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-Chapter Two- Stand Alone

Once safe within the confines of his separate room, Laharl tossed aside his sword and threw himself heavily onto the bed set up in the centre of the small room. The bed gave a small creak and a small rebound to his slight weight.

He stayed as he was, starting blankly up at the low ceiling while laying on his back, arms spread lazily and scarf uplifted and messy around him. Even in the slightest moment while reminiscing about the previous fights and events, he had the same strange urge to become tense. Before he allowed his face to redden, he rolled to his side abruptly, pulling the scarf with him acting as if it were a blanket of some sort.

Drifting… if he could, he would be nodding, but slowly, he was drifting off to sleep…

Until, that is, there was a knock at the door.

He was slightly startled at first, seeing as it had been completely at ease and the room had been ultimately quiet, and then the fact that sound seems to be so heavily amplified while just entering a state of, well, sleep.

He relaxed quickly, smoothing out his scarf to make it seem as if he were simply asleep, making no attempt at answering the soft rapping at the door.

"Laharl…" it was Flonne, her coaxing voice invading his ears. "Laharl, are you still in there…? Laharl…?"

She continued with his name, as if to annoy. What a good job. "Lahar—"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT!!" he burst out, jerking upright, the scarf whirling away from him.

"…can I come in…?"

"Why?" he insisted sharply. "Give me one good reason I should let you come in here and cut down on my nap time; …and stop saying my name so much. It's annoying, from someone like you." Again. He snapped at her again, when he had no direct intention of doing so. Habit, perhaps? He couldn't decide.

"…I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for earlier. Fighting is no way to settle our differences or beliefs…"

He heard the tenderness in her voice and gave the door a defiant look, pulling into his knees for a moment. He wondered if her words were really directed to him. Laharl contemplated what he would say next if she should do it again. Or, in time for one of her speeches he knew was coming whether he denied it or not. He wondered why he bothered with it anymore. That, at least, could spare him some fights. "Fine," he muttered, sitting up again. "But if you say ONE thing about love, I'm kicking you out like I did to that Prinny."

There was a small rattling from the other side of the wall and he rolled his eyes impatiently. "Laharl… the door—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," He flicked his wrist and the door flung open. "It's locked." He let himself fall back against the bed once more, attempting to look at least somewhat casual, and less frail, kicking a leg over to cross them over his knee, arms behind his head. "Wow…" he rasped lowly. "What do you really want, Flonne…?"

She fidgeted uncomfortable, as if not knowing where or how to begin, and wrung the frill of her dress, her eyes darting from here to there. "Well… really! I just wanted to apologize to you about all the unkind things Etna and I said to you back there… I don't mean to upset you – I don't know about Etna… but… if it makes you feel better, I'll stop talking about all that for a while…"

He stared at her, wondering if she was serious. Of course she was serious – it was just a matter of how long it would hold up before she threw around another of her speeches. He simply waited for her to finish the one she had going currently.

"Laharl…?"

"What."

"Are you listening to me?"

"Sure, sure, whatever." He mumbled, not too convincingly. Noticing his blank glazed look going straight past her, Flonne sighed sombrely; a sound amplified by the stillness of the stale room, and hugged her shoulders.

"Okay... well, I just wanted you to know I was sorry…" she led herself out, shutting the rickety, stubborn door with her, leaving Laharl standing alone before his bed.

Stand alone… he thought this phrase for a moment, and considered it. If Flonne wasn't there in the first place, he concluded, then I wouldn't have to deal with the stupid, useless speeches OR fights anymore… and if it weren't for Etna's damn Prinnies…

"That's it…" he declared tightly, clenching his fists, showing a stature of empowerment to himself. "I will stand alone…it's not a bad thing…!"

Another knock.

Before he had a chance to respond, Etna's voice floated in, chiming; "Lord Laharl, I suggest not talking to yourself—people tend to think you're crazy—"

"SHUT UP, ETNA!!" he yelled feverishly, shoulders hunched up tightly, arms locked at his sides, irritation spiking.

So if he was left alone, away from these two…

It really would be best if he could only…

Stand alone…

Morning came quickly, too quickly, and as usual, Laharl was hard asleep. This time, it was Etna's job to get him up.

"LAHARL!!" she bustled in noisily, kicking the door in carelessly. She would have one of the Prinnies pay for the damage later of course, and cared nothing for it. "Laharl! C'mon, let's go, time to get up!!"

At her rate, nothing was ever gentle, and that mainly included most anything to do with Laharl; especially trying to wake him up in the mornings. It usually involved some kind of violence. With him sleeping so openly on such a low bed, now seemed to be the perfect time for her to do what she'd always wanted to.

As hard and quickly as she could, she drop-kicked him on the stomach sharply, sending him up in a flash, gasping for air. At this point, he bent, gagging, and choked. "Are you CRAZY!?" he roared, standing after a moment when he was able to breathe again. 'do you wanna KILL me or somethin' !?"

Etna gave a sly smirk and devious giggle. "No,' she teased. "But c'mon! They have breakfast ready downstairs for us."

"Ungh…" he moaned. "I don't think I'm so hungry anymore, after that…" this was not as sarcastic as it seemed. He held a hand over his stomach. "y' crazy—"

"Great! Let's go!" Etna, cutting him short purposely, grabbed him by the wrist and practically dragged him down the small flight of stairs just outside of his room to the dining room.

Despite what he'd said, Laharl still managed to eat his usual amount; nearly everything.

After breakfast was finished, Etna, as she had originally intended, had a Prinny replace the door she destroyed and also pay for rent. They were soon again on their way.

Laharl, however, did not seem in top condition. He walked more slowly than the others, and behind them, not leading them as he normally would. Etna joked around, saying it was that it was the hit he took to the gut from her. She of course said this with no sympathy however.

But Flonne was naturally concerned. She'd even tried a heal spell on him, thinking if it really was what Etna was joking about that was wrong, it would help at least some.

He said nothing.

Anyone else could have easily told the two he was obviously lost deep in the void of his thoughts and memories.

He claimed he hated every bit and detail of them of his father, but looking back… what did Krichevskoy ever do to deserve to be so hated? What did his mother do?

Okay, so his father may have played a few nasty tricks on him involving food; "which is the better tasting" and all that… but should that really be enough to make his own son hate him like this?

"Cheer up, Laharl…" Flonne began quietly, gently. "It's not like you at all… what happened to the loud and stubborn demon I used to know? Why do you look so sad…?"

Her questions were never answered, and ignored for the most part, as she knew they would be. She at least wanted him to know she cared at least a little. Etna told her to simply drop it and let him be. If he wanted to pout, let him pout, she'd said.

Laharl surely had no problem with her decision for once. It was one that benefited him.

He figured if he could be antisocial long enough and not speak, he would be able to figure this all out on his own. Or at least be able to sort through and maybe cease the memories and strange things he felt that seemed to crash through him like waves. Waves; always rough, never smooth.

Always hard on him.

By the time noon came, Etna was tired of hearing… well, nothing. They still walked, and he was behind them, still dazed it seemed.

She turned sharply on her heal, getting right up in his face, shocking him out of it almost instantly. "Laharl, what is wrong with you!? Let's GO!" she snapped her fingers in his face rapidly, thinking she could get him to move like this. "Get with it! Demons get over their problems –whatever they are- quickly! Not wallow around all day to figure it out!"

Flonne merely wanted to slap her in the face and tell her to shut up, to put it bluntly. Surely Etna wasn't helping him by yelling in his face like that… But then again, neither would one of her speeches, and she knew this by now.

Laharl, on the other hand, glanced slightly up at the devil, wondering what could have possessed her to make such a racket. "Settle down, will ya…?" he mumbled at last, swaying her hand from his view. "I'm trying to think here." His voice was softer, but it still rang as a threat; enough to get her to quiet almost immediately. "I'm tired of hearin' you rant about how I'm not talking. Didn't you always say you hated hearing me complain anyway? So who are you one to talk? So YOU shut the hell up and leave me alone." He pointed out, the bitterness rising in his throat with a scratchy rasp to it as it usually had. "And anyway, I'm tired. I'm sick of walking; and I want to rest."

No one protested this. Etna was just satisfied she'd gotten him to speak, and Flonne was too busy trying to figure out what was running through the prince's min to get him to act so. What were his emotions? Were they really anger and annoyance? Or was he annoyed because they were there and he couldn't show his real emotions in front of them? Either way, she was determined to get to the bottom of his sudden turn-around.

Laharl knew she knew what he was doing, and it didn't help him any. It made it worse. He wanted to scream, to blast them away with his aura so far away that they could never find their way back…far enough away so he could finally be alone; be free and do what he wanted.

Needed.

But at this point, what he wanted to do was something he'd refused to do so many times before in his life. So many times before… before his dad had, and after his mother had died. It was all the same to him now.

It was something that others wouldn't shrug off if it was really him. They wouldn't belief it, and poke fun at him…

It was something he dared not do before others. Something that just didn't seem like him.

But once that time came, that wouldn't stop him from doing it.