Because, just because….
A hack://sign fanfic,
To my readers,
This was mainly an effort to remedy the lack of Sora fanfic on the site. I hate to admit it, but I like that bouncy, psychotic, homicidal, twin blade. I thought I'd contribute a piece as I am almost finished with the anime series. (Need to find disk number 5 at a reasonable price…). Enjoy.
Mac Anu wasn't his favorite Root Town. The streets were many, varying in size and safety, and while that had the potential to be fun it just wasn't. The omnipresent dark expanses behind the shops, those wonderful corridors that none knew of or bothered to map, they beckoned. But reality stilled his hand. There were too many people about to make it useful. Oh, he'd day dream of course, but the City of Water was like a city of vice. Never slowed, never still… It was just too busy, even in the middle of the night.
Not that he hadn't day dreamed, of course. In his mind he could taste and see an innocent, isolated victim running through those closed artifice shadows. The wild sense of speed was sweeter than adrenaline, the gasps growing louder assured that he was close, closer. Then, a scream, the scree of blade against stone as he cut the closing corners too close and the gyrations of his running set sparks to flying.
They'd turn, fatal, foolish. Turn to face death, their expressions twisted by terror. And he'd smile wide and sure, some inanity spilling past his lips even as the blade closed for sure.
After all, it was just a game, not a whit of it real. To those who screamed, seriously, they needed to get a life.
With only that sound as warning he left the earth, flying without wings for a little while. The buildings and heir fussy little details blurred to grey-black, the blue to quicksilver luminance that burned his eyes, his eyes burned…
Then, his flight was over, and his descent began. He remembered something that wasn't forgotten, that never could be forgotten so deep it went.
He remembered: How he felt the chase, it felt how dream might be if he could remember his dreams. Unable to be sure, he willed those pseudo visions on himself, and with the aid of an unwilling participant he dreamt often. The jolt of impact, the scree in his skull, and to the mere remembrance of that sound he blinked instinctually. Instinct born of impulse, to avoid pain. He forced back expectant tears, a side effect from sparks that weren't there.
He promised: Not yet… (but soon…soon..soonsoon)
And he knew… that he'd drawn his blades in public again. Stupid! He sheathed what he'd drawn, smiling to the faceless avatars about him. Never noting if they stared or not. He only smiled winningly, never caring how the final score rolled out.
Not ever, his common sense dictated. Not ever, don't want the mod's after you too. The Knights are bad enough all on their own.
A few really notorious PKers had gotten the mod's attention. Some really nasty ones who didn't collect people's addresses before killing them, some really rude ones that spent whole days going to field to field clearing it of PCs day in and day out. When the complaint count got too high too fast CC corp had to answer. After all, customer was always right.
Idly, he wandered, going to this shop and that. Sprucing up the imminent boredom that was walking with a few idle 'boing's and 'whoosh's to speed him on his way.
Oblivious to those around and about him, to those wild eyed PCs, he went on his way. Never noticing that those who vacated whole spaces for him reeked of fear. All that mattered was that they were giving him clearance to land, and room to dart as he willed. The World unlike the real world, could be so accommodating.
At an Elf Haven he dropped off the whatevers he'd just bought. Needless items that he never used, save to bring down his gold count so he wouldn't get other PKers on his tail looking for a rich kill. Done with the elf NPC he sauntered up the steps, deciding to go on a dungeon crawl. No one was on, no one he knew anyways. And, as for those he didn't know, only the Soloers really caught his attention. For a little while, anyway.
With those brave solos -or was it souls?- they were something special. Maybe a little chat, certainly a lot of running, and of course the following screaming of steel on stone and bone to rattle about in his skull and wile down the hours. All those wonderful things that made The World go round were his.
But not here, and not now.
Here the light on water was too bright, it made his eyes burn at the worst times.
Like sparks that stones spit, to spite the steel.
Humming a merry tune, he sauntered to the chaos gate, smiling all the while. Smiling wide and wild he was oblivious, as always. His going caused a stir as PC's wisely slipped out of his way, some even shoving a teammate, all to get clear. The shoving and jostling just registered in his mind as the usual hustle and bustle, nothing new, all of it rather boring.