Author's Note: Okay, this is what happens when you write after a two day stretch sans sleep. --
This story is written in Farfarello's P.O.V., and what a strange viewpoint it is. See if you can guess who is who, here. If you get it right, I'll give you a cookie! This is rated PG for shonen-ai hints and general weirdness. I categorized it as a 'PWP' because I really didn't know what the hell to call it… Oo
Comments and criticisms are heartily begged for.
-Dr. SilverRose
Woven
Easier to think of them all as strands in a tapestry-
First: a bright and fuzzy orange thread that, when pulled out of the larger design and held, automatically twines about your fingers and is impossible to untangle. It's an ugly yarn-like sort of thread that clashes with everything you own and clings like an abandoned child…but you like it nonetheless.
Second: a sleek white thread, hopelessly bland and impossible to extricate from the rest. Smelling of authority, gunpowder and everything you've set yourself against. A singularly boring thread, but it holds the rest together.
Third: a black thread, interlaced with speckles of gray. Big solemn eyes, a waif-like body and the power to topple kingdoms…hard to liken to a thread, at all, but the metaphor still holds true.
Suppose, then, that you are a red thread, frayed and worn. Orange thread is your friend because it gives you substance. White thread you put up with for the stability it enforces. Black thread isn't necessary for your survival, really, but you couldn't do without it, either.
These threads insinuate themselves into the pattern at large, twisting and shaping, regardless of a cruel deity's desires and whims…
So what is this new thread?
Red like yours and quickly unraveling-
A new thread, a strange thread…but something quite like familiar…
A Weiss thread, certainly, for all that it is dyed in blood, just like yours. Can it be woven in and made to fit?
Is it worth the trouble?
Or will one new thread be all it takes to warp and destroy the tenuous patterns that you and yours have fashioned for yourselves?
Better not to take that risk.
(Farfarello pauses at the sight of Aya, unconscious and slumped against the wall. A stiletto already in hand, he stoops to the fallen assassin's level-)
No matter how much you crave a kindred thread.
(-the blade retracts and, smiling almost shyly, Farfarello gets to his feet and hurries to catch up to the rest of his team.)
Not yet, anyway.
-Owari-
