Take My Hand, Let Me Follow

By Nikkel

(c) to Geneon Entertainment


Cold

There was always something captivating about the mornings to Real Mayer.

As a little girl she would wake up early to watch a new day unfold. She would stir from bed and scramble to the window. Every day. She would request the window open if she was sick.

Later, though, she learned that the lights she saw in the morning were fake. Artificial. Like all of Romdeau. Terrible truth for a little girl. From that point on, she found everything boring and nothing beautiful.

The ritual had only started again when the nights were long and the days were short on the Centzon. She didn't know why she would get up. She just did. She awoke before Vincent and Pino, rousing herself and dressing in her winter coat. It wasn't that warm. Daedalus had purchased it for her—Romdeau may have replicated the four seasons, but they were understatements of the harsher elements.

And now she sat on the iron deck of the Rabbit, burying herself in what warmth the coat offered, eyes locked on the distant horizon. For only ten minutes in the day did the cloudy sky seem to glow pale green. It was a sickly color, morose and weak. Natural phenomenon of a world long-faded. But Real found it beautiful.

"Geez, out here already?"

Sigh. Vincent complaining. He mumbles something about the toilet (he kept leaving the seat up, and now she made him go outside to use the bathroom). Ruin the moment, he was good at that. She listened to his footsteps pad across the metal surface, wrenching the hatch open. Well, at least he had the dignity to go inside.

The sky was still green. Unhealthy, but ultimately captivating. Surreal. Necromanced ghosts chasing emerald clouds.

Vincent was back. His footsteps echoed through the silence as a lightning bolt splits the sky in a storm. Real winced in annoyance.

"What?" she growled.

Vincent physically jumped back at the sound of her voice. He had expected something maybe a little softer in the morning, but then again, this was Real. He sighed, blanket drooping in his hands. "It's cold."

"And?"

"I thought. . . that. . ." He mutters something beneath his breath. He can never seem to get out a complete sentence around her. He considers turning around.

"Speak up," she told him. "I can't hear you."

He takes tentative steps forward. "I thought you would be cold."

Sapphire eyes glance. His hands clench around the blanket nervously. He's about to apologize. Real reaches up and takes the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. She waits a moment, but for what he doesn't know, and he stands there. Sapphire eyes glance again. "Sit."

He is down on the command. He shivers violently and retracts his legs to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees. "Gah. . ."

This earns him another glance. He is too freezing to notice. Real sighs, takes off the blanket, and puts it on his shoulders. He looks at her questioningly. She smirks, but says nothing. Laughing on the inside.

The sky isn't green anymore, but that's quite all right. It's nice to have someone sit with you while doing nothing anyways.


Author's Note: This is going to be a little series of mine, connected shots or no. It'll show my love for Ergo Proxy and the poetry style I attempt to imitate. Updated whenever I feel the need to.