A Lonely Story About Nobody
Chapter 1: A Story About a House
Disclaimer: I own nothing
"What's your name?" the voice asked her, thick with darkness.
The girl ignored the question and stretched her hand in front of her, flexing her long pale fingers and basking in awe of how the skin felt strained against the bone. She shifted a bit, experimentally putting different amounts of the weight on the shins she was sitting on. Her body felt awkward, lanky limbs moved in deliberate consideration. Then she felt a foreign foot on her shoulder, kicking her back onto the wall with a thud.
"I asked you what your name is," the voice said low like a threat which made her look up. It belonged to a boy around her age, though that was mostly a guess, he wore no face. There was nothing where his eyes and lips and nose should be, it was just smooth as a mirror but reflected nothing. Her eyes went lower and saw armor that looked as if it were made of muscle and twine, winding up his body black and red.
The girl said the first thing that came to her mind. "Kairi."
There was a moment of silence, then he laughed cruelly, a sad sort of hysterical laugh a child made when pouring salt on slugs. He bent down, hands on knees, so he's right in front of her- when she exhaled, it brushed against his face where his nose would be.
"That's no good, doll," he replied in a sing song voice, "I know you're new so I'll give you a piece of advice, if you use a borrowed name, you'll lose yourself."
She tilted her head in confusion, she didn't understand. That only seemed to amuse him more and his hand reached her cheek and traced down to her chin. It felt like dark lapping at her skin.
"Then… my name is Naminé." She liked the sound of it; the name flowed well on her pink tongue.
"Sounds a bit pretentious to me," he said withdrawing his hand. Then he stood up and stretched, still towering over her scrawny body as he arched like a feline.
"Welcome home, doll," he said sardonically. His hand casually waved around the room; it was dark, darker than him, filled with shadows even if there wasn't a bit of light to cast them. The entire room looked hollow and unfinished, made of damp wood, with no furniture but a single chair facing the wall and a silver haired boy slumped in it. His body dangled like a puppet with its strings cut off.
"What's wrong with him?" Naminé asked, the boy moved his mouth but no sound came out.
"Him?" his voice sounded like it was smiling, "That's what happens when you don't get your own name. He's not even a person; he's barely an empty replica now."
Naminé's mouth turned to a small o and she slowly approached the replica boy, his dull aqua eyes were flickering on different parts of the wall, even though it was all the same.
"Hello," she said, "my name is Naminé."
The no faced boy jumped to her side with a mocking enthusiasm, "That'll do it. Now he's all better, thanks doll. You saved him."
The silver haired boy didn't react. The no faced boy sniggered.
"He's as fun of a conversational partner as you are," he pinched the side of the blank boy's cheek like it was a child, roughly jerking his head around. "But as fun as this is, I got places to be. Things to break."
"Can I come too?" Naminé had only really been aware for a few minutes, but she was already tired of the four walls of nothing, she wanted to see the world she was born in.
He laughed. "What for, the outside's got nothing for you."
"Okay," Naminé had no reason not to question him anyway. After a second of thinking she asked, "What's your name?"
"Oh-ho. Aren't you a curious doll?" he patted her head like she was a pet, but she felt no affection in his cold hands, "I'm Vanitas. It won't be hard to remember, you only know one other person and he doesn't have a name." He looked back at the blank aqua eyes, "Well, not really a person. More of a nothing really. You two have a lot in common, enjoy the company."
He nonchalantly saluted her as he walked through the door.
-x-
For the first few days, she simply accepted Vanitas explanation that there nothing out there for her. She stood, sat, slept, and walked in circles in the small room, leaving trails on the floor's dust. If she was feeling ambitious, she would sit and try to talk to the replica of a boy, trying to make him reply, or blink, or anything. But most of her time was spent staring out the sole window in the house and watching the sun rise and fall, rise and fall.
More than watching the sun, she loved staring at what the sun shined on; green rolling farm landscape, flat and expanding out until it touched the sky. Sometimes she saw blurs moving in the distance as they worked on the land, as small as ants. She had a favorite blur, every morning it walked down the road, stopped, and stared at the house for a good while before continuing onward.
She wondered if this blur could see her. Did she look like an ant too? The questions made her desire to leave the house stronger, until the day she could no longer accept Vanitas explanation.
Naminé leaned her head on the glass, watching as the fog from her mouth grew on the slick surface. She enjoyed doing that, putting her mark on things, it reminded her that no matter what Vanitas said (whenever he's home at least) that she's real. She can affect things too.
She placed her finger on the plane's cloud, cold finger on cold glass, and began to trace words.
"Na… m…i… ne."
She drew an accent at the end because it looked right.
A hand from the other side slammed into the window, she jumped in shock, and the vibrations caused her to jerk her head away.
She looked past the splayed midnight fingers, up the viney arm, to Vanitas. The faceless boy lifted his hand off the glass and attempted to read what she wrote. Then his shoulders bounce, like he was laughing.
Naminé quickly smudged the name out of the fog.
"Welcome home," she told him when he walked through the door, she always said that because it seemed appropriate. She didn't know if it bothered him, but everytime she said it he would stop and turn his head towards her but say nothing. Instead Vanitas pushed the silver haired boy off of the chair and let him tumble on the floor bonelessly.
Vanitas dragged the chair to the window, pivoting it backwards and sat down, his arms folded over the top of the back. "They say if you stare at the sun too long you'll go blind." He moved his fingers to her eyes like he was going to scoop them out.
Naminé blinked rapidly. "I'm not scared of the sun."
"Makes sense. Can't be afraid of what you are ignorant of."
"I don't have to be. Ignorant I mean."
Vanitas left the chair and hopped onto the ledge of the window sill like a cat, expertly moving between her and the window. Naminé eyed his feet, half off the edge and waiting patiently for him to fall.
"Why are you taking the long way around to get to a point? Say it clearer, I don't speak meek and passive."
"I want to go outside."
Vanitas leaned his body on the window and shrugged lazily, "You don't need my permission, doll."
Naminé's blue eyes scanned him cautiously; she didn't think he would allow her.
"Thought I was going to force you to stay?" he asked reading her mind, "I could if you want. Tie you to the chair next to mister sunshine over there if that's what you think of me." He feigned a sigh of hurt, "But that's just not me. I'm not interested in being your keeper, so do what you want. Besides, I think it will be hilarious."
When she got up and he made no move to stop her, the new sense of freedom already swelled in her. The door felt heavy as she pushed it, the rough wood was daunting at the touch of her hands. It swung stiffly on its hinges, squeaking open. Naminé peeked behind to see Vanitas waving mockingly at her.
"Be careful. You're a small, small nothing in a big world. Try not to get too lost."
The door closed behind her with a weighty thud.
The sun was hotter than Naminé thought it would be, it almost felt sickly as it fell on her skin and she could taste the humidity in the air. Her first thought was to immediately run back into the house and wrap herself in familiar darkness. But she didn't think she wanted to confront Vanitas again and prove once and for all he was right.
And he was right, probably. Maybe. She certainly felt small when she was actually looking up into the sky, without any glass between her and oblivion. She didn't even know where to start. She was neither brave nor confident, and curiosity only took her so far.
But she felt if she went back and gave Vanitas this, she'd always be under him, and she didn't particularly want that. His mind moved in mysterious ways, and Naminé was scared she'd be swept up in his plans. Whatever they were.
She took a few steps forward, and felt considerably more self-assured, it wasn't so hard. She liked the sounds of her footsteps crunching in uncut summer grass, mixing with the calls of cicadas. She stomped a little harder to see the impressions of her bare feet as the green tickled her.
She went on like that for awhile, until the house was just a dark smudge in a colorful field, and her feet began to smart. Once she reached an old dirt road she tried tiptoeing the rest of the way, lightly walking on the pads of her feet and trying to avoid the small rocks, but it still hurt.
A middle aged man walked past her, a farming hoe slung over his shoulder and clothes stained with soil. Naminé's gaze drifted to his feet. Shoes.
That's right, she needed shoes.
"E-excuse me sir, could you show me where I can find some of those," she squeaked, pointing at the man's worn shoes. He ignored her, trudging along tiredly, sweating in the full might of midday.
She tried a few other times, with a few other people until she realized that they couldn't see her. She was invisible. The revelation came without any degree of shock or profound epiphany, it made an odd sort of sense because she wasn't quite sure she really was like them. She must have been an other.
She was unseen, unjudged, and she didn't know if that worried or comforted her.
The dirt turned to gravel and the road was harder on her poor feet, small loose rocks dug into her soft skin, but she was determined to keep walking. She looked through the glossy store windows, into colorful rows of assorted goods. Each store had something different, but they all were fascinating to stare at, vibrant colors and textures placed in crowded rows, hanging off shelves, and sometimes piled in containers.
Her eyes flickered to her transparent reflection; she wasn't as colorful, she decided. Her skin was milky pale, and even though her hair was blond and her eyes were blue- those were washed out, a half a breath to turning white as well. Even her plain dress was bleached white. It was boring so she continued to look through her reflection into the store.
She wanted to go into each of the stores but she felt too shy, like she was crossing something that she shouldn't. She reminded herself that she was invisible, but that didn't help much. So she was quite content with just soaking up the sights, a small upward tugging at her lips at each new discovery.
Oh, she was smiling.
She touched the edge of her own mouth, her hand moving delicately in the reflection. That was new. She quite liked it, it made her face look brighter.
She was making faces in the window when a blur from inside the store caused her attention to snap upward. She knew that blur anywhere, and her previous reservations flew from her mind. When she opened the store door, a small tingling of bells caused the store keeper to raise his head, but he saw no one. The blond haired man stared past her, puzzled, before thinking nothing of it and went back to a book in his hand. He grumbled something about the wind before puffing on a cigar.
Naminé continued onward to the blur, who now was in the shape of a boy her age. If she were blank, this was the most colorful person she had ever seen. He had tanned skin, light brown hair like soft earth, and blue eyes like a clear sky. Even his clothes were bright apple red, it stood out even in such a colorful building.
He was eagerly investigating at the shelves, past the toys and models, his eyes taking in the sights like she did- as if he never seen it before. But the way he moved from shelf from shelf told her that he frequented here, sunshine yellow shoes walking with conviction. Naminé followed him, intrigued, nimbly ghosting his steps. He burned with energy she had never felt before.
He pulled a pen and paper from the shelves; Naminé peered over his shoulder, the pen was simple black but the stationary was pink and decorated with spring flowers. Nothing she thought a boy would pick, she could see a tinge of red grow on his cheeks when he looked at the paper his hands. Then before he could change his mind, he ran past the counter, dropping tinkling munny on the counter and rushed out the door.
Naminé jogged after him, the breeze floating her soft hair. They wandered past the buildings to a grove of trees. It was odd to see the trees like a miniature forest, their tallness was a contrast to the flat planes surrounding them. The trunks were all different shades of brown, some ashy black, some light brown, and all different heights and weights, none two looked the same. Naminé wondered if people just planted whatever they pleased, whenever they pleased.
The brown haired boy sat on a stump in a small clearing, the only patch of sun coming down through the impenetrable shade of the trees. Naminé thought it made him look even more spectacular, and she nervously edged over to observe him. He was writing something on the paper, eyes furrowed in concentration. He'd scribble something, then sighed, and put his pen down.
Naminé climbed on the stump beside him and peeked at the paper, but nothing was written in it, it was just inkblots. The boy blinked, and then turned his head toward hers.
"You okay?" he asked.
Naminé squeaked and fell off the stump gracelessly on her back. She heard him laugh and her face became uncomfortably warm.
"Sorry, sorry," the boy apologized upside down, Naminé rolled from her back to her knees. "It was your fault though; you shouldn't read over people's shoulders."
"I didn't mean- I'm sorry," she stammered, the warm turning hot. And it was worse than the pressing hot beating down from the sun. Wait. "You can see me?"
"What do you mean, you're right there." He must have noticed how nervous she was because his eyes looked up as he scratched his hair in thought. "Let's start over again. Hey, what's your name?"
"N-Naminé."
"My name is Sora." His hand reached for hers in greeting. When they touched, she could feel the callouses, the strength of his grip, and the pricking of electricity that must have come from his fingers and spread all over her body.
Naminé was running back now, she could barely feel the dull ache of her feet when all she could think of was the internal roar in her ears. Her face felt like it was on fire, and the hot breeze as she ran past didn't help cool it.
"My name is Sora," she recalled, his smile revealed perfect teeth. Sora like the sky.
She looked up at the cloudless blue, but after she stumbled a bit over her feet, she decided it was a bad idea and looked forward again. She felt silly running like the darkness was chasing her, all the way back to the monochrome house, which still sat pitifully on the only hill in the entire area.
The door opened with a bang, flooding the room with natural light. Vanitas was leaning into the chair with his feet propped up on the shoulders of the silver haired boy, he glanced at her. He must have been interested in what would make the girl gasp for breath, hands on knees as she struggled to compose herself.
"You look terrible! Your feet are all cut up and bleeding all over the floor. I like it," he said jovially, swinging his legs off the boy and jumping to his feet. "What happened?"
Naminé didn't want to tell him about Sora, she didn't know why. But she had a feeling that Vanitas would try to play with whatever she found, and she felt as if Sora was hers. So instead she asked, "People can't see us?"
Vanitas laughed, "People can't see you, because there's nothing of you to look at, doll. Did it really surprise you that much? Don't tell me you thought you were a person, that's just sad. Like a bad punchline to an already unfunny joke."
Vanitas slid an arm around her thin, knobby shoulders, "How many people did you talk to before you realized it doll?"
Naminé didn't answer him, instead she looked at his arms draped around her and then asked, "Why did you ask me for my name if you aren't going to call me by it?"
"Does it bother you?"
"I think so. It's impolite, don't you think? I'm Naminé, I'm not a doll."
"Those things aren't mutually exclusive. You can be both. And really, you haven't really done anything that makes me think you aren't a doll anyway." He placed all his weight on her, making her knees buckle. Naminé frowned at him, she was no doll.
She was more of a person than Vanitas knew, she walked around town, she talked to people (even if they didn't talk to her back), she explored stores. She met a boy named Sora who liked to laugh. Well she assumed that last part, he laughed like he did.
But she wouldn't tell Vanitas that. The empty faced boy slunk back into the chair and put his feet up on the replica again.
"I'm not a doll," she repeated, and then she pushed Vanitas' feet of the boy, "and he's not a piece of furniture."
Vanitas scoffed, "He's not much more, look at him." He dismissively pointed towards the slumped figure, "What inspired this sudden growth of a spine anyway? You ran like back like your life depended on it not too long ago."
He paused, then laughed like it was an inside joke, "Heh, heh, 'your life.' Sorry bad choice of words."
Naminé took the quiet figure by the hand and dragged him to the other corner, her blood from the cuts on her feet smeared on the dark wood. The replica was heavy and made only the slightest inclination of going with her. She looked at him sadly; she may have stood up for it, but there wasn't much there to defend.
She felt guilty for hoping that she would never, ever be like the mute boy. Then she really would be a doll.
A/N: *shrugs* I don't really know what this is about, I just really wanted to write a story with Vanitas and Namine because I think they would be interesting together. I also threw in Riku Replica because the poor thing needs some love. Hope you enjoyed it.
