A very pleasant accident {Luke/Devilian}

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

“Working is my hobby” L U K E  C O L L I N S  -  D I S T R I C T  7 The sunlight was reflecting the tacky sweat of his muscular body, making him more tired than usual. But that didn't prevent him from using his arms to make a swing at a fallen truck of a tree, the edge of the axe in his hand made a slight opening in it. It was quiet with only the thud sound when he hit the truck and his breath audible. Green woodland spread throughout the surroundings, bringing peace to his deep coral blue eyes. A bundle of wood lies near his feet now, ones that he collected since 9 am in the morning. His arm muscles were aching but his mind was too clouded with the goals that he made himself. They included challenges like: finishing at 12 am sharp, getting more wood than yesterday, etc. He brought the sharp edge of his axe again, this time making a larger opening than before. He swept the beads of sweat on his forehead, expelling a  breath from his soft lips after succeeding in dicing the trunk with three more swings.  That's it for today, he thought to himself, bending down to tie the wooden sticks together into a huge bundle. Then, he took a moment to inhale and exhale before lifting it on his left shoulder, carrying it with only a slight difficulty. He never had a trouble carrying heavy weighted things, it was self-taught as he began working in the forests at the age of 17. His strength was enough to carry a bundle of wood.  "I should get to the market soon." Luke muttered to himself, his brown hair darkening when he gazed up the sky to check the position of the sun. It seems to be 12 am, judging from the sun which was at its highest. He strode along the grassed path which, as he remembers, leads him to the market area. The passage was painted with fade shadows cast by the trees, towering him even. If a heavy cloud of mist blanketed the whole woodland, it would become something similar to an eerie, horror scene from the movies. But, the sun still shone brightly as ever above him, acting as an obstacle along his way. He allowed his thoughts and mind to run freely, not paying much attention to his surroundings. His focus was on the bundle of wood on his left shoulder, the soft howling sound of the wind and the gentle, pleasing sound of rustling leaves. But, the time in his own garden of thoughts ended when the sounds of steps appeared out of nowhere. The eyes which were once on the passageway shifted, moving towards the direction of a fairly tanned male. His curly brown hair was visible under the glares of the sun. The light somehow enhanced the color of it, along with his skin. Luke realized that only he could study his features, for him, he would be nothing more than a silhouette. Thus, he proceeded his current doing. That was an odd thing to his nose, it seemed like it was crooked very slightly. His skin was only tanned, it was now properly cleaned. A part of him was thinking how much better he would look if he took a long shower. But, as usual, he decided not to greet him. As much as he trusted his social skills, he was not the kind of person to make friends casually. He liked to have only an average circle of friends, ones that were loyal and caring to him. Luke was preparing to stroll past him and to make way for him to pass through without brushing with his right shoulder or side. But, as soon as he was in front of him, an embarrassing thing happened. Perhaps he had been examining the other boy a little to much because his brown leather boots collided with an average stone and the bundle of wood slipped from his arms, showering the other boy with wooden sticks. Luke got back on his feet as soon as possible and rushed to the boy's side, aiding him. Although the wooden sticks were scattered all around, most of them broken, he cared for the boy more than those. "My sincerest sorry-! Are you alright?" He questioned in a voice oozing with concern and worry.                                                        - - - It was a weak point of him, pitying the others with all his heart.

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[pogue]

    D E V I L I A N

"To tell it straight, I'm trying to build a wall"
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He's marching left foot right foot, feeling the twigs snap beneath his feet, leaves scattering in his wake. The light scatters from trunk to trunk, scattering its remains amongst the beaten paths he walks on. He used to fear the forests, shielding himself against the shadows that lurk behind the trees, watching his every step and snapping their bones to the beat of his iron heart. 

He strikes up a cigarette, twirling his lighter between his fingers before placing it in his pocket. 

He stopped fearing it the moment Sue Tate had volunteered for him.

It's etched into his memories, carved deep into the abyss of his mind, the way people's eyes refused to lock with his, the way the crowd parted to let him march to his death. He shudders, recalling every nightmare against the broken moonlight, sweat engrained into his skin. His name is a trophy, a sacrifice, uttered amongst the minds of the forgotten.

Remembered by those who were saved. 

And he watches the leaves fall every time the wind crashes into the forest, scattering into the sunlight, realizing that every step and every breath he takes wouldn't have happened had it not been for a boy with a beard on his face and lies dripping from his lips, poisoning his skin. 

He built a memory deep in the woods, stacked sticks against one another and across each other, etching words of memories and broken things into the woods. He'd grabbed a bouquet of flowers from the District Square, tossing faded coins into the hands of the shop owners. 

And he'd left them there, intertwining their stems onto the cross he'd left, letting the sunlight bounce off their petals, water dripping from its thorns.

And then, he forgot, burying the memories of his death far back into his mind, avoiding the spot as if it was poison. In some ways, perhaps it was. 

When he'd last visited there, the petals had gone rotten, bugs had carved their way through the cross. He hated to think that it had been a warning to him. 

His axe finds its place on his shoulder, smoke billowing from his lips, brushing fingertips against his cheekbones before rising up into the branches. His eyes travel along the path as he walks, admiring every branch and leaf that falls into his vision, every shadow that darts from trunk to trunk, snapping its limbs and breaking its form. He smirks, giving a soldier's salute to the beings that lurk around him, cracking his neck and letting the sounds echo against the forest, complimenting the sounds of snapping branches and broken wood. 

A figure appears in the distance, shadows draped across his skin like a cloak, turning his features into shapes, his form into a beast. Dev takes another puff of his cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs before he blows it out again, tapping the ash from the cigarette and letting it fall to the ground behind him. 

Step by step he comes into view, the sunlight bouncing between the shadowy shapes that blotch his skin. He nods slowly, not offering any words. 

And neither does he. 

That's when the sticks hit his kin, scraping and brushing against flesh and he stumbles backwards, losing his balance and opening his mouth in response. It tumbles from his teeth, bouncing against his clothes before landing in the leaves beneath him. It lands burning side down, and the leaves erupt s soon as he takes the seconds to regain his composure. 

"Ah, shit." He mutters, taking his canteen from his bag and pouring the water onto the small flame, choking it out and letting the smoke rise to the air. The boy rushes to his side, offering him an apology straight from a heart of stone. 

He shrugs, stomping his foot onto the cigarette bud for good measure before screwing the cap back on his canteen and slinging it over his shoulder again. 

"Well, there goes my water for the day." 

And then he grins, turning to the boy.

"Don't worry about it, man. The name's Devilian, but call me Dev, please." 

His hand curls into a fist before he offers it to the boy, a fist bump hanging in the air. 

template by chelsey

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

“Working is my hobby” L U K E  C O L L I N S  -  D I S T R I C T  7 The grin on the boy's face created a wave of relief and it washed over his mind. He was expecting him to snap at him with an angry retort as his actions caused the small fire and gave him no choice but to waste his drinking water. But, further more, he was even greeting him and offering him a fist bump. He also made a fist and their knuckles met, indicating the start of a conversation. And perhaps, friendship.  "So sorry about that," He apologized for another time, just to be sure that he accepted it. "How clumsy of me." A nervous chuckle escaped from his lips. Then, he bent down to pick up the undamaged wooden sticks but only a few survived the fall. "I am Luke Collins. Call me Luke or Collins, Tyler works too." He managed a smile, glancing at the boy over his shoulder before turning his eyes back to the ground again. A part of him was suddenly feeling irritated at himself. All the work went down the drain. He was looking forward to the coins he would obtain from the market. A plenty enough to buy a new shirt, maybe. But, another part of him was glad that the other boy did not obtain any lethal damage or broken bones. The two parts collided inside his mind.  Soon, the part that cares for the living male won.  The money from selling the wood is sufficient for a new shirt. "I will get you your water back, after I cut some more wood," He straightened up, a small pile of wooden sticks being carried in his arms. His eyes laid on Devilian and he did not give him a chance to reply with a yes or a no. "Think of it as an apology gift." After the words left his mouth, his lips crooked into a grin. He snatched the fallen axe of his on the ground and rested it on his shoulder blades. The tip of his black boots parted the burnt leaves on the ground, scattering them all around. He did not wish for another fire to start. If there was one, there is a chance of the scorching hot flames tearing down the whole district. At every glance, there were trees- flammable trees.  Then, his eyes scanned the area for a good tree. The one that would serve as a good contractor of fire and as a good material for a home. His fingertips ran along the surface of some trees, examining them to see if it had too much starch. "So," He spoke without turning to face the boy. "Where can I find you to deliver the water?" It was a question he had been longing to ask but couldn't find the perfect way to do so.  The blonde curls attracted him in a way he did not understand.

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