Allen Walker (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
save_the_souls) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisalogs2012-05-29 06:37 pm
save_the_souls) wrote in paradisalogs2012-05-29 06:37 pm
Entry tags:
So a tree falls in the forest...
Who: Allen Walker & You!
What: Early morning practice and...lumberjacking
When: Early this morning during this week
Where: Edge of the forest
Rating: PG-13 for tree death, crazy and angst
Allen was up early, the days following the departure of his child. Between shifts at the clinic and his cursed eye...he had given up trying to sleep throughout the entire night as he did when he lived with people. There was no point, he had no one to fret or wake. Timcanpy seemed to have learned to be a proper guard, in case he awoken instead through his series of restless naps.
He had seen the door, like many others had. Had gone through it too, saw what possibly was Anita's true room...if he let his heart believe that it wasn't something conjured by the castle (which he wished for that, even after all the darkness he's seen he still tries to believe in the better outcome). He had saw her room, saw the kind of life she was leading- a kind one. A loving one. A better one than he could ever provide her. He had read her a story, given her a hug...and only smiled and said he loved her when the child, unaware of what was going on, asked why he was crying. He willed himself to walk back out the door after she had fallen asleep, after he caught himself unwilling to go as he watched her sleep. Back to the reality he knew.
Back to being on his own.
On the one hand, the chance to say goodbye filled him with the peace that the castle probably intended, an easier way to acknowledge that Anita was safe somewhere when she wasn't here. That she was loved, that she was cared for. She wasn't going to lead the same sort of childhood that he had, the one that he often did everything in his power not to think about day to day. He was thankful for that, if it was real, truly so. He knew that even if she had stayed...he wasn't sure he'd be willing to do so. His life was not one for a child's. Not so long as the war went on....probably not ever.
On the other hand...he missed her. He missed having her as his shadow, playing the few games he knew from his own childhood... it was much like living a part of life he knows very well will probably never be his. It hurt a bit...to be reminded of that.
But things were better this way, he simply had to keep telling himself. Like a charm, and maybe soon he'll believe it fully.
This morning, he was at the edge of the forest for practice with a claymore that he had received from Teresa. The morning air was cool, the grounds fairly quiet. He was far enough away that the demons in the castle weren't bothering him, nor the ones in the city. Quiet reprieve. He went through his training exercises automatically, he knew them by heart- no. They were simply a part of him now, as he was a weapon no matter how long he lived in peaceful times like those given in Paradisa. These training exercises were one of the few lifelines he had to that existence, which now he still clung to so tightly.
Though to the very careful eye, something is a bit off even if you don't know Allen. There is no serenity in his movements today. Rather he seems aggressive, angry- his shoulders wound too tight and his swings too sharp. Even if he was trying to keep calm and accept things as they are, they don't match up with his body language very well. His temper has cooled down some since his teenage years, but it is by no means entirely gone.
And for the less careful eye and the blind, something might also seem a bit off when he sheathes his sword near the end of his exercises, takes a few deep breaths- and turns his hand into a set of talons that slices through the nearest tree like butter, making it crash to the ground with an angry yell.
Alright, maybe it hasn't cooled down that much after all. But hey, it beats destroying his room for the twelfth dozen time.
What: Early morning practice and...lumberjacking
When: Early this morning during this week
Where: Edge of the forest
Rating: PG-13 for tree death, crazy and angst
Allen was up early, the days following the departure of his child. Between shifts at the clinic and his cursed eye...he had given up trying to sleep throughout the entire night as he did when he lived with people. There was no point, he had no one to fret or wake. Timcanpy seemed to have learned to be a proper guard, in case he awoken instead through his series of restless naps.
He had seen the door, like many others had. Had gone through it too, saw what possibly was Anita's true room...if he let his heart believe that it wasn't something conjured by the castle (which he wished for that, even after all the darkness he's seen he still tries to believe in the better outcome). He had saw her room, saw the kind of life she was leading- a kind one. A loving one. A better one than he could ever provide her. He had read her a story, given her a hug...and only smiled and said he loved her when the child, unaware of what was going on, asked why he was crying. He willed himself to walk back out the door after she had fallen asleep, after he caught himself unwilling to go as he watched her sleep. Back to the reality he knew.
Back to being on his own.
On the one hand, the chance to say goodbye filled him with the peace that the castle probably intended, an easier way to acknowledge that Anita was safe somewhere when she wasn't here. That she was loved, that she was cared for. She wasn't going to lead the same sort of childhood that he had, the one that he often did everything in his power not to think about day to day. He was thankful for that, if it was real, truly so. He knew that even if she had stayed...he wasn't sure he'd be willing to do so. His life was not one for a child's. Not so long as the war went on....probably not ever.
On the other hand...he missed her. He missed having her as his shadow, playing the few games he knew from his own childhood... it was much like living a part of life he knows very well will probably never be his. It hurt a bit...to be reminded of that.
But things were better this way, he simply had to keep telling himself. Like a charm, and maybe soon he'll believe it fully.
This morning, he was at the edge of the forest for practice with a claymore that he had received from Teresa. The morning air was cool, the grounds fairly quiet. He was far enough away that the demons in the castle weren't bothering him, nor the ones in the city. Quiet reprieve. He went through his training exercises automatically, he knew them by heart- no. They were simply a part of him now, as he was a weapon no matter how long he lived in peaceful times like those given in Paradisa. These training exercises were one of the few lifelines he had to that existence, which now he still clung to so tightly.
Though to the very careful eye, something is a bit off even if you don't know Allen. There is no serenity in his movements today. Rather he seems aggressive, angry- his shoulders wound too tight and his swings too sharp. Even if he was trying to keep calm and accept things as they are, they don't match up with his body language very well. His temper has cooled down some since his teenage years, but it is by no means entirely gone.
And for the less careful eye and the blind, something might also seem a bit off when he sheathes his sword near the end of his exercises, takes a few deep breaths- and turns his hand into a set of talons that slices through the nearest tree like butter, making it crash to the ground with an angry yell.
Alright, maybe it hasn't cooled down that much after all. But hey, it beats destroying his room for the twelfth dozen time.