So! Trickstar (formerly Kaitou Phoenix, for any who may have run across me before) here, finally taking a dive into this wonderful fandom.
This is one of my first attempts at writing -verse, so if I botched any of their personalities, please let me know! Constructive criticism is love.
This is also part of my sixty-four stories project I'm working on - more on that can be found on my profile.
Disclaimer: All characters and everything DGM related belong to Katsura Hoshino. All I have is a couple pencil boards. And abouuut...four dollars. Hmm.
Allen Walker, himself, would be the first to agree that having lived a life of poverty did very little to help you later on in your life.
Strange habits, such as throwing away as little as possible and pack rat tendencies, were one such example of what a frugal upbringing could do to a person. These were habits not easily broken, and to this day he could be found hoarding things away on occasion if he felt they might have some future use.
However, his ability to pick both pockets and locks with ease was something he kept to himself. Not even Lavi, the ever-observant Bookman apprentice could possibly know.
Having lived most his life traveling with his adopted father, Mana, or as General Cross's apprentice, Allen had never known what having a home or financial security was like until he had joined the Order.
And, as much as he would deny it, living a life like that occasionally required one to be…somewhat less than honest. Allen had learned at a young age how to snatch coins and watches and other such valuables from pockets; no wallet was safe when he was in a desperate need of money. Considering how much he ate, it had taken quite a bit of money to support them; he could easily recall at least five times they had gone several days with no food, and how after the second or third day Mana had usually been forced to carry him, his parasitic Innocence sapping all his energy even then.
It was also during this time he also learned how to pick locks, a valuable skill in the winter when he and Mana had no money for a room in an inn and it was too cold to sleep outside.
Granted, stealing and breaking into locked rooms was not something he ever enjoyed, but something that had been necessary to stay alive.
However, his current endeavor was not one of necessity, but pure want itself.
"Oh come on…it's just a bedroom!" the teen muttered, jiggling the handle of the door he was standing before, brows furrowed in concentration as he chewed lightly on his lower lip.
He was just out of practice, he reasoned, when the lock failed to give a second time. With a permanent home and enough money to get him by, he had no need to steal or break into an inn for shelter anymore. Sighing, he glanced around -good, no one in sight- he slipped another pick from his sleeve, the slender piece of metal joining the two already in the lock.
A little jiggling later and the lock clicked; Allen could not help but grin in satisfaction as the door swung open. Quickly retrieving his picks, he moved into the room, closing the door tight and locking it behind him.
His nose wrinkled slightly at how bare the bedroom was, having nothing but the standard bed-table-wardrobe combination. There was, however, a single lotus sealed within a large hourglass filled with water and a long full-length mirror. He took a minute to admire the flower -it was wilting, he noted sadly, three of the pale pink petals on the bottom- before moving onto the task at hand.
Walking over to the wardrobe, he pulled it open, finding very little besides plain white shirts and black slacks. Nothing very original; not that he could exactly say anything against the combination, often wearing the same thing. Sifting through all the drab clothing, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration, his ungloved hand finally met a piece of fabric softer and warmer than the others, and he grinned in delight.
He wasted no time in extracting it from where it was tucked away deep in the wardrobe, bouncing on his heels slightly as he hugged it to his chest. The soft beige sweater smelled very faintly of mothballs, but he knew that would soon fade.
That was, of course, as long as the owner of said sweater did not catch him first.
Which, much to his alarm, seemed far more likely than it had when he had first begun this insane little quest of his as the doorknob jiggled.
He's back early! the teen thought in alarm, pale eyes widening. He looked around frantically for a way to escape; the window was the only other exit, and he would rather not have to free fall around fifteen stories. On top of that, it would be glaringly obvious someone had just left the room in a hurry, which was not a good thing.
Shoving everything back into place, he closed the wardrobe -he knew from experience that hiding in a wardrobe was possibly one of the worst things you could do- and bolted for the bed, diving under it just as the door swung open. He scooted backwards until his back was to the wall, watching as black boots made their way across the room. It took all his willpower to keep his breathing steady and silent as the owner of said boots sat on the bed, mattress creaking slightly in protest.
Soft, but irritated grumbles drifted to his ears as he watched the boot be removed, tossed carelessly across the room in a display of messiness he would have never expected from the other exorcist. A coat was soon hung over the sole chair, the hem of the black garment brushing against the floor, and a white shirt soon joined the boots on the floor.
A content sigh could be heard as the other male finally laid down, and he once again cursed his bad luck. From the looks of things, he would be trapped here until morning, and he highly doubted he would remain unnoticed.
I knew I should have eaten dinner first, he thought mournfully, already feeling the bite of hunger, despite having snacked on and off all day. He knew it was only a matter of time before his stomach would make its need for food known, and his stomach was notorious for being extremely loud.
Knowing his demise was imminent, he pressed the sweater to his face, taking a deep breath that was thankfully silent. The smell of the mothballs was still there, but there was also the fresh smell that all clean laundry had. If he was going to die, he at least wanted to go happy. And he was taking the sweater with him.
It took a bit of maneuvering, but he managed to wiggle his way into the much-too-large sweater, the sleeves coming several inches past his fingers. Biting back a sigh, he curled up as well as he could, waiting to be discovered.
However, he nearly jumped when someone began to pound on the door, leaving him feeling frazzled and on edge as the other occupant swore and got up.
"Hey, Yuu!" a cheery voice exclaimed when the door was opened. "You haven't seen Beansprout-chan around here anywhere, have you? No one's seen him for a while-"
"And why would I care?" Kanda all-but growled; he was sure the Japanese exorcist was glaring daggers at Lavi, but he could still see Mugen propped against the wall, so the redhead was in no immediate danger. However, before either could get in another remark his stomach finally decided to make itself known, letting out a long and loud growl.
There was a long pause.
Lavi stifled a laugh.
Kanda turned around, another curse flying into the air.
"That damned Beansprout! Where the hell are you!" he snapped; he cursed quietly as the other teen picked up Mugen, easily recognizing the sound of the sword being unsheathed. Thankfully he thought of checking the wardrobe first, flinging open the doors and shoving clothes aside to check the back. Lavi, however, had dropped down next to the bed, and Allen found himself staring in horror at the redhead.
"Hey, Yuu! I fou-" He was never given a chance to finish his sentence; he refused to let him! Kicking the other exorcist in the face -mentally apologizing-, he activated Crown Clown, now desperate. Within seconds he had reached out and grabbed the worn carpet in his claws, pulling hard and launching himself clear out of the door, crashing gracelessly into the wall on the other side of the hallway.
If there was one important thing living a life of poverty and stealing taught you, it was knowing when to run. And he did just that, scrambling back to his feet and bolting down the hall, fleeing for the relative safety of his own room.
He was just grateful that the only person in the Order faster than him when he was running scared was Lenalee, who was currently on a mission in Sicily.
Dinner, however, would have to wait yet again.
"Owww! I dink he brok'd by dose!" Lavi wailed, clutching his nose as he watched Allen flee. Kanda stared blankly at the door for several long moments, before swearing and turning back to his wardrobe, digging through it furiously.
"He took my sweater," he said slowly, a hint of rage lacing his tone. "He took my damn sweater." A moment later, sans both his boots and shirt, the Japanese exorcist took off out the door, Mugen in hand and swearing up a storm. "Damn it all Beansprout, give me my sweater!" he yelled as he chased after the rapidly disappearing Allen, who only yelped and ran faster.
Lavi, still clutching at his sore and bleeding nose, got to his feet, and staggered over to the door, watching as his two friends tore down the hallway, both screaming, one in fear and the other in anger. As he staggered off to his room, still trying to stem the blood flowing from his nose, he made a mental note, finally knowing what to get Allen for the duel occasion of the white-haired boy's birthday and Christmas.
I gotta ask Yuu where he got that sweater, he mused. Maybe he'll stop stealing Yuu's if I get him his own…
To Lavi's delight, Allen had been overjoyed to receive a sweater like the one he was constantly stealing from Kanda's room -though it was black, of course, to avoid mixing the two up. The younger of the two had profusely thanked his "big brother" as he proceeded to pull it on and curl up in the corner of the couch, elated.
However, just three days later he heard a familiar explosion of noise, and a laughing Allen came dashing past him in the hall, clutching the beige sweater, with the owner of said sweater close behind, swearing up a storm.
Lenalee, who had been walking with him on the way to the library, simply shook her head as the two boys ran by, continuing on as though nothing had happened. The redhead, however, stared after them for a few long moments, single eye wide.
"But, I thought-" he stuttered. "I thought if I got Beansprout-chan a sweater, he'd stop-"
"He's just doing it for fun now," Lenalee said, cutting him off and smiling brightly. "He told me the other day. He loves the sweater you got him, but he loves Kanda's reactions every time he manages to get away with his sweater."
And so, Lavi concluded that Allen really was black, and very possibly completely out of his mind.
Really, why else would he adore torturing the easily angered and violent Kanda?
And he absolutely adored the both of them for the chaos they created, breaking up the otherwise boring days.
Maybe he was just a little crazy too.
Just a little.