So a shorter chapter this time, sorry, more of a building block to the next one ;P
Enjoy!
White locks bounced forward before replacing themselves in Allen's style as the car came to a smooth halt, the emergency brake clicked up and the body turned to look at the young man in the back seat with his hands around his faithful companion.
"Need a help out of the car?" Tyki asked the young man, Allen shaking his head no.
"I've got Tim for that," the blind man informed him, his hand on the handle as Tim slipped out of the car, his master beside him, a hand coming to rub the soft ear with fondness.
Allen loved his dog, hating the idea that he needed to part with him sooner rather than later. He knew the family that trained his dog, knew they were very good people, good people that were excited to get their dog back; a dog that Allen didn't want to give up.
"Come along," his elder called, his shoes clicking on the stone garage followed by the jingling collar and tapping nails, the young man beside his loyal friend.
"You seem vibrant this morning," Allen commented, "no morning sex?"
"Perhaps that's why I'm vibrant," Tyki informed him, the elevator door held open for the younger, ignoring the groan from Allen's lips, "oh get over it Allen."
"Hard to get over something when you're constantly reminded of it," the younger muttered through gritted teeth.
He was fortunate that Tyki only gave him what he assumed was a poignant stare, the two alighting from the elevator, the smell of dust and oil paint reaching Allen's senses.
"They're unloading a bunch of stuff," Tyki commented, "paintings, obviously, and they're being extremely careful with everything, especially because Mr. Killjoy is looking like he'd kill them."
"Really?" Allen muttered, "does he look like he's got a stick up his ass?"
"Walking like it too," the elder grinned, "he's coming over, in case you didn't figure it out."
"Lucky me," the blind man whispered, his shoulders sagging as he sighed, the smell of soba brushing his nostrils.
"You're late," an angry voice barked, much closer than Allen anticipated.
"Sorry, I got lost driving," Allen told him sarcastically, "we said one, and I'm here at ten past; relax."
Breath left the elder at a rather angry place through his nose, the whistle short and noisy.
"I don't have time to deal with you," Kanda muttered, his clothes crinkling as he waved over someone who came pattering towards them, "you; work with them."
An immediate stuttering came from the man that Kanda called, his head turning from the two in front of him to the surely artist.
"Hello," Tyki started smoothly, transitioning easily to his business attitude, "and you are?"
"J-John… sir," the young man started, "i-it's nice to meet you… Mr. Mykk a-and Mr. Walker."
"Likewise," Allen nodded, "sorry… I can't shake your hand-"
"N-No worries," the blind man could hear the nervous smile in the voice, "s-so u-um… what-what did you want-"
"Mr. Walker would like to gather inspiration for the piece he's going to create," Tyki started, "how have other's in the past done it?"
"W-Well…" the man swallowed nervously, "u-usually they walk around and h-have a l-look-"
At this Allen felt all eyes on him, his white brow raised in scepticism.
"That sounds like a plan," Tyki nodded, a tug on Allen's arm pulling him unexpectedly away , "see, here Allen we have a beautiful flower. It's pink," again the younger was pulled to the side, his feet dancing to keep up and keep upright. "This is also a flower," the elder told Allen, "it's blue." Grumbling as he moved once again to the right, the blind man glared at his publicist, "this is two flowers; one's blue and one's red."
"What the HELL are you DOING!?"
"Pissing him off, apparently," Allen muttered under his breath as he felt rather than heard the approaching footsteps .
"What are you doing!?" Kanda repeated, anger radiating off of him in waves.
"Giving the boy inspiration," Tyki told him as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "you like flowers huh?"
"They don't talk back," the young man grumbled through gritted teeth, "how the hell is he gonna get inspiration if he can't see the damn thing!?"
"I thought I was doing a wonderful job of describing the paintings," the Portuguese man defended feigning hurt.
"Can't believe you monitor my career," Allen muttered, the bridge of his nose pinched between his fingertips.
"Would you rather I didn't?" Tyki smirked, taking the silent pout as a no. "Well, look," if the tugging had Allen stumbling, Tyki throwing him almost had him falling over, his body turning so that his back hit the chest, arms instinctively reaching out to catch him. "Since I'm doing such a bad job; you look after him, kay?"
"Wait… what!?"
"Tyki!" Allen called after the retreating footsteps, "wait!"
The footsteps continued as though the elder hadn't heard him, Allen continuing to sigh.
"Did you're redheaded friend show up?" the young man asked, feeling the elder still at the question.
"Lavi is not my friend," Kanda snapped, "and just so you know, yes, he's here."
"Figures," the blind man grumbled, "can you help me stand?"
Muttering words Allen chose to ignore, the younger found ground underneath his feet, his body now standing closer to Kanda's, hoping that he wasn't left alone in a place that was wholly unknown to him.
"I am not looking after you," the elder informed the young man, as though Allen couldn't have figured it out for himself.
"Duh," Allen muttered, his head turning at the sounds, trying to figure out where the walls were, "but that doesn't solve the problem we're having; I can't compose without the inspiration…"
"And I work in a visual medium," Kanda sighed, "this is just perfect."
"That's a word for it," the younger nodded, "is there any other way we can work this out?"
"Since the contract is signed I can't get another pianist," the elder grumbled, forcing a blind glare in his direction, "and since you can't see-"
"You could always describe things for me," Allen pointed out, "you know, if you decide to grow a heart."
"Or you could hire someone to describe properly," Kanda argued, his head turning to look around for the assistant that seemed to have scurried off, "which looks likes that would be me…"
Allen felt like an uncomfortable child as he stood by Kanda, listening to the sighing and groaning of the elder beside him, Tim turning and looking around the room, his tail thwacking against his legs.
"Look, come here."
Tugged along, Allen felt like a doll as he was pulled towards another room, this one having more of an office-like feel, the door shutting behind him making the noise muffle and quite.
"They lent me this office," Kanda informed him, pushing the younger to the chair, him taking a seat opposite, "guess we can talk privately."
"Thanks," the younger muttered, listening to the clothes shuffle as Kanda adjusted his form in front of the other.
"So; how do you usually get inspiration?" the elder figured to ask, his arms over one another.
"How else," Allen pointed out, "sounds. I listen… and interpret," his head tilted, "you?"
At this Kanda expelled when must've been his umpteenth sigh in the day, his chair adjusting to the shifting weight.
"You're friend got this much right; I like painting flowers," Kanda confessed, "I don't do portraits, don't like working with others. Flowers just sit still and yet…" clothing moved as the shoulders shrugged, "I find… they can show more than just a face."
White hair tilted slightly, his eyes shifting as he processed the words, wondering if he could find some way to harmonize the music with the art he could not see.
"But… I'm not describing my art to you," the artist pressed on, Allen's brow furrowing at the mention, "you're an artist too; you should know art is interpreted differently by different things."
The protest died on Allen's lips as his shoulders sagged slightly, his head nodding a slow understanding.
"Then this makes my art impossible," Allen murmured, his head looking around at nothing, his lip slipping into his teeth.
"Show me what originally inspired you."
Kanda lifted his head up at the words, the face Allen couldn't see was furrowed in confusion.
"What?" Kanda asked, "that's impossible; I've traveled around the world, that's where there from-"
"I don't mean the actual flowers…" Allen swallowed, "I mean… you… while you paint."
Again, silence fell over the room, the younger feeling tension rise, his mouth acting faster than his mind.
"Look… you can learn a lot about a person's art by the way they work," the younger explained.
"If you can't see the art, how the Hell are you able to see me work?" Kanda asked, his brown raised in scepticism.
"Like I do in my daily life; I use the other four senses," the white hair shook as he adjusted himself, "I can… feel the atmosphere, hear the brush strokes," the shoulders shrugged, "I can work it out... I've done it before."
"But-"
"Seeing doesn't mean feeling," Allen cut him off, "I can still feel art… how it affects other people and such…" blank eyes stared at Kanda, "you learn how too… after over ten years of this…"
The throat was thick as it forced down a lump, the lungs expanding and collapsing once again.
"I'll give your publicists my address," Kanda started, the door opening beside Kanda, "I'm not driving you there."
"I'm going to your house?" the pianist questioned, standing with the dog beside him.
"Studio," the elder corrected, "and you're only spending an hour. Two tops."
"Sounds peachy to me," Allen muttered, "let's go Tim."
"And no dogs," Kanda informed him, "I've got two cats; they won't like it."
"Fine," the younger sighed, "but you've got to guide me around then."
"As if-"
"Or I could walk around holding onto walls potentially stepping on and knocking over stuff that could be your next masterpiece," Allen smartly cut him off, his grin mischievous as he looked to where Kanda's face glared down at him.
"Fine," the artist spat out, Allen's hand taken in his, "be there by three on Saturday; that should be good for you."
Allen nodded, thankful that doctors didn't often work weekends, meaning he wouldn't have an appointment to interfere with his work.
"Thanks," was all the younger managed to say before he walked out the door, his dog leading the way to Tyki, his master trying to ignore the feeling of warmth from Kanda's hand.
Again, sorry about the long wait for updates... school and life can be utter Hell sometimes.
Reviews please.