Disclaimer: Inferno: Lol, I ship Larka and Jace too! And the best thing is, is that if you combine their names it makes 'Lace', which I think is cute. And you know what they say- that if two pokemon fall in love, so do their trainers! Oh, that's a relief- I was so worried that no one would like it because I put myself in. I'm glad. And I think that your name was in D/P/P, but you might want to ask Ebaz; I can't remember correctly. Awwww, thank you for your concern! I'll be fine though, it's not going anywhere near where I live.
Question:
My Answer:
Characters: Mars X Lucas, as requested.
Summary: I am quite proud of this title, I must say.
Fatalistic Fairy Tales
'Maybe we'll meet again, someday.'
As empty memories ring through an empty household, she takes a drag through hopeless-romantic lips that have somehow decayed throughout the years, and blows fatalistic fairy tales into air that is as stale as the bread she lives off of. Winter breathes on the windows, turning them opaque, and the half-broken heater does nothing but hum on the floor. She picks her way across shattered glass and sees his face reflected in every shard, and pours the type of wine she never drinks in an effort to keep herself numb and happy.
Happy is an empty word now.
She lets the cigarette fall to the floor, and contents herself in watching as it is choked by the cold, light slowly fading from its tip. She throws her head back and downs the glass, feeling some of the liquid trickle down her chin and onto the form-fitting dress she wears. She has to wear it to pay the rent; all the men hand out the most money that way.
She closes her eyes as she hears the door creak open, and feels a hand touch her thigh.
Because I am not a princess, she thinks as the hand scrapes upward. It is because I am not a princess that you aren't my prince. It is because I am not locked in a tower that you aren't saving me.
The searching hand finds its target, and she drops the glass just to hear it shatter.
She hates thinking of Lucas.
000
'I'm sure we will.'
As incomplete memories echo through an incomplete household, he takes a sip of normalcy-laced coffee and realizes that he doesn't like it at all. It is bitter in his mouth, and even after he swallows it leaves a potent aftertaste in his mouth. He only drinks it because he's thirty-something now, and that's what thirty-something people are supposed do to.
It always seems like he's playing a role now.
Sometimes, in the midst of stability and concrete-gray rules and realism, his mind wanders to a world of boyhood and fatalistic fairy tales. His mind wanders back to the days when he was free to travel, when he took grand adventures and was the hero in his own story. His mind wanders back to her.
He opens his eyes as the thought of her enters his mind, and sets the coffee cup down with a trembling hand.
Because she is not a princess, he reminds himself. It is because she is not a princess that she doesn't need me to be her prince. It is because she is not locked in a tower that I don't need to rescue her.
The door swings open, the summer breeze blowing the present in with it.
He hates thinking of Mars.
000
'Maybe we'll meet again, someday.'
'I'm sure we will.'
In the unforgiving future tense they will meet again, but it will be a time that holds no place for fatalistic fairy tales: it will be a time when his son will be heading off on his eight-badge run, and she will be cowering in her oversized coat. They will be standing on the same near-empty street corner. They will be waiting for the same light to turn green.
Then it will turn. He will go one way. She will go the other.
They will never even recognize each other's faces.