"I thought at the time that I couldn't be horrified anymore, or wounded. I suppose that's a common conceit." Lavi Bookman (ラビ)
Archivist in this curious town.
Closed RP affiliated with Red Stringed.
— Day Nine. What movie can they quote off the top of their heads?
Lavi has a really bad taste in movies. He isn't even going to lie about it -- he'll wholeheartedly admit to you he's in love with pirate films, any kind. Perhaps, it started with relating to their "cliche eye patch thing" as a child, considering how it seemed as though no one else in the world had them. With a great attention to detail, he had noticed a pirate's skeleton donning one in The Goonies (which he can quote) and seemed to take a liking to the idea ever since. He can quote Treasure Island (1950 & 1990), Captain Blood, Muppet Treasure Island, Jolly Roger: Massacre at Cutter's Cove, Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas, Treasure Planet, Peter Pan (2003), Pirates of the Caribbean (1-3) -- the list goes on and on, yep.
The mun will probably not be doing replies today. My mood's a little off this afternoon, so I'll probably read or something to get my mind off of things for the time being. If anything productive comes out, it'll most likely be in the evening, though. Shizuo's muse has been a little shaky, but we'll see what happens. Otherwise, if you need me, I'll most likely be on twitter and checking the inbox (although to a lesser degree.) Both muses are open for plotting.
Lenalee was loving it. The energy crackled through the atmosphere of the dancing couples, all with smiles on their half-masked faces, as they moved in unison like a massive entity connected only by the threads of music. They were marionettes to the orchestra, feet stepping, bodies whirling, and hands letting go and coming together all in time to the beat of the waltz underneath the starlit night sky. It was glorious.
Turning her attention back to her partner, she smiled widely and let loose a tiny, clear laugh that a writer might describe as reminiscent of a silver bell on a clear winter morning. “I should hope not, Master Fox,” she replied as she twirled underneath his outstretched arm before being reeled back in, “my brother taught me many things, dancing being one of them. Even though he’s not here tonight…” Sad eyes strayed away, looking off into the distance.
”It’s probably for the best to be honest,” she said bringing herself back to the here and now, “he’d probably try to tranquillise you just for dancing with me.” Giggling, Lenalee gave the man a curtesy as the piece came to a close and applauded with the rest of the denizens of Prava, eager to show her appreciation for the night. Glancing down at her wrist she noted that the string binding them together was still intact despite all their movement. Oh good.
That feeling of having seen her partner before persisted as she reached out to intertwine her fingers with his. That green eye… The untameable red hair… Oh. Violet eyes widened in surprise as Lenalee finally put two and two together, ducking her head so that he wouldn’t see her burning face. Oh my God… I’ve been dancing with Lavi this whole time? Crippling embarrassment coursed through her body as her mind reminded her of all the flirtatious banter that had come from her mouth, almost causing her to drop his hand and run home.
Calm down. You can do this. It was only Lavi; some guy she hadn’t seen since she was seven. A— a childhood friend of sorts. Yeah. With that sorted out, she turned back to face him, a small enigmatic smile playing on her lips. “Let’s go get a drink,” she said and tugged him towards one of the numerous stands that had been set up around the perimeter of the centre square. “I’ll have a glass of rosé, please,” she informed the vendor, “and he’ll have…?”
Quietly, he glided along the square. Participating in the waltz only once before, he acknowledged how no words needed to be said in order to converse. According to his logic, their touch; their movement together with the three beat tone served as their communication. The rhythms of the ballroom music and synchronized heels that fluidly whisked them away represented the speed of their voices, the way the conversation flowed. Finishing off his observations with the masqueraders being the topic, he felt as though even if he tried to utter something in response, it wouldn't matter in comparison to the beauty of that setting. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Lenalee -- the festival -- proved to be stunning.
— Hm.. Caught up in the moment.
"I'll just take a Titan IPA," he finished her words, "and, ah, no cup -- the bottle's fine." Hardly refined when it came to his choice in alcohol, especially in comparison to his partner's choice, he merely brushed it off as they received their beverages. Handing Lenalee her glass of orange wine politely after they were prepared, he abruptly inquired, "Now that we've danced the cliche, Rose Red, wanna keep the streak going and hit a private spot?" Referring to what she had asked him earlier that evening, he wanted to simply sit with her and, well, talk. "It's hardly acceptable to drink on the dance floor, ya'know -- especially when it comes to a lady."
With a swig of his beer, which he was surprised to have found the table had, Lavi fell into his thoughts once more. Swishing the taste of pale malts and hops between his cheeks, while he wasn't against the hectic atmosphere presented by the dancing scene, there was something that wanted to draw him away from the bustle. Sure, he could easily focus, zeroing in on his partner despite whatever commotion that encompassed them, but inexplicably, he didn't want to have to try. Perhaps, it was the encumbering batch of humans nestled before him -- maybe, he was subconsciously annoyed. After all, he had always loathed humanity, didn't he? What made him think that evening would have made things different? How could he diverge from his character with a flick of a switch?
Easily, he thought with a hard gulp of his alcohol, absentmindedly glancing at his partner. I've been doing it my whole life.
— There's not a chance it's that.
Whatever it was, leaving was how all great scenarios started, according to the movies. It could have been for the best.
— Day Eight. Is the glass half full or half empty?
Despite being taught to assume the worst, Lavi is the type of person that prefers not to look at the glass whatsoever. He doesn't want to think about the possible outcomes; he doesn't want to settle on an outcome, believing you never really know. There are certain things he's pessimistic about sure, but overall, he'd rather see where life takes him through his decisions.
Fiddling with the third deadbolt Lavi encountered that morning, while surprised by the fact another lock was added to the mix, the archivist eventually made it passed the wooden barrier and into the confines of Kanda's home. Graced with a day off from venturing to Brilas, after catching a few deserving zzz's, he did what he supposed anyone would do when they were bored out of their wits – go visit, or in his case, pester a friend.
With consideration of the hour, he gently nudged the door shut with the back of his wrist. Of course, all his stopovers had to be done with utmost caution. He wanted to see the look of astonishment, promptly followed by pure animosity, when the impending entrance of the other came. Finding their expressions amusing -- rather intriguing for a human's, Lavi indulged in the notion of spontaneous appearances. Whether he popped out from the bathroom or the kitchen, the latter which he promptly started for, according to his logic, explanations and planning took a dreadful time.
Helping himself to the cupboards, his lighting were the dim shreds of sun that snuck from behind thick curtains. He couldn't help but squint, shuffling between cabinets and the refrigerator, encompassed by a gloomy atmosphere, but the archivist didn't fret. No, as he poured himself a bowl of cereal -- at least what he thought was cereal -- accompanied by too much milk, he saw Kanda's appearance coming. Naturally, Lavi expected the other to not only light up the dreary kitchen with their ever so joyous presence, but by opening the curtains -- a morning ritual, he presumed. The room flooded with a soft orange tint.
Impatient although nonchalant, the archivist greeted with a mouthful of his breakfast, "Murhin' Yuuuuuu!"
Allen grumbled at the man’s sudden turn. He almost acted like Allen wasn’t there. That was rude. He couldn’t understand why he had done that though. Was it because of how he looked? Allen had spent time trying to look presentable for the encounter with the mysterious Bookman. However, something told the boy he should go up to the red haired man. Was this fate’s doing? Nah, Allen didn’t believe in fate. He was curious about what the future might bring him though.
First things first. He had to confirm if that man was the Bookman. How would he do it without making him angry? That was the outcome, he wanted to avoid. Allen eyed the man until he sat down. He wouldn’t be able to move if he had ordered something. Damn. Allen didn’t have time to waste. He quietly rose from his chair, pushing in the empty chair.
He took baby steps towards the man’s table, standing in front of it with a small smile on his face. “Hello! Is anyone sitting here? I don’t want to sit alone. ” He chirped. Allen didn’t even wait for the man’s reply. He plopped his butt in the chair directly in front of the red haired man.
"I’m Allen Walker. It’s nice to meet you, Mister."
Out of sight, out of mind, the archivist thought as he practically stormed to a table. Hey, now, fella', where's your composure at? He pursed his lips as he did his utmost to push the sight of the white haired boy from his mind. With a barely audible sigh, he thought of an anchor -- something that could keep his thoughts steady -- when it hit him. Hadn't he just waltzed into a restaurant? Ahh, yes. Needless to say, food would dominate above everything else; the hunger surpassed the misery.
Without even batting an eyelash at the menu presented to him from a sporadic waitress, whose question about his eye-patch he disregarded, it was blatant how the archivist had already been there before. While he wasn't in a fit for money, the facility suited his tightwad needs with their cheap and delicious meals. Ordering yakiniku ramen for the umpteenth since his arrival in Prava, before he could even allow a trickle of drool to drip down his chin in anticipation, Lavi was startled, although only inwardly.
— What the hell?
Unable to avert his eyes away from his instigator, he raised a brow. Is this guy for real? Scrutinizing the white haired boy since the moment he stood in front of the archivist's table, the stare was unwavering as the other settled himself against the wood. Admittedly, Lavi admired his guts, sure, but he wasn't in the mood for the events that would follow. No matter, he grinned, "Yo. Jus' me. Oh, and the name's Lavi! Nice 'ta meet'cha, Allen."
— Day Seven. What’s the worst swearword they’ve ever said?
While Lavi's mouth isn't as active as a sailor's, he certainly shares the same vocabulary as one, which he blames on his constant traveling. He has said everything in the book at least one point or another, especially when he was in the war scene, with the exceptions being only a select few. For courtesy reasons, examples will be refrained from use.
Send me a ♪ and I will write a short drabble about our muses, based on the first song that comes up on shuffle.
Say, by John Mayer
"So, when are you leaving?"
“No, I mean when are you leaving." Lenalee paused, tilting her head down in thought momentarily before resuming, "You know.. When are you heading to your next town — next adventure.. Mr. Wanderer?" It was difficult to tell if the playful smile she put on was genuine judging how she fiddled with the hem of her skirt.
— I’m not leaving. I was never leaving.
Arching his next along the curve of the sofa’s top, Lavi cocked his head subtly as though he was thinking about his ‘next destination.’ He did a decent job at appearing to take in her question, releasing a thoughtful, “Hmm.” At least, it did a decent enough job at keeping her on edge considering her demeanor, that is. While he truly was tracing through half-hearted words and excuses, at that moment, he debated whether or not he should lie to her, or rather, lie to her again.
"Where do ‘ya think I should go?" he dodged the answer with another.
Acknowledging how she fell silent, the redhead averted his gaze to the bookshelf of her apartment. Perhaps, it was because he knew the answer. He was aware of the way she looked at him; he was mindful of the way their fingers would ‘unintentionally’ touch. However, Lavi always brushed it off. According to him, biting your tongue was easier than saying what needed to be said. Unfortunately, Lenalee wasn’t as spineless as him.
— Things would be easier that way.
"Here," the raven haired damsel finally mustered. It was low, much like she didn’t want him to catch her hush tone. Of course, he was expecting it.
Closing his eyes, Lavi’s mouth parted as though he would say something — anything, and yet, no words came forth. He couldn’t riddle out a string of lies, nor could he spout out a plethora of elaborate excuses. It was like he was suddenly incapable after seeing the way the light faltered from her violet eyes. Somehow, despite all the warning sirens firing off in his head, he could only take Lenalee’s hand and gently squeeze it.
It was new and invigorating; it was terrifying and caused guilt to course through his veins. However, as he slowly hunched forward, removing his hand from her warmth, the redhead answered, “I got a job as an archivist in Brilas.” If she could connect the dots, Lavi felt as though nothing else needed to be added. It was essentially his way of saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”
"B-Brilas? That’s only —"
"— My place next time. It’s not far," he interrupted as he focused on the coffee table before them. Balancing his elbows on his knees and locking his hands together, he pressed his fingers to his lips. It was blatant that his body wanted to leave, to practically run out of there, but he compelled a weak smirk. Turning to face Lenalee after a brief lapse of silence, he flashed a softer countenance.
Honestly, Lavi is wholeheartedly in love with likes a number of books, even going as far memorizing quotes from a good amount of them. Throughout his travels, he's encountered a plethora of novels, even more so since becoming an archivist. There's The Odyssey by Homer, Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury, The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, 19th vampire novels -- the list goes on and on. He's a fan of "classic" literature particularly, but even things from this year pegs his interest. Basically, he wouldn't be able to decide.
— Day Five. Are they comfortable speaking in front of a crowd?
While he isn't always quick to shout out what he's thinking, when the situation calls for it, definitely. Never the shy type of person, he's very confident in that manner. He's able to handle such situations with ease.
Waking from his slumber with a yelp, the apprentice known as 'Deak' promptly held his reddening cheek. He lurched forward sluggishly, shooting his mentor a blatantly tired, half-assed glare as he spat, "Qu'est-ce que l'enfer, mon vieux?"
"Silence, fool! Don't act so naive," Bookman browbeat as he pulled the redhead by the neck of his shirt. "What did I tell you?! Stop using French -- you are 'Deak,' now! And, I said you could sleep for ten minutes before meeting me at the harbor. Not an sixty, but ten --"
"Arrête! Arrête! --" a smack upside the head prompted Deak to wave his hands defensively, "-- okay, okay! I get it! Geesh, quit it already. So, I lost track of time. It's not like it sets us back or anything if we leave now."
Releasing an exasperated sight, Bookman pinched the bridge of his nose. He couldn't help but avert his eyes from his apprentice to the morning landscape. It was as though the mere sight of the sixteen-year-old gave him a migraine, which was understandable more often than not. A sea of faded, crimson roof shingles were his view as he overlooked Strasbourg, France.
"An inability to concentrate sets us back," Bookman finally mustered, low and stern. "Do you think it's acceptable to be so easy going? First, sight-seeing. Then, arguing with docents. Now, neglecting the importance of our time. We are not tourists, Deak; we are the Bookman clan. We are the last of them. Our next records aren't so lax --"
"Alright, alright. I understand," Deak interrupted, narrowing his eyes at the canal off towards his left. Verbal confrontation was never his strong suit. Observing the horde of meaningless flesh that littered the streets and bridges below his position, he pursed his chapped lips.
— There's no need to tell me.. what I already know.
Before he knew it, Lavi broke out of his memory. Perched on the edge of a rooftop, he presumed he fell into a triggered daze considering the view presented before him. Somewhere in the stone jungle of the Central District, he found himself staring at a group of men re-shingling a building across the road. Beyond that were towering scrapers and then the occasional apartment complex. Doesn't look that much like France, he mused, observing how the shingles were of a different shade of red. He always had the tendency to be nit-picky with details -- the curse of remembering everything he saw.
Stretching his rigid bones, the archivist arched his back and extended his arms outward, releasing a yawn in the process. "How'd I get here, anyway?" he inquired to no one in particular, which was accurate as he was alone on the steep angle. Or rather, that was what he thought.
Absentmindedly scratching beneath his eye patch, his emerald eye descended upon hearing a beckon in his direction. Titling his head subtly, he sat like a feline -- both feet were on the edge of the rooftop and his hands were lodged in between as he hunched, gripping the stone. "What the --.." And, then he caught it.
Below him, within the bustling sidewalk, a single body stood out calling up muffled words. Perhaps, they thought he was suicidal, observing how they frantically waved their hands. Or, maybe, just a lunatic. Whatever the case that called for their entrance, Lavi found himself making a risk as he leaned over further to shout down, "I'm fine! Don't worry about it!"
— [ Somewhere along the way the mun did a bad thing with headcanons and is going to flee in to the abyss now. ]
Whatever the case, he would look at her quizzically all like, "Uhh.." (because he was a stupid kid) and without much thought, Lenalee wouldn't talk about what had happened, but rather say something like, "I need to go -- I need to go." And, it'd eventually work up to her saying she had to find her brother, how much she needed be with him, how much she needed to go home, etc. While it appeared as selfish to Lavi, he couldn't help but think of it later because there was so much passionate that anyone would have been influenced even in the slightest manner.
He thought about how someone could care so much for one person they hadn't even seen in years, whether they were family or not. Honestly, the thought of caring for anyone just kind of surprised him because it would have been when he was learning to be detached and dismissive to such emotions, but the way she fought so hard just kind of hit him in the chest. She essentially gave him his first looks of what “love” meant -- what it did to you, what it caused you to do, etc. And then I got to thinking: "Hah, what if he asked Bookman about it?"
Lavi would have done it after he already invited her on their journey (because he was a stupid, heedless child that jumped before he thought) but still ask Bookman for his advice, nonetheless. After all, it was like Bookman's "secret club" -- Lavi wanted to see the other's thoughts when it came to Lenalee's "initiation." However, understanding of how his mentor is, he would have done it discreetly. He would begin with questions like that of a curious five-year-old, something like "Do you have a family?" and it’d just progressively relate more and more to Lenalee’s case. Then, he'd casually bring the girl into the conversation.
However, it would be obvious that Lavi's sympathy was showing. Bookman would notice how his apprentice would be quick to come to her defense, and it'd lead to a one-sided argument (Lavi being the one arguing, ya'know, yeah). Of course, Bookman would just shoot him down real fast and even say something offhandedly that placed a certain "blame" on Lenalee (with a decent of enough reason because lbr he keeps an eye on this kid and sees what he does). Although it was a simply comment, Lavi would have abruptly shown his compassion at that moment, and Bookman would have just known, "This girl is the problem." Because of that, he would throw down his iron fist. He's not letting his apprentice be fazed so easily by humanity that early on -- it would hinder his progression as a Bookman in the future.
That would lead to Bookman telling Lavi they have to leave Shanghai (I think that's where she was? Maybe?) without saying a word. He would say it was like a first test to prove his loyalty to being a "Bookman;" he would say it was to show how much respect he had for his ethics and teachings. Basically, proof of Lavi's dedication to the cause. While it would be abrupt and rather brash, Bookman felt as though he had no choice but to pull out the stern cards in order to teach this boy there was no room whatsoever for the emotions he was on the verge of developing. He understood the importance of teaching a child while they were young and intended on seizing the opportunity with an iron fist -- he needed a successor. And, of course, Lavi would have no choice. Their journey was suppose to be like an adventure of a lifetime to a little kid, and that's the story of how Lavi left looking back.
It's also the story of why Lavi suppressed his memories later on when it came to Lenalee, only retaining a general idea of her story. Because of her, Bookman made a strict effort when it came to instilling his morals into Lavi -- everything else was frowned upon and strongly discouraged. However, that's why he's so conflicted when it talks to her, with the best example being when they are in the ramen shop. He can't help but think of how Bookman forced the girl out of his mind; he can't help but think of how Bookman, despite no longer being his apprentice, engraved the "code" into his skin. And, it doesn't even help that he doesn't know whether or not his master is alive. He feels like he's betraying something, Bookman, and self-loathing, and yet seeing her again — seeing Lenalee brings back those feelings of Lavi’s youth subconsciously.
Hell, while they were only kids and didn't even know what was happening or what they were doing with their lives, everyone knew she made an impression on him. You could tell just by the look on his face. However, he had suppressed those, that, everything all this time because of the Bookman “code” -- of course, until she walked right through the door and hit him with confusion all over again. That's the "odd" feeling. The one he can't shake. The one he can't control. The one that makes him inevitably fall for a runaway girl be it one-sided or not. And, wow, I'm really going in circles now, but ohp, this also gives an insight as to why he’s so enticed by her eyes because those were the first eyes he ever felt sympathy for. ok bye i'm rambling
☇ Feeling the tug again, Aoba frowned deeper, brows furrowing. If he fought the guy to death right then and there, would the police come and arrest them? Probably. He didn’t want to go to jail yet so baby steps; small pulls and slight tightening of his hold. Relinquish the container? As if. He’d never do that. Not after coming in and out of stores only to find nothing. Tsk.
"I don’t care, Mr. Sass and Wit. Just give me the damn ice cream. I found it first." Childish. He knew he sounded childish but heck, they were acting like brats anyways. There wasn’t anything wrong in going further down that road.
Speaking of wrong, Aoba glanced back and forth at the boy and the basket, trying to comprehend what the other was thinking grabbing dozens of ramen. “I have, in fact, seen grown men eat before.” He informed slowly, patiently, like he was talking to a kid. “That’s unhealthy.”
Of course it was unhealthy, duh. And Aoba had been the witness of too many men eating like slobs who didn’t care about balance diet. He could say, confidently, that he wasn’t one of them. Not in the same group as this brat who was still trying to run away with his ice cream. “Let go already.” He hissed, and, realizing that he did have one free hand left, grabbed the container with both of his hands, pulling hard and hoping that the boy would just goddamn give up already! This day was still getting worse. Eurgh.
What a brat, the redhead thought, furrowing his brows. Narrowing his eyes at his instigator, he slowly placed his basket to the floor in order to grasp the ice cream container with both hands, mimicking the other as he gave the tub a yank. "Oi," his voiced deepened, blatantly growing exasperated by the ordeal at hand, "I was here way before you, Blue's Clues. Do us all a favor and go back to your hairdresser."
Ordinarily, petty banter back and forth wasn't his kind of game. If the confrontation proved to be trivial, if not on the verge of pathetic with its lame retorts and mouthy quips, he grew disinterested. However, under the consideration of how his plans were going awry because of some health nut, he couldn't simply back down without some kind of fight. If there was a guarantee he wouldn't lose his job over an arrest involve a carton of ice cream, he would leap at the opportunity.
"Your existence is unhealthy," he spat with little regard, pulling on the dessert. Wow, that was a stupid one. "Just let go, damn it! I've haven't had ice cream in over a month, and I ain't waitin' any longer!"
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