Title: When Lightning Strikes Twice
Author: PowerHouseoftheCell
Summary: When Lambo Bovino threw that grenade, this was definitely not what he expected. Time Travel. No Pairings.
Disclaimer: I do not own in any way, shape, or form, KHR.
Author's Note:I just…ugh. I had fun writing this chapter, but the dates are so hard to find. I don't really have an excuse, but as I said. Chapters are up by midnight on Thursday. There. That's much more accurate.
Oh by the way, OVER 5000 VIEWS! Oh my god, thank you all so much.
OoO
"I'm going to use something called Sun Flame to heal you. It doesn't have the properties of ordinary fire, so it won't burn you in the regular manner. However, I'm told it doesn't feel pleasant the first time you experience it." Knuckle told Lambo practically, his face melting into a professional mask.
His hands began to glow a faint yellow, and small flickers of flame danced around the aura like tiny stars. Lambo laid face-down on the hospital bed, his pathway of scars outlined clearly.
"This will help get rid of the scars-"
"No." Lambo's muffled voice said quietly. He twisted his body so his resolute eye pierced straight into the priest. He continued, his voice still level, but it held the anger as if the very thought was stupid. "You can give me a health check. You can tell me I have a goddamned disease because of all the scars, but you aren't getting rid of them." He stiffly lay back down and Knuckle smiled a sad, sad smile, because he was one of those people. He laid his hands on the man's back and began to reach the tendrils of his flame into his back, thoroughly checking the strength of everything.
There are people in this world who abhor their scars, hate them with the very essence of their being, but will never get rid of them. These people, Knuckle thinks, are some of the strongest. They see their scars as a reminder of every mistake they made, everything they could have done better. They keep them as burdens, horrible, horrible burdens, to never forget that they were the indirect causes of them. That they are never, ever invincible, nor are they ever the strongest.
Giotto has many, many, of those kinds of scars.
It's part of the reason we follow him.
OoO
"Well, you seem to have no apparent abnormalities, other than some weakness due to malnutrition. After a period of steady meals, you should be fine." Knuckle said matter-of-factly. The last vestiges of flame extinguished, and Knuckle turned his back to Lambo to jot that down. He looked at the clock ticking away on the table. "It's just about four o'clock. There's a library two lefts and a right from here, if you want to occupy yourself."
"Ah, thank you. I think I will." Lambo responded quietly. He pulled on his shirt and exited through the doors, presumably headed towards the library. Knuckle grinned and began to walk towards the west gardens, which, in actuality, weren't gardens at all. It was easily the largest of the grounds, and was covered in dirt. It was dotted with targets, dummies, training posts, and various other instruments of physical practice.
Truly, it was magnificent. Here, the Guardians were free to train to their hearts content. Here, they could spar and destroy to their heart's content. Giotto had the gardens converted after a breakfast gone wrong. Daemon and Alaude's verbal fight had escalated (they do that a lot). G had started a one-sided argument with Asari, and Lampo had sided with the latter. Knuckle had encouraged them to fight out their differences in the gardens, but the last part had been cut off. The other Guardians had needed no further encouragement, immediately whipping out flames and scythes. Needless to say, it had produced more paperwork regarding the repair of the mansion and replacement of frightened staff.
Giotto had not been pleased, but this had become a common enough occasion that further action than a scolding towards unwilling ears needed to be taken.
Knuckle's grin broadened at the fond memories, and he surveyed the sunlit grounds with growing energy and enthusiasm. Asari and G were the only ones here, but they seemed to be focused intently on training. The former appeared to be practicing his sword forms, while the latter was shooting arrows at a target. It was truly an exemplary performance of ultimate strength!
He walked over to a little shack on the sides, which held the materials for training. Knuckle ignored the rarely used pile of blunted weapons. He went for the neat pile of rolled bandages stacked against the wall and the pairs of gloves hanging from a row of hooks. With an efficiency born from practice, he wrapped his wrist and palms tightly. He pulled on the gloves, which molded to his hands. The leather was faded and worn from use, but Knuckle wouldn't replace it until it was borderline falling apart. The practice gloves had served well since his old boxing days, nearly a decade ago.
He went back out into the sunlight and began his warm-up routine. While stretching his muscles, he couldn't help but to observe the fighters. They were both obviously in the Zone, either releasing tension from the past few days or just comforted by the training.
G was currently practicing with a wooden longbow, though it was equal in weight to his bone bow. A half-empty quiver lay on his back, and the other arrows were either embedded in a dummy or clustered around the center of a target. He wasn't experimenting today; none of the arrows had the tell-tale charred smell of one infused with Storm Flame. This was likely just to calm him enough to interact with other people.
Asari was going through a long complicated kata, involving all four of his katanas. Knuckle knew that Asari had practically made the katas, for there was none that he knew of that would incorporate more than two swords of the same length. His tall hat was off, and his sweeping ropes did nothing to disguise the predatory grace of the slashes and weaving of the swordsman.
Knuckle knew their fighting styles well enough to fight both beside them and with them, but he had never put the idea into practice. Giotto usually just sent the Guardians on individual missions. Once or twice he had been sent with Alaude, though.
He walked over to the section reserved for the boxing bags. He readied his arms and swung in a tight arc. A couple more swings and he was in the Zone, and utterly lost to the world.
OoO
Lambo wandered down the halls, taking the offered directions toward the library. It was strange having a second floor library. It had been on the third floor in his time. He wondered what was in place of it.
He arrived at a set of imposing doors, about three feet taller than he was and four times as wide. He pushed it, and flushed when it didn't give. He quickly pulled it open and ducked inside, eye darting around to make sure nobody had seen his folly. Once inside, his jaw dropped at the sheer size of the place.
It was really, really small compared to the one of his time.
It was a quiet place, though, and a small circle of cushy armchairs populated the center of the room. There were three rows of four bookshelves, and they were dusty and wanted wear. It was overall a nice place to relax, though obviously not used often.
"They don't really enjoy reading, but I do, so they installed it for me," said a voice from behind one of the shelves. Lambo automatically readied into a defensive pose, and he could feel his flames reacting to the sudden adrenaline rush. "Calm down, jeez. For a rescuer, you're pretty suspicious."
A green-haired male came out slowly, arms spread out and legs loose. He obviously knew how to approach a possible enemy. Arms apart show no weapons and no intent to get some, and legs loose to prepare to run away. Lambo stared, and Lampo stared back.
It was kind of eerie looking at someone who looked so alike to you.
OoO
Lampo wasn't really allowed to do anything, even if he was already healed. It had been three days already, and all he had gotten from the beating was bruises! He was fine. Plus, he had gotten some news of the famiglia's boss. Apparently, his subordinates were none too happy about their wages, and talk of overthrow was rampant. The boss would be desperate to get the support back, and might try to attack another group.
Giotto hadn't thought it was worth it, but he never did.
So, instead of moping, he just went to the little paradise Giotto had made for him. It was one of the few remnants of being a lordling he missed. A large, accessible library and freedom to use it whenever.
But really, with all the others too busy to have an interest in books, it was a miracle he had gotten this at all.
Lampo idly plucked a novel out, smiling a little when he read the title. The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club, by Charles Dickens. The Italian translation, of course. Once he had tried to learn English, but that had been a horrible idea. It was far too complicated.
He was just cracking open the book when someone intruded on his sanctuary. He took a peek through the titles, and gulped when he realized there was no avoiding his rescuer now. So, he pulled up the mask and smiled lazily, though it faltered when they came face to face.
It was mildly startling to see someone who look so much like yourself.