I've wanted to write something like this for a while. I hope you all like it! Subsequent chapters will depend on the reviews I receive, because I'll probably run out of ideas for content, if I do not receive feedback.
I don't own DGM, or any of the characters, or rights, or rights to any of Herman Melville's works...
Lavi moaned. He, Bookman, Allen and Kanda had embarked on a painfully long journey by train. They had miraculously managed to spend the first hour in silence enforced by Bookman and the eternally grumpy Kanda. Neither of the two wanted to hear Lavi prattle on throughout the long journey. Lavi moaned again and pressed his face against the glass of the window. He began to slide his face down the window, whilst staring at Allen.
Allen was trying to remain quiet and fairly still. He was reviewing his case files for the third time and was tiring of them. He did not want to break the silence, but it was bothering him. Luckily, and expectedly, Allen was not the one to speak.
"Would anyone like to tell stories, or recite poetry, or anything?" Lavi asked hopefully, much to the joy of Allen and the chagrin of the others.
Bookman sighed. "Seeing as it would be naïve of me to think you could contain yourself, why not go ahead?" Bookman narrowed his eyes at Lavi. "But if I do not like what you say, I will shut you up."
"OK!" Lavi agreed. "Allen, you start!"
"Wh-what?" Allen gasped. "Why do you want me to start?" Allen was startled and did not particularly want to make up a story, or poem, or whatever else.
"Why not? Well, if you don't want to go first, then I'll make Kanda go first! Give us a pretty poem, Yuu!"
Kanda lifted his head to glare at Lavi. "No. And don't call me by my first name! It pisses me off, and you know that."
Lavi pouted. "Why won't you do it, Yuu? Are you not smart enough?" Allen gasped as Lavi pestered the Japanese exorcist.
"You want a poem? Here is your damn poem!
The idiot speaks.
Unless he shuts his big mouth,
I. will. beat. him. down." With that, Kanda quieted and simply glared at Lavi, who did not speak.
Lavi finally spoke, "Well, that was a nice haiku, Yuu. Why don't you share something now, Allen?"
"Um…OK…Is a riddle good enough?"
"Sure!" Lavi encouraged. "Make it a funny riddle!"
"What? Make it funny? How?" Allen was not sure that he was going to like the sort of riddle that Lavi would ask.
What do fur coats and General Cross have in common?"
Allen became pallid. "Do I even want to know?" Lavi did not reply; he only smiled at Allen, until Allen submitted. "What?" He groaned.
"You can find them both wrapped around rich women!" Lavi was the only one laughing.
"We are not amused." Bookman shot Lavi a glare that could curdle fresh milk. Lavi became quiet again.
Lavi groaned. "Allen, you must have something you want to share. I shared a riddle, and Kanda shared a sweet, sweet love poem!" Lavi ignored the icy glare of death that Kanda sent him.
Allen thought for a minute. "I did memorize a poem that I liked. It was written by Reba Ruelle. Would that be OK?"
"Sure, that would be fine," Lavi encouraged him.
Allen sighed. "OK, here goes nothing:
As I turn to face
The resting place
Of your flesh and bone,
I begin to cry
And want to die.
For I am all alone.
As I turn the key
And enter the
Place we called our home.
I dare to look
And find a book
That once you did own.
I open it,
And read a bit.
I chill in every bone.
It is so dear
What you wrote here.
A world to me, you've shown.
As I turn the page
Still in this cage
Of my flesh and bone,
I feel aware
That you are there,
And I am not alone." No one spoke.
"I wasn't expecting that," Lavi commented in a somber tone. Kanda snorted softly beside Allen.
"What made you like this particular poem?" Bookman inquired.
"Oh, my father always wrote little notes in the margins of his books. This poem makes me think of him and how I felt when…he …died…" Allen trailed off. He realized that he had said much more than he intended to say. He felt exposed and embarrassed. They all once again fell into silence.
They had spent no more than a half hour in silence, when Lavi spoke again. "Hey, Gramps, you haven't shared anything yet. Why don't you share something?"
"I would prefer not to," Bookman stated coldly.
"Come on, Bartleby. We're talking a simple story or poem here!" Lavi whined at his mentor.
"Lavi, I am neither a scrivener, nor a storyteller, nor a poet. I am a Bookman. And you are my pathetic apprentice and I do not appreciate your incessant pestering!" Bookman cuffed Lavi fairly hard on the side of his head.
"Ow…But hey, at least I didn't make a Moby Dick joke!" Lavi whined.
"Mentioning it is just as bad," Bookman reprimanded. "How about this, I will tell you a fable, if you can recite a decent poem."
"You're on!" Lavi jumped up. Lavi cleared his throat and began:
"Good and evil,
Are they black and white?
Is there a grey area in between?
Can one try to justify,
Or will it be just a lie?
Right and wrong,
Are they red and violet?
Is there a spectrum in between?
Or can one's distorted deduction
Be one's destruction?
Better and worse,
Are they day and night?
Is there a never-ending cycle?
Are salvation and destruction intertwined?
Causing improvement to be undermined?
Life and death,
Are they negative space?
Does one create a picture of the other?
If one did not die, one would never live.
Then, there would be no thanks to give."
"Lavi, did you just describe morals using artistic terms?" Allen was astonished. 'Sometimes Lavi can be such a jackass, but other times, he's really brilliant.'
"Yeah, I did. Do you approve, Gramps?" Lavi asked proudly.
"It will suffice." Bookman answered him calmly.
I hope you all liked my little frame story! By the way, Reba Ruelle is not a real person (to the extent of my knowledge). I wrote the poem myself (all of the poems, actually), so I made up the name from a shortened version of my first name and a vague French translation of my last name. Please review and tell me if I should continue this story! Tell me about what you liked or disliked. I already have the fable Bookman will tell written. All reviews are loved.