The game had run long, and he was tired. It seemed like they'd been playing for days. Every time he'd edge closer to a goal, the feathered snake would bat the ball away as easy as blinking, and then he'd have to run the length of this blasted hall to get it again. He'd used his hand on accident only once, and it was suddenly engulfed by the ball, teeth chewing their way through his wrist, before Lavi threw the ball back with a great heave. His hand was a mauled mess, and he'd not made the same mistake twice.
Panting, slightly bloody, he ran back and forth with the ball, trying to keep it in play. If the ball ever stopped rolling, the game would end. Even just a nudge was enough.
He still hadn't figured out the feather snake's mysterious phrase.
Feed the warrior.
What could that possibly mean? He honestly didn't have the foggiest idea.
"Getting tired, little one?" the feather snake chuckled, circling Lavi lazily.
The redhead glared at it with one eye as he bounced the heavy, rubber ball against the amphithere's tail. It jerked reflexively and snapped at Lavi as he dashed towards the edge of the bowl-shaped arena. The ball bounced against the sloping wall off his hip, and Lavi winced. He'd have a massive bruise by tomorrow - if he got out of here. He'd noticed that a golden line was slowly spiraling out from the sun in the middle of the court. It was almost halfway to the edge of the sloping walls, no doubt signifying when this game of pitz would end, and Lavi would have to own up to his wager.
He didn't think he'd appreciate this thing's company for that many years.
"Just started!" Lavi cheekily retorted.
He juggled the ball on his knees, grunting with each impact to his skin. It was a heavy ball, and it was painful. He'd be covered in bruises. His hips weren't going to be the only victims.
Lavi attempted to score a goal at the closest hoop, outlined with beautiful stone masonry so it looked like the snarling mouth of a lion, but a tail smacked it back at him, smashing into his forehead. He cried out as a gash opened above his covered eye, blood beginning to gush out of the newly formed wound.
The blood dripped down his face, and he scrabbled to get back to the ball.
"Perhaps that will slow you down," the snake shot back as Lavi dragged himself across the field, keeping the ball in play with a haggard look.
He looked down as he slowly moved the ball back and forth, back and forth from knee to knee, over this golden sun...
And it suddenly hit him.
He looked up, an electric jolt racing through him. His mind raced as he eyed the second hoop, just a bit farther back. Feathers decorated it, spears woven around the edge. And, it was the smallest of all the goals. A number, 2, was emblazoned on it with Mayan numerals, shouting the answer.
Feed the warrior.
He tentatively kicked the ball towards the second hoop, and the snake struck with unerring precision. Lavi tried again, and the feather snake blocked fiercely. He headbutted the ball suddenly, and it arced over his opponent.
The feather snake frantically batted the ball away, and Lavi knew he had the right hoop. That was his target.
Feed the warrior.
Pitz was a Mesoamerican game, and the Mayans were very fond of it. It was a reenactment of the Hero Twins' victory over the Gods of the Underworld, signifying the struggle of the universe. The sun was... well, the sun. But the hoops, they were the planets.
There was only one planet that the Mayans considered the God of War. They were obsessed with tracking its progress across the sky, enough to create observatories in its honor. Entire manuscripts were written about its 8-year journey around the sun, and by it they swore blood and war. First to appear at first light, first to disappear at day's end.
Venus.
Well, that wasn't so hard. Lavi smirked to himself, awfully pleased that he'd figured out the snake's little game. He bounced the ball from one knee to the other -
He caught a look at the gold around his feet, and for the first time in what seemed like months, he was jerked back into a memory.
"It's almost daylight," Link warned Bookman.
"Yes, I have gathered that," Bookman answered sarcastically as he stared at the temple in the slowly dawning light. The night had waned like the moon through its phases, and it had left the old man bone-weary with far too many thoughts. He had kept himself occupied with his memory manifestation, walking through his thoughts and memories with a fondness he should never have picked up.
Though he'd known it was only detrimental to his mental health, he had perused many Black Order memories. There were... good times. For a Bookman, the difference between a good and bad memory was meant to be negligible, but they were human. He could not help but feel warmth when he watched Lavi laugh with his... comrades (friend was too close a term, one he hated to equate). To see him happy was almost too much. Yet, that was not his purpose in this life.
They were the ghosts of the world's greatest secrets, the only thing left of wars and stories untold until the right time presented itself. They were the progenitors of information, the guardians of the truth, and the keepers of the keys to history. Their presence was meant to be unnoticed. Their impressions were to be vacuous, unnoticed.
But he'd broken his own rule. These children had slowly become his own. He couldn't remember when that had happened. He had let other men spill their life's blood on his shoes and not lifted a finger, unless it was to write yet another death.
Was Lavi going to be another whose life would dry on his boots while he witnessed?
"What are you humming?" Link asked.
"A song," Bookman muttered. "To keep me sane."
He had not realized he had begun to sing Who Will Be A Witness? until Link had caught him in the act.
"It's fitting."
"Indeed."
Bookman's eyes stared straight at the temple, with its gruesome outer carvings, and he swallowed. What was to become of them? He was far too old. Lavi was far too young. He had only so many years left, and yet...
No, he wouldn't be ready. Bookman... he didn't want him to be ready. He hadn't counted the cost. He didn't understand the sacrifice.
Who was he kidding? Of course Lavi understood the sacrifice. He understood it too well, and perhaps that was why it broke the old man's heart.
"You're worried," Link said, an observation. The blonde man was watchful as well, staring into the forest rather than the temple. Allen had fallen asleep by a tree, determined to wait for his... comrade. Link had been standing vigil over the boy for nearly four hours, and he had shown no signs of flagging. Bookman was envious of youth's energy, or rather its stubbornness.
"Do you believe I have a right to be?" Bookman sneered, snappish with exhaustion. He was in no mood to play these guessing games with the CROW. The Order had been receptive of the Bookmen, but Central command was wary of anyone who may give allegiance to the enemy.
"Yes," Link stated, and Bookman merely stared.
"You have a right to your opinion."
"And you have a right to be worried about your grandson."
"He's not my grandson. He is my apprentice. A rather stupid one, at that."
Link continued staring into the distance as he retorted, "Yet you've been here over eight hours."
The silence reigned, punctuated by the cacophony of birds and monkeys in the trees. Soon, there was the crash of feet through the brush, and Darrin arrived with red-rimmed eyes and a leery set to his mouth.
"Them boys is getting impatient. What with them rebs attackin' 'em yesterdee, they're pret-ty antsy," Darrin reported as he took a swig off a bottle he'd somehow scrounged up. Bookman had forbidden the use of drink on this trip, but somehow the man had picked it up somewhere. The resourcefulness of addicts never ceased to astound.
"Is he out yet?" Darrin asked quietly.
"Would we be out here if he was?" Link quipped irately, and the old American gave him the hairy eyeball. He went back to his drink, and once more, silence was the lingua franca. There was only the silent-not-silence of the forest around them.
And they waited. It seemed like the only thing they ever did for that boy, was wait.
He stared into the forest, the golden light of early morning tangled in the branches as it poured over, stringy and sticky. It stuck to everything it touched. His hair, his clothes (new), the trees (faded? birch trees), and the book.
It was a leatherbound book. He'd carried it with him everywhere. Though it had been almost bigger than him, he'd grown to such a size that he was no longer dwarfed by it. There was gold filigree, slowly peeling around the edges, and there was a metal clasp. Hand-worked designs crisscrossed the leather in dancing, Celtic knots and fish and deer. It sat in the redheaded boy's hands, heavier than a weighted heart. He could remember the softness of the leather, and the beautiful shine of the gold that was slowly flaking with years and neglect. The pages, they'd smelled like a library, thin as an onion's dried skin.
The boy opened it in the golden sunlight, the pages transformed from drab white to a brightness that was magical. His fingers ran over the illuminated words lovingly, as if touching a best friend. His green eyes skimmed the well-rote words, and a lump formed in his throat. In the pages, he could see his home country, the city he'd left, the sister he never knew, the mother he lost. He could feel their skin between the covers, he could smell the air from the book's aroma, and he could hear the sounds of the city in the rustle of pages.
He closed it and laid it against the large, white tree in front of him. From his jacket he pulled a coin. From the forest floor, he plucked two flowers, a simple daisy and a fairy's-skirt. His bottom lip quivered as he pulled out a tinderbox and a flint, trying desperately to begin a spark, but his unsteady hands forbade him. Finally, he chucked the flint into the woods, and he stood, staring at the emblem of his first, and last, life.
Tears beginning to drip out of his nose and down his cheeks.
The book sat there, almost accusingly. The dawn's light began to wane as gray clouds blocked the sun. The forest lost its magical quality.
He brought up his hand, and he knew the spell he would summon, the little magic he had copied from Bookman.
A small spark lit in his hand, and he threw it upon the tome, watching it catch like so much dry kindling. It crackled, simple, just a fire without malice or intent. There was no magic, no personification here. Just a book. Just flowers.
The paper turned black, and the leather cracked from the heat. The gold had long run off in rivulets.
It was just a book.
The gold pooled on the ground, and he felt the need to scrape it up, save it, keep it for... for...
He had no need of money. He had no need of books. He needed no flowers, no sisters, no mothers, no brothers or fathers. He needed nothing. He was a ghost, he was the wind, he was a passing shadow or smile.
It was just a book.
The ball hadn't stopped rolling. That was the first thing on his mind as he jerked himself away, forcefully tearing himself back from the past. Though he could smell the smoke, the burning gold, he had other things that needed doing. He was no longer a boy. The consequences were real. The failures were painful. Sentiment would only drag him backwards.
But for now, the ball was still rolling, and that was what mattered.
"What's the matter, boy? Do you wish to spend your next seven years with me? I make for good company," the snake hissed.
Lavi looked down warily, horrified to find he had only a quarter of the field left untouched by the gold spiral. It crept along, whispering doom to him with its inches.
He had to find a way around this snake. He couldn't just stand here and freeze. He had perhaps fifteen minutes, twenty, before this game of pitz would be at an end.
But that snake was fast. That was his problem. He couldn't get around its guard, not as he was. Exhaustion ran him down on tireless legs, and his own set wouldn't hold up for much longer. His hips were bleeding from splits in the skin, and his knees were bruised so badly, they were painted in black and blue. Blood was dripping into his eyes, and his feet felt like pins had been driven into the bones. He was so tired. He just wanted to sit.
Perhaps being this thing's plaything wouldn't be so bad.
Yet, as Lavi watched his opponent, he could see that even the creature was tiring. His winding circuits were more ponderous, and the sway of its neck was bobbing unsteadily. Lavi eyed the second goal behind the amphithere, and he licked his lips. He would play this smart. No more brute force. He had to make this work for him.
Lavi knocked the ball into the air with his arm, arcing it toward the snake. The vast creature coiled as if to strike back at it, but Lavi leaped up its body, extending a hand.
The minute he extended his injured hand to the ball, it latched on, and he bit back a shout as he twisted and launched the ball back towards the wall of the round court. Up, up, up the court it went, rolling with the force of his throw, Lavi chasing it for one, last final run. The amphithere tracked behind him, angry and spitting.
The ball raced high in the air, reached its zenith, and began to roll back towards the players.
Lavi dodged a swipe of the snake's tail, and he caught the ball in the chest. He fought to keep from coughing, and he launched the ball with his knee towards the hoop.
He fell on his back, skidding down to the arena floor as he lost his balance, the ball flying out of his field of vision. He lay on his back, struggling to breathe.
The sky seemed to spin above him, and his vision blurred as he turned his head to the side. The golden spiral had stopped, and the ball slowly rolled through the hoop. He raised his head stubbornly as there was the gentle sussuration of dirt being shifted by a great weight. The snake hovered over him, its strangely human face looking down on him as things began to fade.
"You have passed, young one. I pity your future. In time, you will realize, it would have been a kinder fate to..."
Lavi closed his eyes and finally fainted, panting. He didn't hear the rest of the snake's retort, and for that he was glad.
He woke up in a bouncing truck, head lolling to the side. His chest was exposed to the humid air, and flies had made their home all over his body. He weakly swatted them away, making a whining noise, and he suddenly fell off the bench and on top of a warm body.
"Ow!" Allen shouted in surprise as he flailed awake.
The two rolled around, trying to figure out whose limbs were whose, for a good five minutes before they separated, Lavi laying flat on the truck bed while Allen sat up.
"Oh, thank God, you're awake. I was supposed to be watching you and making sure you were okay, but..." Allen sheepishly scratched the back of his head.
"You fell asleep?!" Lavi shrieked in distress. "What kind of friend are you!? What if I'd rolled off the back of the truck or something!"
"I stayed up all night waiting for you to come back, and I'd only slept for an hour before they dragged you out. I'm really sorry, honest!" Allen explained, waving his hands at his overly dramatic friend.
Lavi sighed with a faint smile.
"I guess I forgive you. This time."
It was quiet as they listened to the hum of the truck trundling along. This time, there was a cover over the truck bed, and there were two benches on either side. This truck was equipped with all their medical supplies, so Allen had been snoozing on some bandages in bags while Lavi had been scrunched with a bunch of boxes. It was like they didn't even try.
"What happened?" Lavi asked, eyes closed and his arm flung over them.
His chest pounded, covered in bandages and gauze. He was wrapped up enough to look like a mummy. His forehead had been stitched, so he had to be careful about where he put his arm. His legs felt loads better. His feet didn't, though.
"Well, the snake-thing dragged you out and told Bookman something in his language. Bookman answered something back, the snake hissed and went back to his hidey-hole, and we dragged you back to camp. And then, we patched you up at camp, got back into the trucks, and headed on our way," Allen said succinctly, staring at the road passing underneath them. The kid looked tired, Lavi could say that for sure.
His white-hair was mussed, and his clothes were rumpled. He hadn't even had time to shower - Lavi could almost smell him. They had rushed their way out of there quick.
"Wait, so what's the matter with me? Why do I look like I was mistaken for a mummy?" Lavi asked, pointing to his chest.
Allen winced apologetically.
"Well, you... sort of bounced your heart out of rhythm. That's what Bookman told us, anyways. You'd busted two stitches, and you'd bruised a rib and your heart. Whatever you'd done when you were gone, it really did a number on you," Allen reported. He looked back towards the rainforest, and he shook his head with a shudder.
"What? Did they do something to me while I was out?" Lavi asked.
"They... they electrocuted you. You jumped like a rag doll. I thought I'd die on the spot," Allen admitted with a grimace.
Lavi looked at his chest.
"That is so cool."
"What?! You were literally shocked back to life!"
"But that's awesome! I'm like Frankenstein's monster! I even have bandages around my head and everything! Here, here, look."
Lavi did his best monster's impression, and Allen tried his hardest to keep from laughing. He looked ridiculous, all bandaged and hair a-fly, yet still making light of things. This was the Lavi that Allen had missed. The detached, strangely friendly yet distant man he'd met had scared him.
Lavi himself felt better, despite his body's persistent need to remind him he could not, in fact, raise his arms much higher than his shoulders or sit cross-legged. It was as if the fog had lifted, and the world was once again a bright, inviting place full of wonder -
He remembered the memory-blackout he'd had, and a sudden panic gripped him. He'd had that happen to him while he was in that Otherplace. Who was to say it could not happen again, right here and right now? What if he was actually in one at this moment, and he'd been awake for hours, days, weeks even? There was no way to tell. He could be living in the past at this very moment, and any second his life could end because what if he was in battle right now -
"Lavi, are you alright?" Allen asked, a slightly worried look crossing his face. "You've gone pale. Do I need to grab Bookman?"
He looked up and quickly smiled.
"No! No no no, I'm just... a little tired. Man, must've overworked myself. I mean, I was electrocuted, I should be tired. Uh, do you think we could stop for just a few minutes? I just need some air."
With a shout and a brief relay, the entire convoy stopped, several men getting out to stretch their legs. Allen helped Lavi out of the truck, but the redhead immediately proved himself ready and able to walk on his own by sprinting headlong into Bookman.
"GRAMPS! It's been forever," the young man yelled as he launched himself at the aging patriarch, and, as per usual, his face was met with a size 7 boot heel.
"You shouldn't be running, you idiot! Your heart's bruised!"
"Ow-ow-ow! You shouldn't be kicking people in the face, you old dirtbag! That hurt!" Lavi shouted in response, rubbing his sore cheek.
"Get him back in the truck. He needs his rest," Bookman grumbled, putting his hands in his sleeves and looking off to the trucks.
Lavi's eye widened with sudden panic.
"No... no no no, I'm fine, really, I just need to walk around, is all. I'm all cooped up in that truck. I have to stretch my legs a little," Lavi said with a nervous laugh, putting his hands on his hips. His heart seemed to skip, and he rubbed at the stitches underneath the bandages self-consciously.
The men eyed him warily, Bookman with a blank expression, Allen with puzzled worry, and a few with straight curiosity.
"Fine," Bookman sighed. "Ten minutes. And then we go."
As the hustle and bustle of the caravan resumed, Lavi grabbed all of his things, which had been neatly piled up in his bag in the truck while he'd been out. He took a short walk into the forest by the trees, quietly relieved himself (it'd been hours! He'd thought it'd kill him), and then dug through his bag almost frantically.
Not all of this could be a dream. Not just a memory, not a past life he was living while he drooled in the present. Surely he couldn't have done all this already. And maybe... maybe if he took the meds, maybe the feeling would go away. He couldn't live with the panic. He didn't like questioning his reality every second, wondering if he was lost in a daydream, if any of this was even present. It was too much. He couldn't live like that. He'd rather be lost in a haze, or better yet not live at all.
He contemplated the little pills in the vial. With dread, he realized there were only four left. He'd been taking two a day, more than what Bookman had told him. He couldn't just go and ask for more, either. He'd know he'd been taking too many.
"Lavi?"
He turned around quickly, putting the pills in his pocket.
"Jeez, Allen! Warn me before you head out here! I was takin' a leak! Man, a guy can't even pee in peace when he's injured," Lavi whined, hiking back up the slope with the bag over his shoulder, the pills in his pocket as heavy as a lead weight.
And then, it hit him. Before he could think about it, he fumbled in his pocket and the vial fell into the brush.
"Holy- For the love of crap," Lavi said, just loud enough for Allen to hear.
The young boy turned around with a perplexed expression, stopping for a moment.
"Is everything alright?" Allen asked as Lavi peered into the brush.
"I lost that vial of pills. Could you help me look for it? Bookman's gonna kill me if he finds out I lost it," Lavi sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. He flicked his eyes over Allen's face, noting every muscle twitch and minute expression. Allen bit his lip and looked around at the brush, scratching his head.
"Yeah, I'll help look."
Stomach in knots, Lavi went back into the brush and half-heartedly moved ferns, peered into the damp undergrowth, and kicked up the forest debris. Allen was doing the same behind him, and Lavi glanced back with his good eye. The kid was hunched over, sincerely looking for that stupid vial of medication. Lavi bit his lip and mulled his decision over. Finally, he went back to looking in the undergrowth.
And for a moment, he saw the glass vial next to his boot. The pills seemed to glare at him accusingly. He swallowed.
"You find it yet?" Lavi asked.
He lifted the vial on to the toe of his shoe.
"No, I haven't. It's just nothing but leaves and roots over here. Startled a mouse, I think," Allen answered.
He gently kicked the vial, and it rolled down the hill into the brush, lost amid the green and brown. It made little noise, swallowed up by the vegetation and Allen's searching.
"I don't think we're gonna find it," Lavi said, holding his hand to his chest. It had become force of habit, seeing as his breastbone felt like an elephant had stepped on it. His heart hammered in his chest, though whether from exertion or anxiety, he wasn't sure. His ribs heaved and screamed, his head was swimming, and the panic had started to set in.
No, he mustn't panic. He breathed slowly, putting on his mask, forcing his face to relax.
"No, I don't think so either. It looks like you're getting the boot today," Allen said mischievously, a gleam in his eye.
Lavi pouted at Allen and muttered, "Don't remind me. The old man's gonna leave a permanent imprint on the back of my head. The least he could do is wear boots without hobnails in them."
The two began their trek back to the road, and Lavi looked behind him into the dense forest, wondering what exactly he had just done.
The feather rolled between his fingers. His eyes traced the beautiful gold and silver stripes that wove through the emerald field. It was iridescent, a flash of bright green. It was nearly a foot long, tickling his nose when he lifted it towards his face. Though he'd been staring for more than an hour at the feather, his eyes seemed to look through it.
"Did you get your medication?" Allen had asked him.
"Yeah, I got it. He didn't chew me out too bad. Just said to be more careful."
"Oh. Did you get a whole new vial?"
"Yeah, brand spanking new. Looks like the old man's got tons of them. He probably knew I'd lose one sooner or later. I can memorize whole books, but I lose enough objects to fill up a room."
"Are they for your heart?"
"Um... no, actually."
"...Oh."
The feather went back and forth, back and forth. It winked in the light, a bright eye of silvery pigment on top like a peacock's feather. He hadn't paid attention to that when he was fighting the amphithere, but he'd been preoccupied. The world was contained in this feather now, at least to him. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth between his fingers...
"How often do you have to take them?"
"Once a day. It's not so bad. I just feel kind of fuzzy-headed later."
"I didn't know they made medicine for your mind."
"You'd be amazed what the Science Department can cook up."
Each section of the feather had teeth, almost, that hooked into the strands above and below it. He could pull them apart and smooth them back together. There was a bit of a design on them, a zigzag of silvery-gold lines. In the light of the fire, they seemed to blink at him. It was soft but stiff, a lot like well-cured, tendered leather. Its spine was thick and hollow, and there was a bit of blood on the end where it had been ripped from the amphithere's skin. It felt smooth as sanded wood between his fingertips.
"Are you sure you're alright?" he'd asked.
"Yeah, Allen, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
He lifted his head to the sound of footsteps. Darrin came and sat by him, staring into the fire. As always there was a bottle in his hand, but it was almost full. He must've just started on it. His clothes were rumpled, and his skin was a little tighter across his skin now. Despite the better food, nicer living arrangements, and new complement of equipment, he still looked like a wildman from the great American West.
"Penny fer yer thoughts?" Darrin asked loudly.
Lavi winced at his volume. Despite the full bottle, he was a little tipsy already. The amount of liquor it took to get Darrin drunk amazed Lavi. The fact the man could get drunk was surprising. The redhead grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.
"Getting tired of everyone asking if I'm okay," Lavi put out there. To his surprise, it was the truth.
It was the only question anyone ever asked him. Lavi would subconsciously put a hand to his chest and nod with a smile, always happy and always reassuring. Strangely enough, he had melted one mask to his face only to place yet another mask on top of it. He felt strangely suffocated, the way people seemed to hover over him. They were so worried about his physical health, yet they didn't ask about what was going on in his head. All they wanted to know was whether he was in much pain. Even Allen fell into the same boat.
Darrin hummed, and he said, "They're worried."
"Worrying about me isn't going to make me better Now, leaving me alone might. Because they're raising my blood pressure, and I don't know if my heart can take a pressure spike." He fiddled with the feather a little more, wrapped up in his own irritation. He couldn't deny the guilt that was boiling inside him, though. Guilt over everything.
Again, he saw the flower of blood blooming on the bandit's shirt. He felt the kick of the gun as if he had just fired it that instant. The bruise was still healing.
God punishes liars and thieves.
Well, he'd stolen and he'd lied. Was the guilt his punishment, or was there something more in store for him?
"You should take yer own 'dvice, young'n. You do a mighty lot a worryin' yerself," Darrin said as he knocked back another swig. Lavi looked up in slight confusion.
"What do you mean?"
"Fiddlin' with that bottle a' pills all the time, 'n lookin' at Allen 'n worryin' if he's fergiv'n ye yet. 'N Grampa over there. You worry 'bout him a lot, too. Seems like all you people do around here is worry," Darrin said. Lavi winced, rubbing his eyes. He hadn't even noticed that. Darrin was a lot more observant than he'd given him credit for. He could be incredibly intelligent, when he wasn't in a booze-induced haze.
"Well, Mr. Relaxation, how do you propose getting me to relax?" Lavi asked with a sad smile. Relaxing - even after coming to the Order, the idea had rarely crossed his mind. Oh, sure, he took naps. He read. He took trips to town with the others. But did they really relax? Was there ever a moment where the tension and paranoia ever fully went away? After all, Lavi was just waiting, perpetually, for that moment when Bookman finally put his foot down and they left. It couldn't be long now, either. They'd been with the Order almost two years. That was the longest time Lavi had spent on any one war, much less with a group of people.
It was getting dangerous for the both of them. He wondered if Bookman was in danger of the same problems Lavi did. He certainly hoped not. One crazy Bookman was enough. Two of them? Unthinkable.
Darrin leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and he looked at Lavi with a wicked gleam in his eye.
"I tell ya what you do, boy. 'Ere's a village not two miles down yonder. You get yer friend, Allen - don't deny it, he's yer friend, shut yer yap for a second - and you go down there, look at some pretty gals and regale 'em. Shoot, you got plenty a' scars to wow 'em with, and that Allen feller could use a girl or two! Drink a little, dance a little... Life's too short t'just sit there mopin'," Darrin said with a shrug of his shoulders, the canister on his back gleaming in the gloaming.
Lavi chewed the idea over. Disobey orders... run off to go and find themselves women... dancing... it sounded absurd. How could he possibly enjoy any of those things now? Especially as foggy as he felt now, with everything in a sort of gray haze. Perhaps taking two of those pills was just a tad too much...
But maybe a night out on the town wouldn't be so bad. After all, they'd been shot at, bombed, accosted by mythical creatures - surely they deserved some kind of respite?
"Well... can you tell me where I can get two horses without Jiji knowing?"
"This is a horrible idea."
"What're you talking about? This is a great idea!"
"Lavi, I can't even get drunk."
"Stop being so selfish. I can get drunk, and I honestly plan on it."
"What am I supposed to do while you're three sheets into the wind, then?! Aren't you supposed to be recuperating besides?"
Lavi massaged his chest as he pursed his lips in thought. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled wide.
"Hey, no pain, no gain. Come on, Allen, it'll be fun. Do you even know what that word means?"
Allen scoffed as he crossed his arms, still holding on to the reins of his horse as Lavi saddled up his own mount. With a grunt, he lifted the saddle onto the horse's back, and the horse nickered nervously. Lavi shushed it frantically, looking over his shoulder. The man on guard was asleep. Lavi didn't even have to knock him out with a laced drink. He was already dreaming of sugar plums by the time the two boys got there.
As Lavi cinched the saddle, Allen took a look at his friend. He frowned with worry, noting how stiffly Lavi moved now. He wasn't as strong as he used to be, and he still had to take frequent breaks. He'd recovered a lot quicker than he'd anticipated, but the white-haired Exorcist still worried that Lavi was pushing himself too hard. And this whole thing about going to drink in the village... It honestly seemed so absurd, so unlike him. He wondered if there was something going on in Lavi's head that he wasn't telling him. It was all too likely.
The worst part was that he couldn't tell.
"We don't have to be there all night. We'll just grab a pint or two and then come back," Lavi conceded, looking up.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Lavi stopped for a second, frowning as he stood up straight. He patted the horse on the neck, thinking hard about how he wanted to answer that particular question. He'd had so many people ask him that question that his knee jerk reaction was to automatically say, "Yes." He wanted to say it, too, to get Allen off his back. To get him to quit worrying. It was all anyone did these days.
But there was something else. He just felt guilt. He had lied to Allen, lied to his face. He was the best friend he'd ever had, and he had deceived him. Perhaps that was why he wanted to drink himself to oblivion. Maybe with a few drinks in him, he could get the courage to tell the truth. Maybe he could actually tell Allen what was the matter with him, instead of dodging the question. He'd kept up the charade for so long, that he wasn't sure he could drop it.
It said a lot about him that he felt more guilty about lying to his friend than killing a young man in cold blood.
"No, I'm not okay. I just... I want to have fun, you know? Just this once. See some girls, live a little bit, relax," Lavi said, not daring to look Allen in the eye. He rubbed the leather reins between his fingers, shrugging his shoulders.
But both of them knew that was only scratching the surface. Still, Allen said, "Alright then. What are you waiting for? Get on the horse already."
Lavi looked up and gave a smile, a real smile, and Allen smiled back. The both of them mounted their horses and rode them towards the road, picking around the sleeping sentry. As they headed towards the lights of the village a few miles ahead, Lavi looked over his shoulder.
A young boy with red hair and an eyepatch watched him with disdain. With his thumb and forefinger, he made a gun and put it to his temple.
Boom, he mouthed. Lavi turned around and kept riding.
A/N: This chapter is finally finished. After three months. Of nothing. I am so sorry.
Anyways! I won't promise you any more chapters. I won't get your hopes up. But I am still alive. I have not succumbed to college or to my own self-doubt. I will prevail!
Big thanks to you guys for sticking with this story even though it's erratically been on and off. I really hope you enjoy it. I won't bother with discussion questions - just comment what you feel.
Happy Thanksgiving, God bless you, and I hope you enjoy all the food!