Author's Note: Again, something that I wrote ages ago and rediscovered. It's short, but I like it. It was just...a means of exploring Legato's relationship with Knives and his view of himself. Legato intrigues me so.
Title: Headaches
Summary: Legato takes a moment to ponder his uses, or perhaps the lack thereof.
Rating: K.
Soundtrack: None.
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It was a nice house. They were all nice houses. But, there was something about this particular house that put Knives in a fine mood. Of course, if Knives was happy, the chances of anyone else being happy increased exponentially.
It must be the flora. The structure was fill with greenery--shrubs, flowers, small trees, crawling vines, hanging vines. How the residents had managed to created such a domesticated paradise, he could not guess. But, Knives found it exceptionally amusing, so he didn't question the fact.
Legato stayed outside, perched on the seat of a swingset. What a rich family they must have been, to have such a clean house, such beautiful plants, and such luxuries as a swingset for their brood of children. He was glad they were gone now. Such noisy little creatures they seemed. But, they were quieted soon enough.
Granted, he was uncharacteristically cranky today. Legato attributed that to the cold that had overtaken him of late. How he caught it, he didn't know. It wasn't as though Knives led him into crowded areas where such epidemics could be easily transmitted. And, of course, the sickness didn't spread from his master. Knives was perfect. Here, swaying back and forth out of the angel's sight, Legato sneered. And sniffed. And wiped his nose.
His head was swimming, and he leaned his temple against the cold metal chain. Even after twenty years, he was not what he could be--what he should be. Knives expected so much of him, and he could never fulfill those expectations. Why wasn't he dead yet?
He had nothing that Knives needed.
He had nothing that Knives wanted.
This constant cycle of thought--it ran through his mind at least once every few weeks. He once voiced these thoughts to Knives--during one of the good days, of course. Knives had turned his icy eyes on the human and smiled. Smiled. "Don't be so worrisome, mutt," He'd cooed, head tilting to the side, "It won't last long."
But what did that mean? Would he soon meet standards? No. Absolutely not. Would they find the brother soon? Unlikely. No one knew where that one was. And, Legato knew that he could never dismiss these thoughts, because the truth of them would always ring out in his head. Unqualified, unworthy, undesirable. Dirty, broken, dry. That's it. That's all it would ever be.
That being the case, perhaps Knives simply meant that he would die soon.
That was a comforting thought. Death, warm and welcoming--at least the headaches would go away.
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Nix: Yeah, I know it ends weird. I think there was supposed to be something else here. But, I don't remember what it was. .