Disclaimer: If Shaman King were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.
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Minimal fluff 09!
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Bitter Chocolate
Adults were always fated to witness the mistakes of children.
Luchist had come to this conclusion one day sitting outside the bomb shelter. Morning was still resisting in the horizon as he sighed, perched on the balcony ready for the day in his priestly garb. Hand resting on the Bible, he sighed again. He was losing sleep and Mu was upon him. He couldn't go forth unprepared.
How long ago had it been…?
He hadn't always been an antihero. In fact, he had been in God's good graces a time ago, volunteering in the church, leading stray lambs back to God. Luchist had faced drug addicts, anger managed kids, orphans, the like. He had helped them and saw them go, rarely returning. It was life: some come and go. And then it changed.
"Luchist, this is Marco. His mother died recently and he has nowhere to go. Could you take care of him?"
It was his mission to turn hopeless eyes back to ones brimming with such. He had helped so many before and he was confident he could help this boy, this Marco.
"What am I interested in? Um…don't laugh, okay…it's embarrassing…but I like…I like ballet."
A sudden rustle broke the nostalgia of Luchist and he turned to see a flushed Lyserg bursting through the bushes, murmuring some sort of muffled goodbye before he hit the sand and started running toward the X-Laws ship farther down the shoreline. This kid, one of Marco's protégés…he had a graceful figure, like his teacher. Luchist felt another pair of eyes watching the retreating body and turned to the shelter to see Hao at one of the windows, dressed in nothing but pants and an expressionless face. With a curt nod of acknowledgement, Hao disappeared in the darkness and Luchist sighed again.
Just like his teacher, Lyserg was getting involved with the wrong things. People.
He had taught Marco dance to the best of his ability; when the boy asked if he could learn to cook to see if he could recreate his maman's pasta, Luchist agreed…secretly in the back of his mind, he wondered if he was molding Marco to be more effeminate than he had planned…
"You're just like a daddy to me, can I call you daddy?"
He, the father, just fresh out of college…he, the son, just reaching the age of prepubescent awkwardness…just had been shown cars, his future passion…
"We're going to Mu soon."
Luchist hates the kitchen now, a reminder of days past and a fulfillment of irksome figures, like the emo Hanagumi girls and Bill stuffing his face. Hao sips expresso silently next to him, the only two in the room not sharing in anxious movement.
"I know."
It is a question waiting to come out. There is no lack of anxious glances from the greenette X-Law, none from his mentor. "What is happening with you and that boy?"
"Nothing. Nothing happened." The tone is bored and scathing, like the black liquid down his throat. "Mind your own business."
He couldn't teach Hao ballet, that's for sure.
"I'm glad you're not my biological father."
At first, Luchist had been confused. Had five years lowered his standards with the now reluctant teen? But it was realized later that he had been in fact, elevated in Marco's eyes; that the boy now wanted a love that no father could ever give. It had to come from one whose blood was different, who had no one thing genetically tying them together.
It was a sin to feel such emotions, and Luchist prayed for guidance. The now near-sighted blonde understood, but the call of nature can be too hard to resist against.
They fled to France.
Humorously, Luchist mused, in the government's eyes, Marco had gotten custody of their only daughter. Jeanne had been a lost soul and this resounded in both of them: Luchist's caring nature and Marco's similar background. They unofficially adopted the albino orphan and called her their own. She had no name, as neither could settle with a decent, appropriate name for the little girl. She was brought up with God and played in the small car dealership her 'daddy and mommy' had created. For a moment, a wink in time, the three were happy.
Then, the fire came.
Everything was destroyed. Any chance for happiness, any chance for family – family, ha! It had utterly been decimated. The house was gone, the future was gone…everything. To the best of their abilities, they had protected the girl before she could be traumatized, putting themselves in harm's way to protect what was left of their small family.
The fire brought powers, unlike any other. Shamanic abilities with furyoku and spirits and oh my.
The girl was appropriately christened Jeanne, in remembrance of Joan of Arc who had fought for justice. They had discovered another band of victims whom the fire, Hao, had destroyed utterly. In the name of justice, they would fight. Righteousness would win; surely one as evil as Hao himself was an obstructer of justice. God was fair. Justice would reign.
Mu was an underground area of nothingness. Darkness and emptiness penetrated and Luchist had a split second of memory, where the aftermaths of the fire suddenly felt as nauseating as if he had just relived it. He could have sworn that he saw Marco react the same way, but he could never be sure.
He had gained many powers with Hao but he had lost the ability to read who he had truly loved before justice had taken it away.
Justice, justice. So many fight for it. Bullies are its ultimate enemy; the government advocates it strongly. So many fighters, fighting for so many forms of the same thing, oh…but what was justice?
Surely saving, sparing one's life is justice? Not taking the life of one who could have killed you…surely justice?
Evil is not compassionate.
But Hao had spared his life.
Justice?
Luchist had a feeling that Marco knew more than he let on. The little X-Law's affair with Hao-sama hadn't even gone unnoticed by the loud, chatterbox Macchi. It was swept under the rugs, under the sofas because the dustpan couldn't pick it up. This, too, was an obstruction to justice? Laws are justice, the X-Laws.
He had to protect his justice. It was what they were all doing, really.
It didn't mean he wouldn't cry when he was going to kill Marco. He still had it, lost behind false presumptions and shadowy ideas, he hadn't lost…
"Go give Hao love!"
His whole life, he had fought for that word that had no meaning now. An empty, hollow word whose resonating sound gave a shallow impression of satisfaction. One which made bloodied hands seem okay. And now Marco had finally realized there was something greater…in fact, he had even acknowledged (approved? Consented?) to his apprentice's traitorous relationship.
A teacher is always proud when the student matures and reaches full potential.
But always fated to witness the mistakes. The over enthusiasm. The denial. The martyr.
"Why did you have to die when you had already found your answers?"
Perhaps life was like bitter chocolate. A hint of sugar to make up for a whole pain. Sometimes you just can't hold back. Sometimes restraint could save your life.
It wasn't justice to leave your only daughter behind.
Maybe the afterlife would teach them. Maybe they could piece everything back together again and stick it all together with multi-purpose glue. Enjoy the little things. Maybe dance a bit with the bar again.
"I'm far too old to do ballet now."
Perhaps not.
Owari
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Note: I know, I know I said before that I hated Marco, yadayadayada…but I am a changed authoress. I have read the most recent chapter of Shaman King, the first chapter in the beginning of the end. And guess what? I can't hate Marco now that I know he did ballet as a child! Who can hate that? No one, that's who! And this pairing is quite apparent through the story. Don't give me those looks, so many people like teacher/student pairings. I'm giving in that moe. A continuation of the Takes Over the Break's over…kind of. It just seemed like the proper place to put it. I didn't plan it that way, certainly. Thanks for reading my awkwardness, and review, because it's the right thing to do. You could call it…justice.
Hahahahahaha.