where the buffalos and sakura roam
Feb. 20th, 2014 01:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mugen_edamameHAPPY NEW YEAR'S AND HAPPY VALENTINE'S AND JUST BE HAPPY LADIES.
Things have turned out great for me, so great that I'm left terrified that I'll fuck it up and disturbed because I don't think I deserve it all. One day I'll sit down and write out developments. Today is not that day. So instead, have some Lavi grows up with Kanda fic that, like On High, might go on forever. I might've put this up before, but I added lots of new stuff. Hope everyone's been doing great, I'm going to bed to nurse this crap cold.
OR
Year of the Reclining Declining Ottoman.
Lavi's a five-year old child with the mind of a three-thousand year old vampire with several severe personality disorders. His parents may well have been even older vampires; there's no way to know. They'd died or disappeared or had their ashes thrown into the sea. Whatever it was, at age six months old wee babby Lavi was left on the doorstep of a run-down, genteel orphanage, where the people were kind but too harassed with the running of things to have much care to spare.
Good thing Lavi's so low-maintenance. The odd meal or so, and books. It'd been all he needed, and reading about the Dicks and Janes and Georginas and Julians. And with practice, wee babby Lavi had learned what mannerisms, what manner of speaking, what behaviour to show to make people sweet on him.
And boy, did people get sweet on him. There aren't that many well-spoken redhead orphan non-Annies. But his curious experimental behaviour didn't stop people from getting the creeps 'round him.
Which is why no one had adopted him when he was a baby or toddler, when he's been told it's either then or never.
(He's made his peace with it being never. Enid Blyton has an excellent series on studying at an all-girls' boarding school, and with childish confidence Lavi's sure he'll be excellent at lack-ross-sy. No one had known how to pronounced Lacrosse anyways.)
Until one day, this man with frazzled hair and frazzled demeanour had rolled into the orphanage, bearing gifts and food and money, having all the volunteers a-fawning and the kids either riled up or excited out of their minds.
The man hadn't brought books with him, so Lavi wasn't much bothered. The man did, however, wear glasses, and Lavi's under the impression that the act of wearing glasses in and of themselves made the bearer wiser, which is why he'd spent an inappropriate amount of time just staring enviously at them thick-framed glories.
The man had come up to him, looking mildly interested in the staring boy.
"And who are you, young man?"
Lavi's face is filled with a broad and brimming smile, but inside, the word that he'd say represents him is shoo-d (shrewd!?) and calculative.
"Lavi, mister. Who are you?"
"Call me Froi, young man." The man's thick glasses catch the light and they glint in a manner most merry. "How old might you be?"
Oh, all the prospective parents ask this. Lavi's a little small for his age, but everyone here's a little small for their age. He takes a large step backwards, and points at a door on the opposite side of this common area. "Cute babies 'nd toddling kids are through there, mister Four. 'm sure they'll be just as aodrable as y'could ever want 'em to be."
The man didn't look like a creep. More Matthew from Anne of Green Gables than Veruca's daddy in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. If he had brought books, Lavi would've seen his way clear to give a tour of the best of the babies. The ones that aren't fussy, the ones that don't get diaper rashes so easily, the ones that sleep through the night.
But c'est lavi (that's right, isn't it?) He carries on trying to wave the man off.
Instead, the man rests his hands on his waist and laughs.
Lavi had got his hand on a Kids' Bible with lots of pictures in it. Mister Four looks like Noah, but nicer.
"Oh, I think you're also just as adorable as I could ever want any child to be. Come, take me on a tour?"
He'd held out his hand, and Lavi had taken it.
It takes a while before he realises he's been Saved [with a cap'tal S.]
Year of the Angry Knee Rash.
Lavi is now a six-and-a-bit year old technically-orphan actually-adopted boy. It's been an exercise in repeated enlightenment, getting used to a lifestyle that was quite a lot more free and easy than the strictly-regimented going-ons at the orphanage.
He shouldn't have been as surprised as he had been to find out that mister Froi (he knows how to pronounce it now) had other, equally-adopted children. Mister Froi had three other boys pre-Lavi, though with the addition of Lavi he really has sortof become mister Four.
(He spent a good fifteen minutes congratulating himself for coming up with something so witty.)
This morning, he's packing his lunch into his bag, while being overseen by the youngest of his older brothers.
"Hurry up," Kanda snaps, standing to the side with Lavi's sunhat in his hands. It's high-summer, right on the cusp of happy holidays. They're also on the cusp of celebrating Lavi having been in the Tiedoll home for one whole year now. He's not convinced he's slid in well, though settling in hasn't been helped by the sheer variety of oddities that make up mister Froi's family.
Kanda's the angriest, bristliest one of the lot, but also the one closest to him in age. Kanda's twelve-years-old, so by the process of elimination (Kanda’s brothers are bigger and can run away from Tiedoll much, much faster) Kanda was assigned the task of being the one to look after the New Kid. Mister Froi had had to cry a considerable amount (much to Lavi’s amusement) to get the boy to agree to walk Lavi to pre-school.
Kanda had vehemently said no, then said no some more, until he finally relented. And when Kanda agrees to do something, he throws himself into it whole-heartedly. He stands guard like a vengeful angel, making sure Lavi sleeps when he’s supposed to, finishes his homework in time, and doesn’t rot his brain on mindless television.
Good thing Lavi thrives on knowledge. Sesame Street is considered Educational by Ye Mighty Kanda (who holds sway even over mister Froi, who should really be Chief Officer of this house), and as such Lavi’s now a master of the alphabet, numbers, and colours.
Bag packed, Lavi jams the hat on his head, waiting impatiently while Kanda ties an uncomfortably tight bow under his chin, trying to suppress the mad, wild red hair. In the beginning, Kanda had been merciful, tying it comfortably loose, but their current residence (mister Froi travels the world, and his children are frequently uprooted and moved far and wide. This is Lavi’s second home in just under a year) is high in the hills, and the walk to school is a blisteringly hot, blusteringly windy one. This is Lavi’s third hat, and while Froi takes hats-taking-flight with fond amusement, Kanda’s not at all amused that he now knows the head size of the little brother he’s never wanted.
“You better have everything.”
Lavi picks up his little square bag, aged leather creaking as the textbooks inside move. He’d been hoping that along with adoption came comparative wealth. He had dreamed of a thousand and one books each with a thousand and one pages, an extensive garden to read in, and a brand new glossy schoolbag made of plastic and slippery cloth, preferably with a giant picture of a cartoon character on the front. Instead he lives in genteel, good-natured almost-poverty. Everything bought is expensive and meant to last; this bag was Marie’s, and Lavi doesn’t like it because it doesn’t feel like his to keep. Not permanently, at least.
(Sometimes he feels like the old bag of this family. Not quite anyone’s to keep.)
At age almost seven, Lavi’s quite the deep thinker. Just as he doesn’t think he is allowed to love his schoolbag, he thinks he wouldn’t want any future little brother or sister laying claim to his Ladybird book collection.
“Everything.”
Kanda nods briskly, and holds out his hand.
Whatever else, no matter how brusquely he’s treated, Lavi’s learned to find trust in the sure grip of his little big brother.
Off to school, where all the children roam.
-
The Year We (Almost) Drowned in Your Majesty.
Swimming lessons had been Tiedoll’s idea, and while Lavi, now eight and a bit, has to concede that his decisions to adopt the sons he’s adopted have been good ones, for the most part the good-natured old man couldn’t really be trusted to do the smartest thing. Marie tried his best to be the voice of reason, but voices of reason lost some credibility when they had a penchant for confidently walking into walls whenever they forget their walking stick. Daisya, Daisya’s as quick to anger and aspire ever higher as Kanda is, and the two of them could drive each other to Hell and back without breaking eye contact.
Lavi understands the dynamics, sortof. As well as a child can, and he’s always been observant. He likes the old bespectacled French man, and since he’s never been good at making friends his own age, them often moving internationally suited him just fine. He was left to his own devices at school, always the odd one out, but he’s got a traveling caravan full of boisterous boys who (grudgingly or not) always wait around for his short legs to catch up.
So when Tiedoll suggests everyone should learn to swim, now that they’ve momentarily set up home at a pretty little beachfront house somewhere in the south of Thailand, Lavi’s more than happy to agree, eyeing the lapping waves with bright curiousity.
Marie’s voice, mentioning that perhaps they should start at a public pool and find a coach who could speak English, is drowned out by Daisya’s casual teasing that he’s sure Kanda’s petrified of the waves, the big pansy, and that, Lavi thinks as he pulls on his brightly-coloured swim shorts, is that.
-
They’d raced off for the beach, a wiry man with the healthiest tan Lavi’s ever seen in his short life yelling after them in broken words of English in amongst the sharp, swallowed sounds of his native Thai. Lavi knows some words; he’d read the travel magazine on the plane here, and while the flight had been days ago he remembers enough to say sorry properly. The man looks at him oddly, before shrugging and quickly wading into the water to grab Kanda and Daisya by their necks, shaking them like a displaced mother cat.
Lavi sits next to Marie, right where the surf meets the beach, enjoying the tinge of salt and the way whitewater breaks against his knees.
“Y’could take your stick swimming with you,” Lavi offers, watching Kanda look superior as Daisya swallows sea water.
Marie sounds really rather sad, and Lavi doesn’t really understand why (his imagination is still limited by his understanding of the world). “I really couldn’t.” He still makes a guess at where Lavi is by the sound of his voice, though, and musses his hair. “You should go have fun for me, Lavi.”
Ever the curious kid, Lavi goes to meet his fate, trying to swim towards where his brothers and their coach are.
And almost immediately swallows too much water while trying to stretch his body to look like the sleek lines of their instructor, going under the surface and feeling the salt sting his eyes as he thinks, someone distantly, that maybe he should’ve gone with the stick instead.
-
He comes to a while later, hot sand sticking to his back as he coughs and coughs and vomits sea water that burns his throat on its way up. In his watery eyeline, all he can see is pale blue sky and the much darker blue of Kanda’s eyes, all he can hear is the pounding of blood in his ears, and all he can feel is too cold for such good weather. Sound filters in a moment later, the quick chatter in Thai (what a good language to snap out commands in), the distant blaring of ambulances, probably.
What takes up most of his attention is Kanda screaming at him so angrily his unsteady voice keeps breaking mid-sentence, making him angrier still, because Lavi is such an idiot, how could you do that, is it really that empty under all the dumb red hair, what is wrong with you, seriously-
A bit more sea water gets hacked out, and Lavi presses a pudgy hand to Kanda’s mouth. “It’s okay.” Not very sure what words to use, Lavi decides to emulate Tiedoll’s surefire way to quiet Kanda up.
He kisses him, missing because his eyesight’s still bad, so mostly he hits chin. Good enough, and with trembling arms that betray how scary it had felt to go under where his face is as usual, Lavi hugs his littlest big brother tightly around the neck, body shaking. “’s okay.”
He doesn’t keep with the swimming lessons (it’s mostly okay).
-
Year of the Esophagal Cake.
Theoretically, Lavi is good with the cold.
Theoretically.
But at the end of the day, fair colouring and surprisingly strong shoulders don’t count for crap when you’re twelve and tend to believe that as long as you’ve got a warm scarf you’re dressed warmly enough for snow-covered mountain top play-time.
Lavi’s sick in a bed, running a fever that’s gone into marathon mode. It’s been four days, and he hasn’t really shown much improvement. The doctor came for a house visit, kicking snow off his snow shoes; everything’s ground to a halt with the major roads and train lines completely snowed under, and while the doctor’s recommendation was for Lavi to be hospitalized, seeing as how too-hot too-long fevers took a toll on the brain, right now there’s not a lot that could be done.
The man had been stern, nevertheless. If by day five Lavi’s temperature still doesn’t drop, call the hospital and figure out a way to get Lavi admitted, even if it comes down to strapping the boy to someone’s back and skiing the whole way downhill and into the city.
As it is, the fourth day is wrought with tension, as Tiedoll blames himself for picking somewhere so not conducive to the welfare of his children, all in pursuit of inspiration for his art. Marie’s blindness means he can’t see physically but he sees the stuff people tend to miss for faces and gestures, and spends much of the time asking Daisya to make everyone hot drinks as he reassures Tiedoll that it’s going to be okay, and that Lavi wouldn’t succumb to something as minor as a fever.
Lavi’s prone to agree, resting in his slightly damp futon at the centre of the living room so everyone can keep an eye on him. Go to heaven now? And leave Kanda alone? Perish the thought. Being a tolerated irritation in his littlest brother’s side is often what gives his life meaning. It certainly gives his life stability, what with Marie and Daisya nowadays often following Tiedoll to do his mysterious work, leaving Lavi in the cold but capable hands of Kanda, who is currently busy trying to pass as many types of pre-University exams the world has to offer as he can.
(There’s whispered talk of Kanda picking a country and settling down to study, where Daisya and Marie had both decided immediate entrance into the working world is what they desired. The reason the words are whispered is because no one’s completely sure which way Lavi will go, and it seems a terribly big decision for a still small kid to make).
His head aches, and the pounding is getting unbearable now that the formerly cool damp towel on his forehead is all dried up. Lavi’s about to cough and get the attention of Tiedoll, before there’s an almighty clatter and bang by the front door. He weakly rolls onto his side, to peer out into the entryway.
Kanda stares back, looking like he hasn’t just been caught sneaking out the house with sacks of rice tied to his back in a makeshift sling, skis under his arm. “What.”
Lavi’s too woozy to respond, but Daisya steps in pretty easily. “There’s a snowstorm outside! The hell do you think you’re going?”
How Kanda manages to do a delicate shrug with what must be 30, 40 kilos of rice weighing him down, only God knows. At least he has the decency to grunt quietly, rolling burdened shoulders. “Practice.” His eyes catch Lavi’s, and narrow in obvious displeasure at the current state of things. “I’ll be back by morning.”
The only thing that stops this damn-fool trial run of Kanda’s is having the other 3 fling themselves at him and taking him down, in amongst a riot of people shouting at Kanda not to be an idiot and Kanda shouting back that everyone else should be ashamed by how reluctant they are to do basic training.
Tiedoll tells Lavi later that he’d laughed so hard his fever broke, and the morning of the fifth day came with Lavi sitting somewhat messily at the low table for breakfast, beaming brighter than the sun at a Kanda who refuses to make eye contact with any bloody body.
----
Hacks up loads of phlegm. Later skaters c:
Things have turned out great for me, so great that I'm left terrified that I'll fuck it up and disturbed because I don't think I deserve it all. One day I'll sit down and write out developments. Today is not that day. So instead, have some Lavi grows up with Kanda fic that, like On High, might go on forever. I might've put this up before, but I added lots of new stuff. Hope everyone's been doing great, I'm going to bed to nurse this crap cold.
OR
Year of the Reclining Declining Ottoman.
Lavi's a five-year old child with the mind of a three-thousand year old vampire with several severe personality disorders. His parents may well have been even older vampires; there's no way to know. They'd died or disappeared or had their ashes thrown into the sea. Whatever it was, at age six months old wee babby Lavi was left on the doorstep of a run-down, genteel orphanage, where the people were kind but too harassed with the running of things to have much care to spare.
Good thing Lavi's so low-maintenance. The odd meal or so, and books. It'd been all he needed, and reading about the Dicks and Janes and Georginas and Julians. And with practice, wee babby Lavi had learned what mannerisms, what manner of speaking, what behaviour to show to make people sweet on him.
And boy, did people get sweet on him. There aren't that many well-spoken redhead orphan non-Annies. But his curious experimental behaviour didn't stop people from getting the creeps 'round him.
Which is why no one had adopted him when he was a baby or toddler, when he's been told it's either then or never.
(He's made his peace with it being never. Enid Blyton has an excellent series on studying at an all-girls' boarding school, and with childish confidence Lavi's sure he'll be excellent at lack-ross-sy. No one had known how to pronounced Lacrosse anyways.)
Until one day, this man with frazzled hair and frazzled demeanour had rolled into the orphanage, bearing gifts and food and money, having all the volunteers a-fawning and the kids either riled up or excited out of their minds.
The man hadn't brought books with him, so Lavi wasn't much bothered. The man did, however, wear glasses, and Lavi's under the impression that the act of wearing glasses in and of themselves made the bearer wiser, which is why he'd spent an inappropriate amount of time just staring enviously at them thick-framed glories.
The man had come up to him, looking mildly interested in the staring boy.
"And who are you, young man?"
Lavi's face is filled with a broad and brimming smile, but inside, the word that he'd say represents him is shoo-d (shrewd!?) and calculative.
"Lavi, mister. Who are you?"
"Call me Froi, young man." The man's thick glasses catch the light and they glint in a manner most merry. "How old might you be?"
Oh, all the prospective parents ask this. Lavi's a little small for his age, but everyone here's a little small for their age. He takes a large step backwards, and points at a door on the opposite side of this common area. "Cute babies 'nd toddling kids are through there, mister Four. 'm sure they'll be just as aodrable as y'could ever want 'em to be."
The man didn't look like a creep. More Matthew from Anne of Green Gables than Veruca's daddy in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. If he had brought books, Lavi would've seen his way clear to give a tour of the best of the babies. The ones that aren't fussy, the ones that don't get diaper rashes so easily, the ones that sleep through the night.
But c'est lavi (that's right, isn't it?) He carries on trying to wave the man off.
Instead, the man rests his hands on his waist and laughs.
Lavi had got his hand on a Kids' Bible with lots of pictures in it. Mister Four looks like Noah, but nicer.
"Oh, I think you're also just as adorable as I could ever want any child to be. Come, take me on a tour?"
He'd held out his hand, and Lavi had taken it.
It takes a while before he realises he's been Saved [with a cap'tal S.]
Year of the Angry Knee Rash.
Lavi is now a six-and-a-bit year old technically-orphan actually-adopted boy. It's been an exercise in repeated enlightenment, getting used to a lifestyle that was quite a lot more free and easy than the strictly-regimented going-ons at the orphanage.
He shouldn't have been as surprised as he had been to find out that mister Froi (he knows how to pronounce it now) had other, equally-adopted children. Mister Froi had three other boys pre-Lavi, though with the addition of Lavi he really has sortof become mister Four.
(He spent a good fifteen minutes congratulating himself for coming up with something so witty.)
This morning, he's packing his lunch into his bag, while being overseen by the youngest of his older brothers.
"Hurry up," Kanda snaps, standing to the side with Lavi's sunhat in his hands. It's high-summer, right on the cusp of happy holidays. They're also on the cusp of celebrating Lavi having been in the Tiedoll home for one whole year now. He's not convinced he's slid in well, though settling in hasn't been helped by the sheer variety of oddities that make up mister Froi's family.
Kanda's the angriest, bristliest one of the lot, but also the one closest to him in age. Kanda's twelve-years-old, so by the process of elimination (Kanda’s brothers are bigger and can run away from Tiedoll much, much faster) Kanda was assigned the task of being the one to look after the New Kid. Mister Froi had had to cry a considerable amount (much to Lavi’s amusement) to get the boy to agree to walk Lavi to pre-school.
Kanda had vehemently said no, then said no some more, until he finally relented. And when Kanda agrees to do something, he throws himself into it whole-heartedly. He stands guard like a vengeful angel, making sure Lavi sleeps when he’s supposed to, finishes his homework in time, and doesn’t rot his brain on mindless television.
Good thing Lavi thrives on knowledge. Sesame Street is considered Educational by Ye Mighty Kanda (who holds sway even over mister Froi, who should really be Chief Officer of this house), and as such Lavi’s now a master of the alphabet, numbers, and colours.
Bag packed, Lavi jams the hat on his head, waiting impatiently while Kanda ties an uncomfortably tight bow under his chin, trying to suppress the mad, wild red hair. In the beginning, Kanda had been merciful, tying it comfortably loose, but their current residence (mister Froi travels the world, and his children are frequently uprooted and moved far and wide. This is Lavi’s second home in just under a year) is high in the hills, and the walk to school is a blisteringly hot, blusteringly windy one. This is Lavi’s third hat, and while Froi takes hats-taking-flight with fond amusement, Kanda’s not at all amused that he now knows the head size of the little brother he’s never wanted.
“You better have everything.”
Lavi picks up his little square bag, aged leather creaking as the textbooks inside move. He’d been hoping that along with adoption came comparative wealth. He had dreamed of a thousand and one books each with a thousand and one pages, an extensive garden to read in, and a brand new glossy schoolbag made of plastic and slippery cloth, preferably with a giant picture of a cartoon character on the front. Instead he lives in genteel, good-natured almost-poverty. Everything bought is expensive and meant to last; this bag was Marie’s, and Lavi doesn’t like it because it doesn’t feel like his to keep. Not permanently, at least.
(Sometimes he feels like the old bag of this family. Not quite anyone’s to keep.)
At age almost seven, Lavi’s quite the deep thinker. Just as he doesn’t think he is allowed to love his schoolbag, he thinks he wouldn’t want any future little brother or sister laying claim to his Ladybird book collection.
“Everything.”
Kanda nods briskly, and holds out his hand.
Whatever else, no matter how brusquely he’s treated, Lavi’s learned to find trust in the sure grip of his little big brother.
Off to school, where all the children roam.
-
The Year We (Almost) Drowned in Your Majesty.
Swimming lessons had been Tiedoll’s idea, and while Lavi, now eight and a bit, has to concede that his decisions to adopt the sons he’s adopted have been good ones, for the most part the good-natured old man couldn’t really be trusted to do the smartest thing. Marie tried his best to be the voice of reason, but voices of reason lost some credibility when they had a penchant for confidently walking into walls whenever they forget their walking stick. Daisya, Daisya’s as quick to anger and aspire ever higher as Kanda is, and the two of them could drive each other to Hell and back without breaking eye contact.
Lavi understands the dynamics, sortof. As well as a child can, and he’s always been observant. He likes the old bespectacled French man, and since he’s never been good at making friends his own age, them often moving internationally suited him just fine. He was left to his own devices at school, always the odd one out, but he’s got a traveling caravan full of boisterous boys who (grudgingly or not) always wait around for his short legs to catch up.
So when Tiedoll suggests everyone should learn to swim, now that they’ve momentarily set up home at a pretty little beachfront house somewhere in the south of Thailand, Lavi’s more than happy to agree, eyeing the lapping waves with bright curiousity.
Marie’s voice, mentioning that perhaps they should start at a public pool and find a coach who could speak English, is drowned out by Daisya’s casual teasing that he’s sure Kanda’s petrified of the waves, the big pansy, and that, Lavi thinks as he pulls on his brightly-coloured swim shorts, is that.
-
They’d raced off for the beach, a wiry man with the healthiest tan Lavi’s ever seen in his short life yelling after them in broken words of English in amongst the sharp, swallowed sounds of his native Thai. Lavi knows some words; he’d read the travel magazine on the plane here, and while the flight had been days ago he remembers enough to say sorry properly. The man looks at him oddly, before shrugging and quickly wading into the water to grab Kanda and Daisya by their necks, shaking them like a displaced mother cat.
Lavi sits next to Marie, right where the surf meets the beach, enjoying the tinge of salt and the way whitewater breaks against his knees.
“Y’could take your stick swimming with you,” Lavi offers, watching Kanda look superior as Daisya swallows sea water.
Marie sounds really rather sad, and Lavi doesn’t really understand why (his imagination is still limited by his understanding of the world). “I really couldn’t.” He still makes a guess at where Lavi is by the sound of his voice, though, and musses his hair. “You should go have fun for me, Lavi.”
Ever the curious kid, Lavi goes to meet his fate, trying to swim towards where his brothers and their coach are.
And almost immediately swallows too much water while trying to stretch his body to look like the sleek lines of their instructor, going under the surface and feeling the salt sting his eyes as he thinks, someone distantly, that maybe he should’ve gone with the stick instead.
-
He comes to a while later, hot sand sticking to his back as he coughs and coughs and vomits sea water that burns his throat on its way up. In his watery eyeline, all he can see is pale blue sky and the much darker blue of Kanda’s eyes, all he can hear is the pounding of blood in his ears, and all he can feel is too cold for such good weather. Sound filters in a moment later, the quick chatter in Thai (what a good language to snap out commands in), the distant blaring of ambulances, probably.
What takes up most of his attention is Kanda screaming at him so angrily his unsteady voice keeps breaking mid-sentence, making him angrier still, because Lavi is such an idiot, how could you do that, is it really that empty under all the dumb red hair, what is wrong with you, seriously-
A bit more sea water gets hacked out, and Lavi presses a pudgy hand to Kanda’s mouth. “It’s okay.” Not very sure what words to use, Lavi decides to emulate Tiedoll’s surefire way to quiet Kanda up.
He kisses him, missing because his eyesight’s still bad, so mostly he hits chin. Good enough, and with trembling arms that betray how scary it had felt to go under where his face is as usual, Lavi hugs his littlest big brother tightly around the neck, body shaking. “’s okay.”
He doesn’t keep with the swimming lessons (it’s mostly okay).
-
Year of the Esophagal Cake.
Theoretically, Lavi is good with the cold.
Theoretically.
But at the end of the day, fair colouring and surprisingly strong shoulders don’t count for crap when you’re twelve and tend to believe that as long as you’ve got a warm scarf you’re dressed warmly enough for snow-covered mountain top play-time.
Lavi’s sick in a bed, running a fever that’s gone into marathon mode. It’s been four days, and he hasn’t really shown much improvement. The doctor came for a house visit, kicking snow off his snow shoes; everything’s ground to a halt with the major roads and train lines completely snowed under, and while the doctor’s recommendation was for Lavi to be hospitalized, seeing as how too-hot too-long fevers took a toll on the brain, right now there’s not a lot that could be done.
The man had been stern, nevertheless. If by day five Lavi’s temperature still doesn’t drop, call the hospital and figure out a way to get Lavi admitted, even if it comes down to strapping the boy to someone’s back and skiing the whole way downhill and into the city.
As it is, the fourth day is wrought with tension, as Tiedoll blames himself for picking somewhere so not conducive to the welfare of his children, all in pursuit of inspiration for his art. Marie’s blindness means he can’t see physically but he sees the stuff people tend to miss for faces and gestures, and spends much of the time asking Daisya to make everyone hot drinks as he reassures Tiedoll that it’s going to be okay, and that Lavi wouldn’t succumb to something as minor as a fever.
Lavi’s prone to agree, resting in his slightly damp futon at the centre of the living room so everyone can keep an eye on him. Go to heaven now? And leave Kanda alone? Perish the thought. Being a tolerated irritation in his littlest brother’s side is often what gives his life meaning. It certainly gives his life stability, what with Marie and Daisya nowadays often following Tiedoll to do his mysterious work, leaving Lavi in the cold but capable hands of Kanda, who is currently busy trying to pass as many types of pre-University exams the world has to offer as he can.
(There’s whispered talk of Kanda picking a country and settling down to study, where Daisya and Marie had both decided immediate entrance into the working world is what they desired. The reason the words are whispered is because no one’s completely sure which way Lavi will go, and it seems a terribly big decision for a still small kid to make).
His head aches, and the pounding is getting unbearable now that the formerly cool damp towel on his forehead is all dried up. Lavi’s about to cough and get the attention of Tiedoll, before there’s an almighty clatter and bang by the front door. He weakly rolls onto his side, to peer out into the entryway.
Kanda stares back, looking like he hasn’t just been caught sneaking out the house with sacks of rice tied to his back in a makeshift sling, skis under his arm. “What.”
Lavi’s too woozy to respond, but Daisya steps in pretty easily. “There’s a snowstorm outside! The hell do you think you’re going?”
How Kanda manages to do a delicate shrug with what must be 30, 40 kilos of rice weighing him down, only God knows. At least he has the decency to grunt quietly, rolling burdened shoulders. “Practice.” His eyes catch Lavi’s, and narrow in obvious displeasure at the current state of things. “I’ll be back by morning.”
The only thing that stops this damn-fool trial run of Kanda’s is having the other 3 fling themselves at him and taking him down, in amongst a riot of people shouting at Kanda not to be an idiot and Kanda shouting back that everyone else should be ashamed by how reluctant they are to do basic training.
Tiedoll tells Lavi later that he’d laughed so hard his fever broke, and the morning of the fifth day came with Lavi sitting somewhat messily at the low table for breakfast, beaming brighter than the sun at a Kanda who refuses to make eye contact with any bloody body.
----
Hacks up loads of phlegm. Later skaters c:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-21 04:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-21 10:49 pm (UTC)Saving the fic to read later because I'm hoping to leave work at a decent hour when I can still see the ice under my feet tonight, but I'm sure it'll be fabulous =) Take care and hope your cold goes away soon!
(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-22 03:43 pm (UTC)This was the original version of what I did for your prompt, before the ninjas ran away with me. What ice under feet?! And three days of plentiful bed rest later, and I'm as good as ever. Take care of yourself too!
(no subject)
Date: 2014-02-26 05:01 pm (UTC)EEEEEEEE!!! OMG the new skiing section is amazing =DDD So much grumpy adorableness and everyone jumping on top of Kanda and Kanda not being able to look anyone in the eye the next day =DDD And lol at Kanda and Daisya vs Marie and common sense and swimming lessons. I love Team Tiedoll shenanigans, and li'l Lavi makes them even better <3
It finally warmed up enough to thaw some of the giant piles of snow that have been lying around, but not enough to melt all of it. So everything froze over again, and got covered in a layer of ice :p It's supposed to get cold(er) again in a few days, which at this point I wouldn't really mind if it would also snow enough to cover the ice again so I can walk around without slipping :p Glad you are feeling better! Hope you've had some time to do some fun things now that the whole application stress busy-ness is hopefully done with <3
(no subject)
Date: 2014-03-03 09:21 am (UTC)Thanks a lot >w
(no subject)
Date: 2014-03-05 01:05 am (UTC)*hug!squishes again, just because <3*