Title: A Braid for Luck
Author: Heltja
Fandom:
Pairing: AllenxKanda
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own or this writing. I just translated this story.
Summary: Of the special features of the hairstyle services in the Black Religious Organization.
(This is a translation from Russian to English. This is not my original work and the idea belongs to the author, Heltja.)
PLEASE READ: This is a translation, I recommend that you leave comments on the original here: .net/s/4644895/1/
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Kanda's POV
After meeting that walking mistake, that other people for some reason call Allen, I understood one very important thing: people should be killed for naivety. Right away. After all, that damn thing is so contagious – feel it's effects on yourself just once and you'll never be rid of it.
Alas, it's too late to change anything now.
The second lesson that I got from the grey-haired youth greatly differed in practicality. I determined that that a braid completely, absolutely, without a doubt did not go on me. True, with the entire practicality, the benefit from this knowledge was zero.
And even so, when I bang on the doors of my home organization on a rainy evening having just returned from a mission, thoughts twirled around completely ridiculous things. Like a braid, for example. Just an ordinary plait. That you make from hair.
When I was finally denied the pleasure of communicating with the icy rain and let inside, my mood was worse than anything. After missions I'm not in the spirit anyway, plus I hate having to report my work – even if the latter is accomplished without problems, difficulties and casualties.
As hard as that is to believe, that happens too.
But here is also Komui, the supervisor of the Dark religious Organization, as always, in his repertoire. A mug of coffee, irritating habits and a permanent mess on the table. Quite the cocktail. Although the conversation was unexpectedly pleasant. My report sheet was lost in the heap with its fellows who cover half of the table and good third of carpet, and I presented the chief with a new glare from my trademark series "How many pieces will you be cut into with my sword in a unit of time". The conversation ended pleasingly on that note, and without further ado, I was allowed to go rest.
If only it was always like that. Not life, but milk and honey.
Sadly though, it's a whole 124 steps and 54 strides to get to my room. Give or take a couple, of course. You know, when you feel like you could collapse from exhaustion, there's nothing better than counting the distance: it's so mind numbing that the oh so delightful prospect of tumbling down the stairs simply doesn't enter your mind.
The Organization is nevertheless quite an amusing place. If you tried listening to what they say to young exorcists, you'll weep with adoration. Assuring us that this is our home – but that home is just a tiny faceless room which is as easy to reach as scrambling onto a volcano. Convincing us that they are our family – but name me a month when over forty percent of the inhabitants have not been replaced.
Funny but sad.
I pushed open the door to my room, left my sword in the corner as usual, turned on the light.
And sighed:
"Bored of that yet?"
Allen sat on the bed, with his legs crossed, and gave a friendly smile.
"No, as you can see."
I didn't even feel like asking how he'd known that I'd returned and how he'd managed to run to my room that fast. One way or another, this has repeated for almost a month – I got accustomed, you could say.
Allen – a naïve, foolish boy that always does what he thinks is necessary. A terrible combination, I assure you.
"To the suggestion of clearing out of my room, you will react as always?" I sighed again.
Another bright smile.
"You guessed it."
I threw off my wet coat to swap mud with the floor that hadn't been washed in ages, and flopped onto the bed next to Allen. He instantly got behind me and undid my ponytail as usual and started combing my hair with his fingers. That little rascal, I'm sure he knows how good it feels. I closed my eyes and smiled a tiny bit; using the fact that Allen can't see my face and say something supposedly ingenious concerning taming wild animals. Or something along those lines.
"As I understand, everything went well?" inquired the young exorcist. His fingers moved easily and skillfully through my hair, raising goose bumps on my skin from contentment and I relaxed and desperately wanted to sleep.
"Mhm," sweet yawn, "everything's great."
"That's good." in his voice you could feel his typical warm smile.
I'll be cursed if I ever said it out loud, but in the hands of this cursed boy, I feel like… purring. From contentment and warmth. Really, even if I confessed such a thing no one would believe me. Except maybe Komui. Well, it is assumed that a chief should know his employees somewhat better than the employees would know each other. Otherwise, what kind of chief is he? That's right, not a very good one.
After all, to this day, I still think that it was precisely him who sent Allen to me the first time.
I really don't like people, perhaps even hate them. They have one especially unpleasant feature – they die. And also – by doing that, they bring heaps of trouble and grief to all around. I had learned to live with that long ago, despising, ignoring, scorning, and trying to not even memorize the names of short-term acquaintances. In the end I terrified half of the Organization, but returning from missions or simply walking along the corridors, I never completely accomplished getting rid of the remaining grief.
But on that day, on that day everything was especially dreadful.
Dreadful situation. Dreadful location. The Innocence was not found, however a there was a horde of demons at my service, which had caused monstrous destruction in the city.
Hard to think of a place worse for battle than a city…
While I was rushing after them, I almost got myself killed and saw enough death to last me an extra month. And the demons I fought as if hand-picked, strong and clever, even got me scared that now it will always be like that.
How I managed to drag myself to the Organization and climb all torturous 124 steps – even now, I have no idea. As soon as I stumbled into my room, I collapsed on the bed. No strength to get up but can't seem to fall asleep either. Once again I prove that a good memory is a terrible curse.
That's when, unexpectedly, for no reason, I was visited by Allen. Walking, grey-haired, naïve mistake of nature. Cursed exorcist with a parasitic type Anti-Akuma weapon.
I reckon we argued for a good half an hour. I think I wanted to get him out of my room – any way possible, by any method. A difficult task if you can't even move your hand. I suppose I started cursing – and then, for some strange reason, the disgusting story of deaths, demons and then death again was made known. How I hate death. How I hate people.
That was the first time Allen started making plaits – don't know why. Probably needed something to keep his hands busy. Or maybe he knew that the careful and affectionate touches could tame even the most evil and cynical beast. A Braid for happiness – I think that's what he called his creation. "Now I will untwine it and you'll feel like a weight has been lifted". Never heard of anything more ridiculous, but hey, it worked. Who'd have thought?
Naïve, foolish and so wise. Can only hug and cry with affection for.
And then on that first afternoon, to conclude, when I was already nodding off lulled by the warm touches, Allen froze at the door and quietly said:
"Sorry Kanda. I didn't see right away, that you were good…"
Well, what sort of nonsense is this? He means me?
Stubborn nonsense it turned out to be. Since then, as soon as I return from a mission, Allen waits for me in my room, braids my hair and tells his stories. Sometimes a cup of cocoa and a sweet carried off from lunch visit me with him. Very sweet of him to care about food – and not devour it all himself from hunger. Don't be fooled by his smallness, Allen scoffs down at just breakfast more than I could eat in a day. His weapon steals a lot of energy from him.
Speaking of which why is there no cocoa today? Hm, not right…
The unexpectedly loud voice of Allen rang through the silence of the night, distracting me from my memories.
"There. Done." This rascal pulled me by the braid all of a sudden, causing an offended hiss, and laughed smugly.
Would've strangled him, but sitting is just too comfy. And I'm sleepy.
"Okay, well I'll go now," the boy continued, with the same warm smile, getting off the bed.
"Finally," I growled.
"Goodnight," he turned around at the doorway.
I didn't answer, silently collapsing on the pillow. Would be nice to also undress and take a bath after all... I'll just lie for a bit – and get up.
Yup.
I turned my head keeping my eyes on the closing door and just audibly muttered:
"Good night, misfortunate one."
A chuckle resounded outside – was probably standing and eavesdropping, the brat! – And the sound of leaving footsteps.
Allen could braid my hair for an endlessly long time – as long as was needed for the conversation. Or the silence. At first it even felt like a pity to unbraid it in the morning - but only until the moment I saw myself in the mirror with the hairstyle from our little exorcist.
The sight turned out to be so terrible, that I vowed to never in my life walk around in this fashion beyond my room. Everyone on this floor is probably already in shock anyway.
Often Allen and I don't get along at all. Argue, shout until we're both hoarse, and when we fight, chips fly in all directions.
And our glares of mutual hostility can make anything in our way catch fire.
But still…
Perhaps being stupid and naïve – could even be good. Appears an enticing thought that when I enter my room next time – waiting for me would be Allen, a cup of cocoa, and a striking thought:
"I've returned. I'm home."