joiedecombat (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
joiedecombat) wrote2005-08-03 11:30 pm
joiedecombat) wrote2005-08-03 11:30 pm
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[Kingdom Hearts] Lion Passant (wip)
From the bell tower in the Second District, Traverse Town looked deserted. Streetlamps and shop windows and the colored glow from electric signs kept the town illuminated in a sort of perpetual twilight no matter how long the nights lingered - and it seemed they lingered longer and longer lately - but even in the First District, where one could usually find someone out and about no matter the hour, there was always a feeling of emptiness, too few people rattling around in too much space. In the Second District, the soft breeze that washed between the columns of the bell tower and moved Leon's hair around his face served only to make the stillness seem that much more complete - profound in a way that made people try to step a little more lightly, speak a little more softly, as if to avoid attracting the attention of something.
The bell tower made for a good vantage point. From its height, Leon could see almost all of the Second District, and bits of the space beyond the gates to the First and Third Districts. He spent a lot of his time there, keeping watch for movements in the shadows. He'd gotten used to it; the long hours spent on his self-appointed sentry duty had acquired the familiarity of routine, and that held a certain subtle comfort. Like the gunblade at his hip, it had become a purposeful burden, and like the gunblade it had grown sort of reassuring.
His fingers rested absently on the grip of his gunblade as he leaned against one of the bell tower's columns, sliding along the hard, unadorned angles of it. People knew Leon by the gunblade now; it had become the feature which identified him, even more than the scar that slanted between his eyes.
It hadn't always been that way.
But there was no point in dwelling on things that couldn't be changed. Leon reminded himself of that regularly. Keeping busy was better, even for values of keeping busy that involved standing up on the bell tower keeping a casual eye out as a man he didn't recognize emerged from the hotel and made his cautious way towards the First District gate.
Anyway, the gunblade was a good weapon - a challenging weapon, one that Leon could take satisfaction in mastering. Its strengths, its effectiveness both at a distance and in closer quarters, were countered by the awkwardness of the design, but persistence and training had overcome that. He'd learned to take some pride in what he could accomplish with a weapon that had no power of its own, depending only on his own strength and skill.
If that was cold comfort, with the shadows growing thicker and deeper by degrees, it was better than nothing.
Absorbed in moody contemplation, Leon almost missed the stirring in the shadows around the First District gate - probably would have missed it if the man he was still half watching hadn't come to an uncertain stop, hesitated, and made a stumbling attempt to flee. By that point, of course, it was far too late.
Damn! With a voiceless snarl Leon bolted, vaulting down the ladder of the bell tower and dropping down to the brick pavement below, with an impact that jolted painfully in the bones of his feet. He yanked his gunblade from its sheath as he ran, furiously aware that he'd never make it across the open space of the district in time - he'd lost another one.
He wasn't halfway across the empty square when a burst of light flashed over the ironwork atop the fountain. Another followed it, and another, and with them came a boyish shout and the scraping of claws on brick and the rattling of metal and a peculiar repeated sound of impact so unexpectedly familiar that Leon stumbled and had to struggle to catch himself.
It was over in seconds; he used a bench as a shortcut to haul himself up onto the raised walkway, but even as he did he could hear the gate closing. By the time Leon reached it, there was nothing there except for a few wisps of formless darkness, already dissipating into nothing, and a faint shimmer of light clinging to the ironwork like cast-off embers. Even as he ran his fingers through that lingering gleam, it faded away completely, leaving him frowning intently at the curve of wrought iron. It couldn't be...
The bell tower made for a good vantage point. From its height, Leon could see almost all of the Second District, and bits of the space beyond the gates to the First and Third Districts. He spent a lot of his time there, keeping watch for movements in the shadows. He'd gotten used to it; the long hours spent on his self-appointed sentry duty had acquired the familiarity of routine, and that held a certain subtle comfort. Like the gunblade at his hip, it had become a purposeful burden, and like the gunblade it had grown sort of reassuring.
His fingers rested absently on the grip of his gunblade as he leaned against one of the bell tower's columns, sliding along the hard, unadorned angles of it. People knew Leon by the gunblade now; it had become the feature which identified him, even more than the scar that slanted between his eyes.
It hadn't always been that way.
But there was no point in dwelling on things that couldn't be changed. Leon reminded himself of that regularly. Keeping busy was better, even for values of keeping busy that involved standing up on the bell tower keeping a casual eye out as a man he didn't recognize emerged from the hotel and made his cautious way towards the First District gate.
Anyway, the gunblade was a good weapon - a challenging weapon, one that Leon could take satisfaction in mastering. Its strengths, its effectiveness both at a distance and in closer quarters, were countered by the awkwardness of the design, but persistence and training had overcome that. He'd learned to take some pride in what he could accomplish with a weapon that had no power of its own, depending only on his own strength and skill.
If that was cold comfort, with the shadows growing thicker and deeper by degrees, it was better than nothing.
Absorbed in moody contemplation, Leon almost missed the stirring in the shadows around the First District gate - probably would have missed it if the man he was still half watching hadn't come to an uncertain stop, hesitated, and made a stumbling attempt to flee. By that point, of course, it was far too late.
Damn! With a voiceless snarl Leon bolted, vaulting down the ladder of the bell tower and dropping down to the brick pavement below, with an impact that jolted painfully in the bones of his feet. He yanked his gunblade from its sheath as he ran, furiously aware that he'd never make it across the open space of the district in time - he'd lost another one.
He wasn't halfway across the empty square when a burst of light flashed over the ironwork atop the fountain. Another followed it, and another, and with them came a boyish shout and the scraping of claws on brick and the rattling of metal and a peculiar repeated sound of impact so unexpectedly familiar that Leon stumbled and had to struggle to catch himself.
It was over in seconds; he used a bench as a shortcut to haul himself up onto the raised walkway, but even as he did he could hear the gate closing. By the time Leon reached it, there was nothing there except for a few wisps of formless darkness, already dissipating into nothing, and a faint shimmer of light clinging to the ironwork like cast-off embers. Even as he ran his fingers through that lingering gleam, it faded away completely, leaving him frowning intently at the curve of wrought iron. It couldn't be...