Characters: Setsuna F. Seiei & Lyle Dylandy
Summary: There was an age when men wrote letters to send pressed flowers to their mothers and younger brothers. Soran Ibrahim is at this age. But his papers turn to dust, while Lyle's data peels.
Setting: Early episode of the second season
An "Allay-Mari" is a twenty-fourth century i-Phone-like device...meaning that it's a million times cooler.
...Yeess; the pun was intentional. *dork*
AN ADDRESS; YOUR SON HAS SENT PRESSED FLOWERS
"You can write letters on the Allay-Mari." murmurs Setsuna F. Seiei at his side, composing a statement out of the half-formed question.
Lyle's turns his gaze to the young man, basilisk-eyed. His muscles do not dare to shift, and thus tighten grotesquely.
"Well...you know how paper is practically banned all over the map these days."
Curiosity gleams round Setsuna's pupils, as he peers down at the cold, steely technology held in Lyle's palm. The young man had been using his own only two hours before, but now he warily eyes the device for contaminates.
"In the Middle East, we still use paper regularly."
"It becomes dust."
"Data can peel," dismisses Setsuna, "Just like Tieria Erde's Veda."
Lyle laughs. He suddenly wonders if he should feel a twang of wistfulness for his brother, as he loosens, turns, and takes in the whole of Setsuna F. Seiei.
For the boy seems newly sculpted, with his features having slowly aligned to his face, and the awkwardness of his boyhood, spidery limbs having been disciplined to litheness. Setsuna is a waking blossom from the soil of its wintered grandfather's grave, Lyle observes, with its petals still moist as it unfurls.
"I had no address to send any of them. So sometimes, I read them."
"Do you fold the pages?"
"There aren't any pages to fold. When data folds, it peels."
"I fold my own a thousand times, and then another thousand times," continues Setsuna, ignoring him. When Lyle attempts to lock his gaze with Setsuna's, the man only stares right through him.
"To whom is it addressed to?"
"There is no address," says Setsuna, quietly. "But once...there was a woman who cradled me in her arms when I was nearly dying from a fever. She sang me to sleep without weeping.
"I never thanked her."
END