Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. In other words, all the original characters and the original series plot belong to Nobuyuki Anzai, and I make no money off this.
Warnings: OOCness (I tried!), weirdness (which is normal in my fiction). all spelling/grammatical errors are my own. If you spot some mention them and I will fix them.
Conversations
It is quiet, though not uncomfortably so. Each of the room's occupants are waiting, calmly and – for few – impatiently, shuffling their feet but not saying a word. Until Halloween cracks a 'joke', he doesn't find it amusing at all, however the fearsome man is practically quivering with laughter. It seems that a few members of the Zodiac Knights are late. This fact is less that impressive; to be tardy was to show that you don't care, or if you do, that you don't do so enough. He finds himself hoping that Phantom will exchange a few, choice words with the late comers, though he doubts that the man will; he is a child.
He's distracted, as Halloween's cackles die down and he makes a remark about this and that and asks of everyone's opinion. He hears Phantom's chuckle and reply (it is another 'joke' however he doesn't understand what is so funny), just as he hears the screeching that Repunzel rips her mouth with its utterance. However, he pays them no mind; he has grown used to their ways; one must if they are to act as a sufficient team mate for other annoying members. He is more interested in the mysterious figure decked in deep purple and highlighted with bright blonde hair.
He is the only one to know of Chimera's real identity. He is the only one in their ranks that holds the knowledge that she is definitely a she, not a he. Sometimes he wonders how she deals with the reference; Rolan's few comments on how he reminded him of a female (his waist was apparently slender like one's) whilst he'd lived with and raised the boy grated on his nerves with every syllable, but she takes each one on the chin and remains calm, ominous and mute. It is believed that she cannot talk. It is admirable.
From across the cool, dim, dining hall they watch each other. They're discreet because their business is no one's but their own and because their relationship would cause little else than a constant wave of jeers and where she can take them, he has set limits. It helps that both have taken to wearing their masks – his white, with a red swirl and hers of a metallic skull, much like the armour knights wore - to each and every meeting Phantom calls; both have secrets to keep and thoughts that they don't want shared. He sometimes wonders how it is possible to know when a specific someone is staring at you, however he knows and he can feel her examining him, even though her face turned towards the centre of the room, much like his own is.
Not much has happened between them, as far as relationships go. However, there is something deeper than a mere friendship between them. It feels warm, like hot tea when you chug it down too fast only to find the cooling process pleasant. They haven't touched each other, apart from the time when he'd first given her the ARM she uses; when he'd lifted her chin to talk to her face, not the back of her blonde head. They aren't touchy, feely people, keen on a hug from a loved one or a hand shake from a partner. They understand that.
He allows his large, hazel eyes to flicker up to her hair, which is being tugged by the playful wind swimming peaceful not-circles around the room. She responds with a brief glance down, a shy gesture she reserves for those that know her well, which seems to be only him, he reasons silently. Her golden locks flash metallic blue in the moonlight, her mask practically glowing beneath it.
He can feel her eyes caressing his own hair, which hangs down to his waist as it sways slightly, as though she is using her eyes likes hands and fingers playing with hay. She understands.
It will tangle.
Yours more so.
A mere moment later her gaze is on his cheek, soft, inquisitive, as though she is attempting to comfort him. His cheek warms from where it sits comfortably underneath his bone mask and soon it is thrumming throughout all of his muscles. It is working, he feels calmer. He'd been worried about Phantom. They are going to be working out the order in which they will be battling in the War Games and who will be battling who. Phantom had claimed a few days ago that whoever wanted to go could argue amongst them until someone was chosen. However, that morning, the man had sought him out in order to have him call a meeting. It is nerve wracking; Phantom doesn't change his mind often and when he does it is because someone has ordered him to do so. He is like a raging bull, his eyes set forward and his feet drumming against the ground as he runs, runs until something strong enough can halt him. Nothing usually distracted him from his original plan of attack.
He blinks his large eyes, settling her worries gently, before he traces the outline of her violet clad shoulder in a single, quick stroke. He is fine, she will understand.
And she does. She doesn't question him with battering lids, or wide eyed stares. Her gaze floats away from him for a moment. He understands. Despite her deformations, she is still a woman, she likes to flirt. Her eyes are back upon his cheek a moment later, cupping it, stroking it calmingly. His eyes close; he'll let her be.
Their conversations had been developed whilst he'd taught her how to use ARM, specifically; the one he'd given her. It was a tedious task, training all the new and 'could be' knights, however, he'd realised early on that his hard work reaped grand rewards. They were standing in Lestava Castle, destroying the entirety of MAR, were they not? Either way, she hadn't liked her appearance, had abhorred – and still does, Peta imagines – it with a passion. She wouldn't talk, afraid her voice would crack and that he'd think her as weak if he heard it do so. He isn't much of a talker anyway, his actions speaking much, much louder than any word he can mutter is able. They'd grown to understand each other's body language.
He now knows what her leaning left slightly meant (she was curious), he now knows that the slight tilting down of her head is her feeling disappointed. Each action is minute, like an ant's when compared to an elephant's however, he knows what to look for and how to interpret them. Their staring had come much later on, once Peta had taken to visiting every month or so; he'd taken in Galian by that time and then Ash a few weeks later and had found himself occupied far more than he'd have liked. She'd stare openly whenever he checked up on her; her baby blue eyes wide, open, intrusive. He'd grown used to recognising her stare, like a child being carried on his back. Soon, he'd returned the gesture.
Supposedly it is inappropriate to stare at a woman as he does her; it is crude, disrespectful, however, she'd met his eyes and thus began their first honest conversation. But Peta was and still is cynical; he hadn't believed it all at first; until read his need for a good read so accurately that it had almost surprised him (even more surprising had been that she'd actually had the book he wanted to read).
Her eyes flicker from his cheek, so that they are running down his tattoo stained arm, down to his large, slender hands, holding them tightly before they flicker back towards the ground. He does the same, focussing on the place where her sleeves connect, like two, thick eels lying nose to nose in front of her abdomen. He knows that there are merely malformed, dark limbs gracing thin, pale arms hiding beneath the heavy material she wears now. He allows his eyes to focus there intently. Many would cringe, he'd seen numerous falter at the sight of her mangled body. Of her torn and mutated face and hands. However, was it not him that had caused her body to distort? Was he not the one that gave her the ghostly ARM she now uses like an blacksmith uses a steel hammer and flickering fire? It is the least he can do: hold her hand and not pull away.
Thank you.
Her eyes flicker up to his own and he is sure that they are locked. And then he feels a tingling feeling, like spiders crawling over him in all of his being but far more pleasant. Her eyes are focussed on his chin, the place she kisses when she thinks he needs one.
You're welcome.
It is then that Kouga lumbers through the large arch doorway, his cloak up and over his head as he hears Pinocchio shriek an apology. He feels her eyes roll up around his face until they are up at the roof and he watches with amusement; ah, she is as impatient as ever, keen to start and finish, yet as silent and seemingly patient as ever. He admires her.
His eyes linger on her elbow for a moment.
We'll talk later, during dinner.
Phantom calls for their undivided attention as her eyes ghost over his form, before they land on his feet and pin themselves to them, like blue buttons.
Yes. You will explain to me how you managed to wreck your old boots.
Woffy: I was watching the ants. They communicate without talking (or that's how it seems to me). Ants are annoying. PetaChimera's annoying, platonic and all that.
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