less volatile, less awake

Day 19 - January 19th 2016

Luke fon Fabre from Tales of the Abyss!

I saw someone mention Abyss on my dash today, and thought I’d love to sit down and draw one of the greatest RPG protagonists of all time! This is also dedicated to my dear friend @kairek who was the one to introduce me to the Tales of series in the first place! <3

Luke didn’t look put off, though, rather he looked..impressed? 

You really are good. 

Lloyd’s eyes shone at the compliment and he offered Luke a dazzling grin. It’d been awhile he’d had a sparring partner (besides Zelos) whom he could best, let alone a fun, easygoing one.

‘So that hero stuff...’

Art by: Ljun

“…five months.”

“It was warmer, but the city wasn’t any better than it is now.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, though his face keeps its expression cool. It’s not indifference, but a spark of memory that flares and fades into the growing crease on his forehead. After all, his arrival then was nearly synonymous with meeting the Saniwa.

“I…met a lot of people. And I talked to more than I’d ever had to.”

Asking questions, trying to figure out answers, struggling with his awkwardness the entire time. Some had ended badly. The others were better, but not all of them were around anymore. He’d found a job and gotten settled in and the first Event had hit.

He’d survived that, saw the coming and passing of new swords and weeks, and–

“–October was the worst,” he admitted. “I tried too hard to be different, and–I failed.”And that’s where he stops, eyes turning slowly back to his counterpart. He doesn’t have to elaborate, but he should move on. He can move on. 

“What about you?”

'A month ago?... No, two. Maybe three.' Frustration sits easy on Luke's face; he cards a hand through his hair, but he's not about to let his confusion take away from the present moment. Months are different here (cut in half, and he feels like he's lost a lot of time) -- the climate is different, too, and he pages through the man's answers to see what he's getting at.

It's annoyingly -- frustratingly -- vague. But that's all you can expect, right, when the question you asked was always meant to be rhetorical.

'I got here late,' he decides, always comparing himself to others. He's not thinking about vigilance and being optimistic, but his memories. 'My friends, they -- were here first. Asch, too. It wasn't like I felt like I didn't have a place here. It was...' It was different. He hadn't felt the same things Asch did once, but it was like being left behind, missing out on a great inside joke.

It's better than feeling like the joke itself, though. Right?

'... I mean. Since then, it hasn't been that bad. I can't complain. I didn't--' He breaks off, leans the slightest bit towards the stranger and moves his shoulder, like he's trying to get him to agree. 'I haven't had to be different. They don't make me. Even if they did, I wouldn't, but I'm finally starting to believe that maybe -- they do support me. That they care.'

Guy came back for him. Natalia took longer. Jade -- has been as unreadable as always, but --

They don't look at him like he's Asch.

(Or like Luke, but worthless.)

Even through the pain, he had the strangest urge to laugh.

‘W-wait. Okay. You got me,’ he said, and held his hands up. He had to reset his grip on his sword and catch it out of the air, his entire arm loose from the blow. ‘Ow. That was really...’

So.

Despite everything he says, he still reacts the same way. That instinctive urge to retreat from the driving sense of inadequacy that comes from knowing, you were always second best. 

Because someone’s already standing in first place.

The phrase Luke uses is foreign to him, but the tone is painfully nostalgic, and Yamanbagiri takes a while for the moment to pass. There were so many different ways to say worthless, but none of them hurt less than the rest.

“Does it matter?”

“…they’re not your names. Why do you have to keep them?”

And there is a curious shift when he says those words out loud. The air trembles for just a second, shifting to wrap around his speech–or maybe it’s just the wind, but Yamanbagiri breathes deep and finds resolution in his thoughts for a moment.

“Nicknames aren’t you and–neither is he.” He considers the choice of words, the meanings hidden behind them. Aggressive. A shining flame. “I ask because I wanted to know the differences between him and you.”

"It’s there, isn’t it. Even though you’re supposed to be identical, there’s still a chance…”

He trails off, imagining Nagayoshi appearing by his side–hoodless and confident, radiating certainty in a way he never could. He had only met the sword a handful of times before they parted, never enough to knew him fully–only enough to obsess over possibilities in the ether.

Forget prophecies. Forget heroes. Each one of them existed in their own sphere of influence.

“…that you can be yourself.”

The wall opens up.

And Luke lifts his head. ‘Yeah.--... Yeah. I...’ And he clears his throat, rubs his palms together to stave off some of the cold, pulling out of the stillness he feels himself settling into. It’s not like he even said much. It’s just that. ‘I can be myself. That’s what I’ve been trying to work on. It doesn’t always go too well, but...’

But.

When it’s him at the end of the night, when it’s him looking into the mirror. It’s him. And the Asch he knows is ever-shifting, veiled behind curtains that sometimes come up, so Luke. He’s been thinking -- he doesn’t have to be the same him every day. He’s been thinking, that the person he is is born from being in the moment, and there’s not always a trail left behind by the things he does.

He looks over, peers into the guy’s face with a curious stare, because the wall has opened up.

‘... but there’s still a chance,’ he agrees, finally. He’s not dreck, he’s not trash. And he’s definitely not foolish.

Just a little stupid.

‘Where were you,’ he laughs, ‘Five months ago?’

Like the amount of practice they’d had and when.

‘Ouch!’ Luke bit his lip and hissed. He felt a little comical, but it was the first thing out of his mouth, the impact of Lloyd’s blade resonating through muscle and bone. He pulled back and circled, testing the weight of his leg, flinching at the sharpness that accompanied it.

But he could keep going.

“I’m pretty normal myself!” Well, besides the wings sometimes and all that. “It’s pretty fun, I gotta agree there!”

“It’s fine.”

“And…I know.”

Everything the boy says makes sense, almost painfully so, because it’s the same thing he’s thought of on his own. It’s the same and yet–

–it’s different, because where Luke moves forward to act, Yamanbagiri doesn’t. He lingers in the shadows, languishing as he waits–for what?

…even he’s not sure. Affirmation, maybe. Someone who can look at Nagayoshi and him both, and tell him–you exist. 

You are yourself.

He had thought, once upon a time, that Issei would be the one. But a person content on seeing only one side of the picture, and claiming the other half doesn’t matter, can’t be the one to judge. Even if Issei thinks it’s all right–that’s not what he believes.

“Hey.”

He wants the world to see them both, and tell him they are different.

“Will you tell me more about him?” He thinks back to the words he’s heard, until he settles on the one that sounds like a name.

There’s no hiding the flinch that Luke gives. It’s a tiny jerk, shoulders coming up and eyes going wide, his gaze plummeting to the cracks in the asphalt below. He speaks in body language more than words, even when people don’t pay it any mind -- but if they did, they’d hear him saying, so that’s all that matters.

It’s a spur-of-the-moment reaction. He blinks, and the fog clears away from his eyes, but there’s a shift in the mood that’s grey rather than white.

‘He’s a jerk.’ First impressions; he walks the guy through every minute shift and change Asch has ever been through, step-by-step of moments in time. ‘-- no. Not a jerk. Just... Aggressive?... He saved me and my friends. A lot of times. And I always --’ His mouth twists, and it’s a clear no, not always, travelling from his face down his arm as he squeezes his knee. ‘At the end, I was thinking... “wow. He really was the one from the Score. The shining flame.”’ The real Luke, in other words.

But he’s real too. He is. He is.

‘-- the hero from the prophecy,’ he clarifies. ‘But even then. I think I’ll always remember the moment I thought... he’s ready to be forgotten.’

Luke lets the silence hang. He is struck, for the first time, on whether he has gone too far -- because this isn’t his story, but Asch’s. It’s not his job to tell it.

The dalmatian barks, loud and rough like it’s laughing.

“Wouldn’t it be fun? And Guy wouldn’t mind..” He shouldn’t mind– what with his “work experience” and Natalia’s patience for his special brand of “strays”.

The pug watches the larger dog sniff the spout of the teapot, with an expression that Natalia can only describe as dumb. It seems to be patiently lost, and she smiles despite herself.

“..Have you been doing well?” The question is sudden, but she speaks with a comfortable slowness, like this was always the natural flow of their conversation. She’s been waiting quite some time to ask. 

“It’s been quite an…adjustment– for all of us. And you and I.. we don’t speak about things like this as much anymore.”

Things like this– themselves.

So he focuses on the dogs. The pug has this quiet sort of wheezing indicative to its breed -- it sneezes once, too, and spends a whole minute trying to catch its breath, sitting back on its haunches. The spotted dog loses interest in the teapot, right until some of the other canines gain an interest in it, at which point the possessiveness starts. The dalmatian walks back over to the teapot, and with some difficulty, curls around it, butting the other couple dogs near it in the face.

It makes Luke bite his lip in laughter.

But there’s still that question. ‘It’s fine,’ he says, his brow creasing. ‘I’m fine.’ He’s not used to people asking about him -- and more than that, it feels wrong for Natalia to need to. Like they’ve grown so far apart that the details of their day are not an assumption, but a question, something they’ve both lost an unspoken privilege to. He doesn’t like that. ‘It’s weird, yeah. But. Nothing’s as weird as the stuff we’ve already been through, right?’

And nothing’s as weird as this dog, who continues to valiantly defend the teapot as if it’s an heirloom treasure, leering at every dog that comes within twenty feet.

‘I just want things to be normal,’ he mutters. The words feel honest, and so they are. It’s not the whole picture, but so it is.

Pixiv ID: 54615187

Member: おみや

‘I’m okay with being normal.’

‘It’s actually -- not that bad once you try it.’