, for some reason, he felt some sort of kinship - a kind of understanding. He's wily enough now to make himself scarce on days like that and has developed a special skill for it over the years. Part sixth-sense and part just sheer bloody minded self preservation really, even if his life is never truly in danger. It was amusing in a cringeworthy way but yeah, the poor boy was flustered, blushing and even if all everyone saw was someone who threw himself wholeheartedly in the festivities.
Did no one notice the eye too bright, the smile too curved and the laugh just that side of a pitch too high. That wasn't real laughter, Kanda is sure he caught the telltale twitch of the eyebrow, the frequent throat swallowing that might have indicated discomfort, rubbing of the back of his head and that deep blushing wasn't just due to the beer that some of the youngsters were allowed then. He even thought it was quite horrifying that some of the girl finders were openly flirting. Even if it wasn't thrown in his honour, Kanda made good his escape as soon as he was done with his meal, under cover of the shadow of a pillar. He sighed at the idiocy of the well-intentioned.
It's about four in the afternoon when he's back, and he's knocking on the door. Even the door opens meekly for him which is highly uncharacteristic of at least one of the occupants, to say the least.
"Oh, hey Yuu," the eye blinks uncertainly at him. It's one of those awkward moments that stretch, because they're not throwing insults at one another, and he doesn't have Mugen with him so he's obviously not going to kill the other. Just yet. The other's omniscient guardian was nowhere around. Good. Kanda thinks. He isn't highly trusting of the man just yet. He knows he's some kind of curiosity to the elder Bookman, who's itching to dissect him just so he can be written into some journal.
"I'm sorry, sorry," is the flustered apology, "uh, come in."
It's brighter and bigger in here. After all Lavi does share it with Bookman and it looks like he had been writing in some journals. There are some leather-bound yellowed manuscripts to one side of the books and the smell of musty old paper tickles Kanda's nose. Bookman truly is nowhere in sight.
"There's still cake if you'd like, unfortunately it is still pink frosted and sweet." Kanda holds up a hand to refuse.
"I brought this," he holds out a small, dark box. "It's a couple of days late, but I guess you could use one of these. I've been told they're kind of a new thing."
Caught in the moment, the redhead grabs Kanda in a hug, suddenly realises what he's doing and lets go just as suddenly. Even more flustered than before he repeats, "Sorry, so sorry." The redhead must notice that Mugen is not on his hip. Kanda allows the idiot rabbit his momentary relief at the reprieve.
"Thanks." He takes a deep breath, "thank you so much."
"Well open it then," Kanda growls out.
"Oh wow!" he's turning the fountain pen over in his hand, "It's one of these fancy ones with special metal tipped nibs, this is very cool. Oh …" Kanda feels that it's a quest success if Lavi is actually rendered speechless, and smiles to himself.
"Oh here you might need this" and he hands over the two bottles of ink he's fished out of his coat pocket. "You'll have to re-supply yourself after you run out."
"Thanks Kanda." It's Kanda's turn to blink owlishly back at Lavi. "Wh.. wha-at?"
"Just havin' you on Yu-u." Lavi's smile is impish. "I thought I'd try it but no," he shakes his head "It sounds wrong t'me."
"Stupid idiotic rabbit." Kanda turns on his heels to go.
"Thanks Yuu," the smile is tentative but real. "I'll see you later at dinner yeah?"
"Hnh." is all he says.
"Hnh," Kanda snorts through his nose as he walks down the hallway. Pondering. Yes, it sounds wrong to him too.
Lavi keeps turning the pen over and over in his hands, and he thinks he might be in adoration of it, because he cannot obviously be in adoration of the giver. That would be like giving his heart away - admitting he has one. It's possibly the nicest gift anyone's ever given him, because there was the thought that had gone into it, the effort and it touches him deeply in a space he's not supposed to be aware of. Even Bookman had never truly given him a birthday present. Usually it is something sensible like socks or a new shirt, something practical. Not that he has anything against practical, and this is actually quite a practical gift, really, but at the same time not.
It's his first birthday at the Order, his seventeenth and it's bittersweet. Sitting at his desk perusing the pen in it's box, the metal twinkling at him in the light, Lavi covers his face in both hands and it's a dry, wry, tired laugh that escapes him, "Yuu, Yuu, oh Yuu! Don't you know that the pen is mightier than the sword"
Fin
Notes:
Oooh I cans say this now ... HAPPY BIRTHDAY LAVI (2016) you wonderful person you, may Hoshino sensei keep you safe and return you to us sometime soon, because you are so missed.
If it's anyone else shares the same birthday ... the happiest of Birthdays to you to!
WHSmiths - is a stationery franchise in the UK, they've been around since 1792, their first premises being on Little Grosvenor Street
Metal nibbed fountain pens have been around since the late 1820's
"The pen is mightier than the sword" is from an 1839 play "Richelieu; or the Conspiracy"
I hope someone somewhere loves this. Once again ... thank you to everyone who reads this, because you are so loved! - Zan
Part 11 of the 49 Days series