Title: Indifferent Time
Summary: Guy had imagined himself being reinstated as Count many times-- the problem was, he'd always thought he'd be happy because of it.
AN: Takes place during that break in the game where Guy is in Grand Chokma and Luke is being emo back at his house. :'D Tales of the Abyss doesn't belong to me, as I've said.
Bolded and italicized are memories.
The streets of Grand Chokma was luminous in morning sun, glistening and reminiscent of light on dead sea water; rappigs, fattened and waddling, their beady eyes ink black and lazy, basked in dull demonstrations of luxury, and their skin stretched and pooled at their skinny legs.
Guy Cecil, newly claimed "Gaillardia Galan Gardios", watched them blankly, lost in an empty space of trimmed grass and washed brick walls. He shifted, arm hanging loose along the bench, and leg pulled across his lap-- his "charges", as deemed graciously by His Majesty, rarely did enough on their walks for him to give them second glances. (In fact, it was a national wonder if they did anything at all, besides sit there and be notoriously fat.)
He sighed, pitching forward, and his hands fell in his lap-- the rappigs snoozed and snorted in reply, the most enthusiastic clawing at pulled grass.
"Haha," Guy managed in lonely amusement. "Guess you're the only company I'm getting here? I'm fine with that." He had never felt the full extend of someone's indifference until he'd wandered his way back to this home, where his wishes and goals twisted, and became the crumbling stones of his graven-image. Guy turned, eyes resting on his best friend's piggy counterpart, who responded with nothing-- it had been so wrong, the reactions he'd imagined, and the reality he'd received; it was raw and awful, hope crushed under the realization that no one cared, not now, and not then.
"It makes me miss Luke; hope he's not doing anything stupid," he droned on, voices playing like broken records in reminiscences. Another thought, bitter and angry, argued that caring about the Duke's son was betrayal to that memory of a father he respected-- he pushed that one away, hastily adding that Luke was more like him than anyone, and he wasn't bloodthirsty. (Or was he? With all this killing, there were days when he didn't know.)
"Count Gardios. . .? Of Hod? My, that cursed place?"
"Him? Probably some lying kid trying to weasel money from Emperor Peony."
"What has he done that's worth anything? It's ignoble, considering his house."
"After seventeen years of death and failure, I suppose even his title doesn't matter."
"I don't know him."
Guy had learned that he didn't know himself either-- maybe that was how life was, he mused. Yet years ago, he would have festered and screamed, "don't say stuff about my family, bastards!" and these nobles would've simply countered in black and cutting tones, "what family do you have?"
He wouldn't have an answer for them, and would hide from the questions he asked abandoned air. Count or not, some cynical phantom in him would still murmur, "Had it not been for the replica, you'd barely remember your sister's face." He supposed that names didn't matter after all of this; people were forever aggravating, no matter what the mask you wear is—or, in his case, was.
He thought of Luke, who was Asch now, and a flash of a small, frustrated child bumbling a dragged-on conversation flooded him—it was unwanted, and that kid's words more so.
"I think," the memory was eager, "that my father will accept me then!" How many times had Asch said that, and was despondent when evening came around and that very same father brushed him away like dirt on his shoes. Guy had figured he deserved it, for being the Duke's annoying kid, and for bugging him all day with his fumbling tongue.
'Well, maybe. . .' Being Luke's caretaker for years had taught him that Asch wasn't stuttering nonsense, but scared that Guy would stop listening if he didn't force him to. 'Both of those guys would've liked journals.' He predicted with bored suspicion.
The rappigs shuddered and squealed as a passerby rushed ahead, things blundering behind them, and Guy's body answered with a lightning quick jolt and shocked eyes.
"Haha, don't scare me like that!" He heaved, exhausted—and his mind drifted, lingering on that intangible need to be wanted and spoiled. Asch, or Luke, or whoever, must have entertained loneliness all his life; with the way his father looked at him, it was hard to believe that all those relatives knew he was his child. To be threatened by expectations and cold eyes—Guy didn't think he enjoyed being a noble for that reason. ('Damn. How does Natalia deal with it? )
Judging from how often Asch had spluttered complaints at Guy's moody silence, he might have not either. Guy scoffed in retort, throwing the rappigs a backwards glance, curious if they were there. It was almost disgusting, to find any similarities between them—Guy had, since childhood, always preached that they were inherently unlike and would never find common ground, seeing as the Duke sucked and all. That was the easiest way of thinking.
Then again, his Luke had taught him that the easiest way wasn't guaranteed to be the best way.
He paused, forcing himself to stand, and the rappigs working to scatter in protest, but proving too chubby and languid to stagger far enough to elude him.
'Maybe one day I'll know what that time meant to you.' Guy picked up the leashes, Jade ramming into his leg in angry refusal. '. . . That would probably make Natalia happy, too. As for Luke. . .'
He didn't know anymore, and wondered if right and wrong was worth pondering at all.
AN: Random, but interesting to write. Review if possible, and don't if not. :D