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dgray_man2009-10-04 12:45 am
liamlane.livejournal.com) wrote in dgray_man2009-10-04 12:45 am
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Information Please(1/2)
Okai. First time posting here. Hope I'm allowed to do this? If not, I fail hard. :D btw, part one of two because Lj didn't like my writing or me trying to post things over 10k words D;
Title: Information Please
Fandom: D. Gray-man
Characters: Allen Walker and Lavi/Deak.
Rating: K+? T?
Word Count: Full story is around 10k. This part is 7k words or so :D
Information Please.
There’s a scarily harsh fact about life.
Life isn’t a love story. It’s not a fairytale where the princess and the prince end up together. It’s not one of those “successful” tales of love you see on the commercials for those matchmaker places. It’s not even a shoujo manga of some sort. It’s far from any of those.
I know life isn’t perfect. But, for a while, Allen made me wish it was.
------
I rubbed the dark ink stain on my desk, a dull numbness spreading through my waist down from sitting so long. My fingers began to drum an irregular rhythm as my eye slid to look at the clock on the wall.
Four-fifteen a.m.
Groaning, I resisted running a hand through my hair. Only two more hours til my shift ended.
I leaned back in the creaky leather chair of my cubicle, with my head tilted back and stared at the ceiling. Right then, there were many things I regretted in life. Like remembering that I had left my faucet on at the apartment. Or maybe neglecting to wear a sweater when it was freezing cold in the office. And most importantly, right then, I loathed and regretted my decision to take the ten-hour night-shift at this job.
It’s not like I regretted everything about this job, ’cause the pay was pretty good. But it wasn’t the best job, in terms of excitement-levels.
I remembered watching a movie where people were running around like busy little ants, picking up phones and getting tangled in the phone wires because of all the havoc. I was almost excited to take up this job, since I thought it would probably be like non-stop work. Talking on the phone and relaying information and blahblah. Well, okay. I was as excited at the idea of being a phone operator as one could be.
I know my dreams of operating a phone for ten hours seemed like (ridiculous) fun, but sad to say, it was a bit disappointin‘.
Or, at least, where I worked. Information Headquarters. That’s what it was called. I wasn’t particularily fond of the name, but heck. S’a name. They were all the same to me.
And it’s not like I minded desk work. I disliked it as much as the next guy, but I almost grew up in a library, so I was used to sitting at a desk. (Complete with the dull numbness, of course.)
Homebase, as the workers liked to call it, was laid back. Yeah, everyone did their job and sometimes we had to do a little overtime, like any normal workplace. All due to the massive rush of calls on holidays. People askin’ for restaurants, hotels, reservations and all that jazz. But, it kind of reminded me of school. There was something different every day. A new caller-- or a new chapter in the textbook, if we‘re using the school-scenario. It was different, but it meshed with everyday life and fell into a repetitive circle. I’m not sure I can completely explain the feeling.
We were an information network. It was probably obvious, considering the name, but you wouldn’t believe the dolts in this world.
I could have told at least seventy stories about the idiotic questions I’ve received from people. But, you know. Work policy. (Gotta be kind to the customers, an’ all.)
Anyway, it was around four in the morning, and I didn’t really expect anyone to call. I might’ve fallen asleep for a second. Might’ve.
Might’ve, being the key word because at that certain moment, my line went off.
I jolted upright, nearly knocking over the mug of cold coffee on my desk. There was a flickerin’ green button on the phone, and I glared at it scathingly. (It was shaking in fear of me, I swear.)
I was a bit surprised though, not at the sudden noise, but at the fact someone was calling now. I only received calls from people in this area, and it was rare for me to get one this early in the morning. The people in the town of Martel liked their sleep.
Which is why I was cautious in picking up the phone, cradling it in the nook of my shoulder.
“Information please.” It was a young voice. A boy, I assumed. He was probably around fifteen, sixteen? Seventeen at the most. I couldn’t really tell.
“Information,” I said. Right about now, the person on the other line would probably:
A) Directly ask me what they wanted, apparently trying to get off the line as quickly as possible.
B) Stutter. (which made it really hard for me to interpret what they were saying.)
C) Attempt to make a conversation with me.
The people that tried to make a conversation with me were funny. Not in the charming-funny way. In the so-funny-I’d-like-to-send-you-to-the-funny-farm, kind of funny. If that made any sense.
But these people would always be either smooth talkers, or overly cheerful people. Either way, they somehow managed to sew their personal lives with their question for me. And by the time I answered, it was like, “Okaythankyoubye!” as if they hadn’t poured half their life story to me. Maybe I’m just ranting. (But hey! They got charged by the minute, not me. So it isn’t my problem, eh?)
The voice on the other paused for a minute, and oh God. I thought I had myself another stutterer. I rolled my eye and waited for his jumbled mess of a request.
“Stupid boy! Ask the man where the nearest bar is!” A deeper voice, farther away from the phone, drawled.
The boy on the line sighed, “No, Master. We have to find the motel. It’s four in the morning.”
Their voices went away from the phone from a second, and I could hear slight bickering. Or, I heard the deeper voice mutter things and the younger one’s voice rise in indignation, at least. If they hadn’t woken me up, or prevented me from taking a nap, I might’ve found this more amusing.
“Sir?” I said, shifting the phone into my hand.
There was a rustling noise, and the older man grabbed the phone, “Where’s the nearest ba--”
“Master!” More rustling.
“Um, sir?” I said again.
The noise stopped, “Ah-ha! Sorry! Sorry!”
“It’s alright, sir.”
“Allen. My name is Allen.”
“Excuse me?” Allen? Did this boy just seriously give me his name?
“Oh, my name. Uh, sorry. Reflex. Ah-ha-ha.” He laughed awkwardly, and in the background I heard a faint, “Stupid boy.”
I almost smirked, “It’s alright, sir. So, what can I help you with?” On with the point, on with the point.
“The nearest bar-”
“We need the directions to the Nalei Motel.” I gave into the smirk. It sounded like the boy was having a hard time on the other side.
“Well, Allen, give me a quick second.” The smirk grew as I heard an awkward cough on his end. Placin’ the phone back in the crook of my neck, I typed in ‘Nalei Motel.’
-----
I realized that if I stared at my hand under my desk light long enough, it changed colors. Trippy, very trippy.
-----
Four a.m.
I stared at the clock, trying to see if I could develop Jedi-like powers that gave me the ability to make time go faster. Then again, I didn’t know if Jedi’s could even control time. I’d have to ask Johnny, the resident Star War’s fan, about that. Or was it Star Trek? Trekkie? Wookies? Cookies? Pooky? Garfield?
I should stop trusting Lenalee’s coffee. It was makin’ me loony. I swirled the light chocolate brown liquid in a cup. Surprisingly, it had already gone cold. Her coffee tended to do that. I had always wondered why, but I don’t really know if I wanted to know.
Maybe it wasn’t her coffee. Maybe after spending all this time in this little cubicle in the back has finally driven me crazy. It wouldn’t be surprising.
I considered making paper airplanes out of post-it’s to pass the time when the phone rang. I shot a look at my unused headphone in the corner. I should really start using those someday. I picked up the phone and held it to my ear.
“Information please.” I had lifted the cold coffee to my mouth to take a sip when my ears quirked at the familiar voice.
“Hey! You‘re that Allen gu-- I mean, Information.”
Apparently he recognized me too, “Oh! It’s you again! Hello.” Something about him was a bit too polite for me. I bit my tongue in mild apprehension as I pictured him as a perfect gentleman. Last time I met one of those, I was swindled out of my clothes and my cash in a game of poker. And I thought he was pretty cool to begin with! Mikk or something or other. I don’t remember.
“Hello to you too,” I politely answered back with a tone that might have sounded mocking to some, “How may I help you, sir?”
“I know this is weird, but I’ve got this thing about being called anything other than my real name. Just call me Allen.” It was blunt, and said in one breath.
I found it to be such a weird statement I almost laughed into the phone, “But sir, our conversation might not last long enough for me to use your name in such a personal manner.”
“With a Master like mine,” there was a hint of frustration, “you’ll be hearing from me a lot. And expect weird questions.” His voice lifted a bit, as if he was smilin’ on his side.
“Well okay then, Allen,” I chuckled. Okay, ignore my gentleman comment earlier. He didn’t sound too bad. Over the top polite, maybe. But then again, I’m over the top polite to most of my customers. (Made me kind of a hypocrite, didn’t it?)
“So, uh. Back to my earlier question?”
“Go for it,” I said, slowly twirling the cord around my index finger.
----
There was a soda machine on the third floor of Home. It was broken. It stole my dollar fifty and I felt displeased. Especially since I had been having cravings for Dr. Pepper.
----
It was the sixth time he’d called me. The phone rang shortly after four-thirty a.m. this time, and I admit to being a little worried earlier. Usually, Allen called around or before four. Then again, he’d only called five other times and I wondered if I was getting too used to his calls. Or maybe I was getting used to him.
Allen had a cheerful personality. I mean, not as cheerful as I could be around my friends, but he was a nice guy. He sort of reminded me of a light. Not to be cheesily poetic or somethin’ crappy like that.
He was just the kind of guy that was always optimistic, even if he had short down moments. (Mostly caused by his Master, which I found both amusing and pitiful-ish.) Always lookin’ at the brightside, and walking on. I guess it’s weird how I learned all this after just five phone calls, but I’m usually good at tellin’ what people are like. It’s been a little gift’a mine. And Allen was just that likeable.
“Information please?”
“Yo’ Allen.” I drawled, hiding the small tinge of relief I was feeling.
“Hey,” he sounded tired, “Can you tell me where I can buy seventy bouquets of cheap, but nice roses?”
I blinked.
“Your Master is a busy man.”
“Yes. Yes he is.”
-----
I used to wonder why, just why there was no one sitting in the cubicles around me. We had such a huge building for Base, but it was strangely easy for a person to get lost. Not that I ever got lost. I memorized my route long ago.
-----
I picked up the phone, sighing softly ‘cause my daydream about me ruling the world with flying pigs that shot soba noodles out of their hooves was cut short.
“Information please?” Immediately my mood lifted. It was Allen!
And then I paused in my thoughts, wondering if I had really just mentally jumped like a freakin’ puppy at hearing his voice. Maybe I did. That couldn’t be good. I waved that thought away with a shake of my head.
“Information. Hey dude,” I said.
“I’m bored.”
“Excuse me?”
“Entertain me?”
I stared at a random spot on the wall. Did Allen just call me because he was bored? I couldn’t help but think he treated this as if he were just calling my cellphone or something instead of a place that charged by the minute.
“Uh, you do know that we charge by the minute, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. I know.” he sighed.
I pressed my lips together, wondering what to say.
“Meaning you have.. to pay… with money?” I said the sentence slowly, and I distantly wondered if Allen was drunk or something.
“I know I have to pay,” he snorted, as if I was being an idiot, “but I’ve already got a good paying job at the moment. I think I can stay on the phone a little longer than five minutes.”
I laughed at that, “Well, sure. Whatever floats your boat, dude.”
“Yeah. Well?”
“Well? Well what? Do you need me to remind you that,” I looked at the nearest clock, “it’s actually a little half past four thirty in the morning? Normal people should be sleeping, and if you’re that bored, you could be too.”
“I can’t sleep. I work at night. But that’s not important. I’m still really bored.”
I rolled my eyes, forgetting as many people do, that we were talking on the phone and he could not actually see the action. Not that I cared, “Okay then. I have a question for ya.”
“Hm?”
“Why’d ya say, “Information Please” if you’re not even gonna ask me anythin’?”
Allen didn’t say anything for a second or so, “I guess..”
“I guess…?” I urged him on.
“I guess it’s because it’s kind of become a habit for me.”
I cocked an eyebrow, “Habit? How so?”
He spent another second, “…I think it’s because when I say it, you immediately know it’s me.”
“Really?” I blinked in surprise.
Allen laughed, “Yeah. It’s like our little secret code!”
I laughed with him, “Secret code? Are we both gonna have codenames an’ stuff? What are ya? Five? Then again, you are a kid.”
“I am not! I just like secret codes and stuff. My dad used to teach me them when I was younger.”
“Ain’t that cute!” I crooned into the receiver. Allen snapped back, obviously displeased at my teasing. I smiled again, ‘cause even if I did make fun of him for saying it in the first place, I was a fan of codes too. And I really did think it made Allen cute, in a way.
------
There was a dartboard on the left wall of my cubicle. I used to play it while waiting for someone to call. There was one time when Allen called me and I was about to throw it. The shrill beep shocked me, and I threw the dart. There was a hole in the cubicle wall because of it.
------
I decided I fucking loved Allen.
His Brit-ness, of course.
After the first time he said, “bloody” while talking to me, of course. And then I forced him to say other things, and I laughed.
“It’s not that noticeable!” he said, annoyed by my constant laughter.
I grinned into the phone, “It’s not that noticeable. But when ya really listen, you can hear it!” It was true.
“I lived in England for most of my childhood. It’s not my fault!”
I laughed, “Never said it was a bad thing. I love your Brit-ness.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I knew he was smiling.
------
There was something weird about office chairs. I leaned back and forth in mine. It made squeaky noises.
------
“What’s the best movie right now?” Allen asked me, his voice using the same tone he’d always ask when it was related to his Master’s ridiculous requests and demands. However, this one wasn’t as bad. It was two tickets to the best movie at the movie theater.
“Uh, do ya want my personal opinion or like, the box office’s?”
“Box Office. Somehow, I don’t really know if I trust your taste in movies.”
What? Did he just diss my taste in movies? That was a no-no, Allen. You don’t diss a The Outsiders fan. I’d protect Dally and Ponyboy and Sodapop with my fuckin’ life, thank you very much, “Um, ‘scuse me but I’ve got pretty damn awesome taste in movies.”
“I know, I know.” Hpmh. Allen was trying to calm me down. Fine. I’ll avenge Johnny another day! I typed in the theater website, and scrolled their releases.
“Apparently “Love in the Locker Rooms” is a good movie.” I read the title, and stared at the picture. It was of a two young guys, probably in their senior years of highschool. They had their arm’s wrapped around eachother and for some reason I felt like the movie was probably some erotic gay fratboy movie.
“Sounds like gay pornography, for some reason.” Allen said, after a moment of thought.
“That’s what I thought!”
------
I vaguely wondered what life was like on the moon. It was all very profound til I started wondering about how hard it’d be to play Jacks in your spaceship. Then I gave up, and took a nap.
------
I was not in a good mood.
Grumpily seated at my desk, I continued to fume, and I felt like I could probably killed the next person to walk past my cubicle, or the first person to call me, asking me where fuckin‘ Burger King was.
My evil Gramps was in town, and he was staying at my house. I mean, I love my Gramps since he’s well, my Gramps. But we had this violent love-hate relationship. And it was violent. He’d get on my case about throwin’ away my talent or whatever in a place like HQ, and that I should quit this deadbeat job and do something with my life. And then he’d kick me in the face. Also, he intruded without calling me in the first place! I wasn’t even expectin’ him to come, but around noon, while I was sleepin’ since I actually do sleep unlike Allen, apparently. He picks my fuckin’ lock and then throws his suitcase on me, barkin’ some angry, senile babble about how I have a horrible security system. Then he kicks my out of my bed, tellin’ me to stop being lazy and go to work so he could get some fuckin’ sleep. When I said it was my bed, he fuckin’ kicked me in the face! And did I mention it was violent? Did I mention he was violent? No? I haven’t? Well then.
My Gramps is a violent ass.
I rubbed the sore spot on my cheek, still pissed off about his sudden appearance and abuse of my face when my line rang.
“Information please?”
“Hey.” I grouchily said.
“That’s a warm welcome,” Allen sarcastically remarked, “What’s wrong?”
I reached up and ruffled my hair, “S’nothing.”
“Oh really?” I could clearly tell Allen didn’t believe me at all, “Tell Dr. Allen all your problems. He can help for only a small fee of--.. Okay. I’m sorry.” he stopped mid-joke, realizing that it wouldn’t help my mood at all. I guess I was kind of thankful for it.
I grunted, still not in a very sociable mood.
“Oh come on. Cheer up. It can’t be that bad.” Allen said soothingly. It still wasn’t helping.
“Yeah. It is that bad, Allen. My Gramps is in town.” I groaned and placed my face in my palm, being cautious of the sore cheek. I found it funny that even though I was acting grumpy to Allen, I was still talking to him. If anyone asked, I could have probably said something like, “For the sake of my job” or something like that, but I knew it wasn’t. I supposed I just wanted to rant to Allen. (it was a highly possible idea.)
“Your Grandfather?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re afraid of him?”
That made me sound wimpy. I growled in my own defense, “Hey! Gramps ain’t a normal gramp. He’s like.. violent and grumpy twenty-four-seven! And did I mention he’s violent? He kicked me in my fuckin’ face!”
“Your… face?”
“My face.” I repeated, nodding once more to the Allen that couldn’t see it.
Allen promptly broke out laughing, which displeased me greatly.
------
I don’t mind kittens, but I’m more of a dog person. But both can be fluffy, so it didn’t matter much to me.
------
Somehow, I had been expecting the caller to be Allen.
“Information please?”
“You again?” I joked.
He made a hmph-noise on the other side, making me I smile as he said, “Well, excuse me for making you do your job.”
My smile grew into a full-blown grin, and I cooed into the phone, “You just like the sound of my voice, don’t you?”
Allen sputtered, and I could almost see a blush on his face, “What? No! Stop being an idiot!”
Laughing, I traced little imaginary circles on my desk. I abso-fucking-lutely loved makin’ Allen all riled up. It was like, my new hobby. I mused to myself that I should somehow make it an Olympic sport. It’d be a fun sport, indeed. It was just the way that he got all flustered brought me so much amusement, I just couldn’t help myself.
Sometimes, I wondered if this is what big brother’s felt when they were teasing their little brothers, but something in the back of my mind told me that I’d be lyin’ through my teeth if I tried to believe that. (However, I do admit that maybe some brothers enjoyed teasing their younger brothers, I thought my brand of teasing to be different. Different how? I don’t know.)
“Just kiddin’ with ya.” I said.
“Hmph,” There it was again. That little flustered ‘hmph’ noise that never failed to make me smile. (I also vaguely wondered if this made me like, some kind of level one sadist.)
“So, whatcha callin’ me for, Ahhhh-llen?” I drew out the ‘A’ in his name for fun.
“Huh? Oh! Right! Master wants me to find him the nearest Indian mixed with Chinese and a splash of Jamaican cuisine buffet.” Allen obviously thought that this was an incredibly stupid request, and was not afraid to voice it so to me.
“Uh, I’ll loo-”
“I mean, really! Where in the bloody world will you find a place like that? I’ll be relieved if we only have to drive within the next few states to find him somewhere like that! Goodness! The nerve of him!”
I heard a sigh, and I I felt one side of my mouth tilt up sympathetically, “Aw, don’be like that, Allen. I mean, sure. It might be hard for ya to actually find a place like that,” I placed my hands on the keys and started typing in what he was looking for, “but y’know. When ya find it, I bet the food’ll taste freakin’ amazi--..” I stopped and stared at the screen.
“Eh?”
“Allen. Did you know there actually is a place like that? Within the city?” My eyebrows were raised so high, I think I might have shifted my eyepatch out of place. I adjusted it absentmindedly as Allen spoke.
“..Are you serious?”
“Fo’ cereal, babes.” I said, acting like a a girl that worked at a diner with way too much make-up on and was busy fixing her hair. (Hair, eyepatch. No big difference, right?)
“Two things. One, that’s almost a miracle.” He paused and I waited.
“Two..?”
“Two, never speak like that again. Please.”
-----
Sometimes I hated having an eyepatch on one eye. You know those windows that open inwards? I walked into one of those on my right side because I didn’t notice it. It hurt.
-----
Allen had me on speakerphone, and I heard the dull thump as his head hit the table.
“Whoa, don’t hurt yourself there, buddy.” I said, the phone taking it’s usual home in the crook of my neck as I doodled lazer-firing stick figures all over post-it notes.
He made an unintelligable noise, and I raised an eyebrow, “What the heck was that?”
“mphms famphbi mphm mph.” I stopped doodling.
“I don’t speak your language, sorry. Would you like me to direct you to another language speaking operator?” I took on a an obviously fake, cheery voice.
“Blah! Dude!” Apparently, Allen’s head resurfaced from whatever table-top it had burried itself in. Huzzah!
“Master and his dumb cravings. I swear, that man will be the death of me.” Allen whined.
I flicked the phone receiver, making a high-pitched twap! noise, “Ahh-llen!”
“I know, I know.” I grinned ‘cause I could literally hear him scowling, “Don’t say things like that.” He mimicked in a very unattractive version of my voice.
“That’s a good boy. Respect ya elders.”
“But he wants me to make him homemade wasabi. Wasabi! Can you believe it?” I instantly felt my stomach lurch.
An involuntary ew noise came from my mouth, “Ew. Wasabi.”
“Huh?” Allen’s voice seemed interested, and I imagined him to be sitting up straight now, “You dislike wasabi?”
“Dude. Allen. It’s a mixture of horseradish powder and pure evil.”
Allen was silent, but he was probably ‘wtf-ing’ or somethin’ along those lines.
“Oh, Yuu. You’re so mean for telling me that wasabi was green pudding..” I unconsciously mumbled.
“You hate me?” his voice was confused.
Oops, did I say that out loud? “What? Oh. No. Not you. Yuu.”
“…me?”
…Geez. I hated explaining this. It was always my nightmare. It’s like what my English teacher would say about her English nightmare. Their. They’re. There. Augh. Oh well, might as well tell the story. (I actually enjoy telling stories. This one… not so much.)
“No, no,” I said, “I have a friend named Yuu. Y-U-U. Kanda Yuu, actually.”
“Ohh,” Allen said, understanding in his voice.
I nodded before stoppin’ myself after realizing Allen wouldn’t see it anyway, “So yeah. I was hanging around Yuu for a while, and I think he was getting annoyed with me. Oh, you-- Y-O-U, wouldn’t believe it, Allen. Yuu is such a hothead, but I love ‘im, y’know?”
“Err. Yes?”
“..Well yeah. So like, I was hangin’ with him when he went to get lunch. We were in highschool, and we went off campus. Or Yuu went off campus and I followed him. He ended up goin’ to this Japanese restaurant. Very posh, very posh.”
Allen mhm’ed into the phone.
“So I was sittin’ there and lookin’ at everything and askin’ him what all the writing on the pages said. I’ve studied a little Japanese here and there, but mostly just the Hiragana and that other one.. What’s it called..” I tapped my chin, trying to remember.
“Katakana?” he offered.
“Yeah! That’s it. Katakana.”
“I hope you know that you are sitting in front of a computer. And with a few quick keystrokes you could have probably found it out, right?” Ouchburnsizzle. I winced. To some, it would have sounded like he was being nice, extremely nice. I knew better. There was this eviller side to Allen, once you got past his extreme manners and all.
“Well, yeah, but,” I wondered about all the weird wisdoms my gramps had told me when I used to work at his place during summer, “It’s better to learn from those you know than from someone you don’t.” That was actually a load of philosophical BS I made up on the spot in my head, but I hoped I made it believable enough to fool Alle--
“You made that up, didn’t you?”
Caught!
“…no.” I meeped.
“Right.” Allen totally didn’t believe me. Plan failed! Abort! Abort!
“And I hope you know that I am sitting in front of my own laptop. It wasn’t hard to google it.”
“Aw, Allen. You really know how to kick a guy when he’s down.” I pouted. I know Allen couldn’t see me, but sometimes you just start forgetting you’re on the phone and end up doin’ stuff anyway.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving me off with his words, “So, the wasabi story?”
“Oh yeah! I trailed off--”
“Yep.”
“You make it sound like I always do.”
“You do.”
“Mean! Well, anyway. So I was askin’ Yuu about all the squiggly lines and kanji things I didn’t remember, and he finally snaps on me. He calls me a rabbit and tells me to leave him alone, in cruder terms, but you get the point. Wouldn’t wanna defile your pure, young ears!”
“I’m not that young!”
“Kid. I’m like, 22. You’re young to me.”
“That’s only a few years and don’t call me ‘kid’.”
“Whatever you say, kid,” He squeaked. Or it was a kind of mini-growl, “but yeah. So then Yuu whacks me over the head with this sword he carries around--”
Allen’s tone rose, “A sword?”
“Yeah. It’s like Yuu’s baby. He calls it Mugen.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Well duh, “ I said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it kinda was at the moment, “but he keeps it sheathed. So anyways, he whacks me over the head and makes me sit down because I’m scaring the waitresses by hittin‘ on them,” Allen sniggered at this, “and pushes a bowl of green stuff in front of me.”
“Oh wow.” Allen sucked in air, sounding like he was trying not to laugh at this point. I wasn’t sure whether to smile because I was making him laugh or whine because he was laughing at my suffering.
“And he tells me that it’s green pudding.”
He broke out laughing.
“Oh-oh my God.”
“Hey! Don’t laugh!” I grinned anyway.
“Not my fault you thought wasabi was green pudding.”
“He said it was pudding!”
“And you believed him?” Allen’s laughter was growing, and I decided I liked his laugh. I liked it a lot.
----
I remember when I learned Allen had a kitten named Timcanpy.
“Hey, do you know where there’s a Petco or something like that?”
I paused in my seat, pen held in the air above the crossword of a Sunday newspaper, “Uh, nope.”
“What do you mean nope?”
“Meaning I don’t know where Petco is. Sorry Allen.” Did Allen think I was a directory or something? Psh. I don’t know where everything is.
Allen sounded like he was prepared to send me to a looney bin, “You work at an information network and you still don’t know where Petco is? You have a computer in front of you and you still don‘t know where Petco is? You have a huge database of information and you still don‘t know where Petco is?”
Oh crap. He’s right. I did work at one of those. I had that. And that. “Oops.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“It momentarily slipped my mind!”
----
I realized if I had pink font in Microsoft Word and then highlighted it with my cursor, it would turn black and green like the Matrix. I was highly amused for a total of five minutes until someone called, asking where the nearest hospital was.
----
“Quickest way to get over a hangover?” Allen groaned.
I cocked an eyebrow, “You have a hangover? Dude. Aren’t ya like, younger than me? Isn’t that illegal?”
“It’s for my--”
“For what? I swear Allen. If I have to bail you out of jail for underaged drinking or something I will never let you forget it.”
“Oh please. I don’t drink.”
“Drugs? Good Lord Allen! What happened to the pure boy I talked to on the phone long ago!?” I sighed dramatically. Of course, I’d done my share of illegal drugs and alcohol as a teenager. It wasn’t that abnormal, but if Allen was doing them… Well, it’s not like I’d try to stop him. It’s just I wouldn’t have expected someone like him to have dabbled in thing’s like it.
“No! Not drugs, idiot.”
“That’s mean!”
“Not my fault. And it’s for my Master.”
I ooh-ed in understanding, “Surprises me that you haven’t called me about this before.”
Allen grunted, “He usually doesn’t get hangovers. Not that I can tell. But he had this weird vodka-margarita-beer-whisky mix at a party.”
I mentally groaned, “That.. doesn’t sound healthy. Like, at all, dude.”
“That’s what I thought. And the weirdest part about it?”
“Hm?”
“It smelled like berries and mango.”
“That’s.. not weird at all.” At all. Seriously.
-----
I remember how I learned about Allen’s father.
Allen called me up one night, and asked me how to get a lady’s undergarment out of a car engine.
“Uh. What?” I stopped twirling my pencil in surprise. I figured that I would be used to the strange questions Allen asked me by now. I guess I was wrong.
He coughed awkwardly on the other side, “Er. Yeah. Master and his …friend …were--”
I interrupted, “No need to continue, my friend. No need.”
“Er, yeah. So, can you help me?”
“Of course!” Not really. I winged it, “Depends on how stuck it is.”
Allen paused for a second, and I assumed he went to look, “The …string is …caught on the …yeah.”
“I see. Well, have you tried untangling it?” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. And it made me wonder why it was Allen takin’ care of all this when it was his Master and his boisterous lady friend’s fault.
“Awkwardly enough, I have.” I tried picturing Allen, whatever he looked like, trying to untangle underwear from a car engine and blushing. It brought a wide grin to my face, even more than the idea that they got freaking underwear caught in a car engine.
“Cut it?” I said.
“Can’t. Apparently the lady wants it back.”
Even after it was in a fuckin’ car engine?
“How noble of you, then. Following the wishes of a lady. I always new you were a true gentleman.”
“It’s how I was raised.” I heard no emotion. It sounded like he was just stating a plain fact.
“By your Master? He doesn’t sound like the perfect gentleman,” I sniggered. Allen’s Master, the few times I heard his voice through the other line, and the things Allen told me, were extremely un-gentleman-like.
Allen chuckled lightly, as if he was remembering something, “Actually, Master’s a perfect gentleman to a woman. It’s just… ‘stupid idiot boys’ he’s rough to.”
“Ouch?”
“Nah. I guess I learned a little bit from him, but I mostly learned from Mana.” Allen said.
“Mana?” I asked.
“My father. “
I thought his Master was his father, if not a slightly creepy one in my eyes, “But I thought..?”
“That Master was my father? Nah. He’s my guardian. Mana’s my real father. Well, he’s not my real-real father. Or, biologically anyway.”
“Huh?” So his Master wasn’t his dad, but neither was his dad his dad?
“Mana was the man that used to take care of me. I used to be an orphan cause of some issues, and he took me in. Taught me most of what I know today. He might as well have been my real father.“
Ohh, I got it. (Wait. Allen was an orphan?)
“So what happened to ‘im?” Shouldn’t he be with his dad instead of travellin’ with his Master? (And why the hell did Allen call him Master, anyway? I’m not a complete pervert, but my mind kept travellin’ to thoughts of dirtier things. )
“He died.” …oops.
“Oh, sorry man-”
“No, it’s okay,” Allen said wistfully, “It’s been a long time. And besides, my time with Master has been more painful.” He ended with a groan, which lead me to believe he was thinking about all the exploits and antics his Master had put him through. Poor guy.
“Sorry for asking.”
“No, it’s fine. But, I’m still trying to get this thong out of our engine.”
My mouth quirked into a smile at that, but I still couldn’t help but feel intrusive by asking him about his dad, “Pull it?”
“Nope. It’s like, wrapped around something.”
“Honestly, Allen. It’s not like I’ve ever actually had this kinda problem before!” I whined.
“Isn’t it your job to give me information?” He asked mockingly. I ground my teeth awkwardly, and for a split-second I wondered how a boy raised like him, acting like the perfect gentleman when I had first talked to on the phone had gotten so goddamn cheeky. (and then I wondered if any of it was my doing, but I brushed that thought away.) Apparently our topic didn’t seem to affect him too much, so I pushed it to the back of my mind, trying to temporarily forget it.
“Fine. Y’know what I’d do? Pull harder. Put some muscle into it, kid!”
“Maybe I will. And don‘t call me kid!”
Moments later, I heard the ripping of fabric and low groans.
“Sometimes, I hate your advice.”
I broke out laughing, “You know you love it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
And I just smiled.
----
Paper cuts from post-it’s hurt. I swear. I sucked at my finger and stared at the pink post-it that had a small, spreading splotch of red. Ew.
-----
I used to think names were just that. Names.
Growing up, I had been an avid reader. Mostly ‘cause of my Gramps since he’s a librarian. I’d flip through page after page of every history book in those big, dusty shelves. Names. That’s what filled each page. Names and dates and stories of what they did. Why they did it.
(‘How they died.’ remained unsaid at my lips. It was simply too gruesome for me to think about. Or so I’d tell myself.)
But I hadn’t really thought about my name. Deak Bukkman.
I was told that there were forty-nine male names acknowledged by my family. The first born male of the first born the generation before him would become the new head of the family once my Gramps decided. (Gramp’s wasn’t really my grandfather, though that’s what I told people. I don’t know how old he was, but he was old. Like, really old.)
The future head of the family would be given one of the forty-nine names from his father, who had received his name from his father, and so on. It was a completely strange process to me, but a great honor to my family. Or so my father told me.
I stopped caring about it once he died. But that was a long time ago.
My Gramp’s wasn’t pleased with it, though. He used to tell me that I was wasting my life and giving the Bukkman name a bad image. But, my family matters are another… more gruesome story altogether.
My main point was, I’d never actually told Allen my name.
And it’s not like he’d ever asked. At least, not til then.
“Have you ever wondered what it‘d be like to fly?” Allen said to me. It was a slow morning. I mean, it was like, four a.m., but it was slower than usual. Not that much happened at four a.m. but you get my point.
Mildly confused, I responded, “Well, yeah. Sure. I have. What kid doesn’t at one point in their life?”
Allen chuckled, “Not like that, silly.” He paused and sighed, “I mean like really fly. You know. See everything around you. Be free.”
“I hear drugs are a wonderful method for that,” I snickered.
He made a hmph-like sound, “Not funny. So not funny--” He stopped midsentence.
“Hm?” I quirked an eyebrow. (Not that he saw. God that was getting annoying.)
“You know what I just realized?”
“Uh, sorry Allen. I can’t read your mind, ya know.” I jokingly teased.
“I don’t actually know what your name is!” I froze. I don’t know why I froze in the first place, it just felt like he had just stepped into territory I’d rather not have touched. I know it was just my name for the love of God.. but I was unnerved. It felt like a critical point where Allen would learn one of my secrets. And I slowly let out the breathe that had hitched in my throat.
What do I say?
“What‘s wrong?” Allen asked, sensing my awkward silence.
I had started toning him out, lost in my panicked thoughts. Did I really trust Allen enough to tell him my name? I mean, sure, I had no issue with telling him about people like Yuu. They.. Well.. They weren’t me. This was someone I’d been talking to over the phone for God’s sake. We’ve been like pen pals. I mean I knew that we were a mostly anonymous information group. Meaning our workers were usually kept out of personal affairs, but I had been like, I don’t know. Fraternizing with a client or something. The insane part of it all was that I was just noticing it now.
Fuck. I liked Allen and all, but it was a wave of sudden nervousness that hit me. I didn’t--- I wasn’t---
My mind was going at ten million miles an hour and I, for a split second, contemplated hanging up. I couldn’t do that though.
“You okay?” His voice cut through my thoughts, and I realized I had my hand tangled up in the phone cord like a life-line.
“Y-yeah.” The stutter in my voice wasn’t noticeable to him, but I heard it.
“If you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine.” He sounded concerned, which made me feel even more uncomfortable. What should I tell him? Should I? What was I supposed to do?
“Ah! Darn. My Master’s calling. He’s telling me to help him load stuff into our car.”
I didn’t say anything. I felt like I didn’t have the nerve to say anything.
“Well goodbye, whatever your name is--”
“Lavi!” I nearly yelled out my father’s name.
“Lavi?” Allen sounded pleased. I felt like shit.
“That’s a nice name. Goodbye!”
“Bye.” And he hung up.
You know the feeling when you drop a glass cup or bowl on the floor? You don’t even know it’s coming sometimes. And then it hit’s the floor with a loud crack and the glass shards go everywhere. That’s what it felt like.
That’s exactly what it felt like.
Title: Information Please
Fandom: D. Gray-man
Characters: Allen Walker and Lavi/Deak.
Rating: K+? T?
Word Count: Full story is around 10k. This part is 7k words or so :D
Information Please.
There’s a scarily harsh fact about life.
Life isn’t a love story. It’s not a fairytale where the princess and the prince end up together. It’s not one of those “successful” tales of love you see on the commercials for those matchmaker places. It’s not even a shoujo manga of some sort. It’s far from any of those.
I know life isn’t perfect. But, for a while, Allen made me wish it was.
------
I rubbed the dark ink stain on my desk, a dull numbness spreading through my waist down from sitting so long. My fingers began to drum an irregular rhythm as my eye slid to look at the clock on the wall.
Four-fifteen a.m.
Groaning, I resisted running a hand through my hair. Only two more hours til my shift ended.
I leaned back in the creaky leather chair of my cubicle, with my head tilted back and stared at the ceiling. Right then, there were many things I regretted in life. Like remembering that I had left my faucet on at the apartment. Or maybe neglecting to wear a sweater when it was freezing cold in the office. And most importantly, right then, I loathed and regretted my decision to take the ten-hour night-shift at this job.
It’s not like I regretted everything about this job, ’cause the pay was pretty good. But it wasn’t the best job, in terms of excitement-levels.
I remembered watching a movie where people were running around like busy little ants, picking up phones and getting tangled in the phone wires because of all the havoc. I was almost excited to take up this job, since I thought it would probably be like non-stop work. Talking on the phone and relaying information and blahblah. Well, okay. I was as excited at the idea of being a phone operator as one could be.
I know my dreams of operating a phone for ten hours seemed like (ridiculous) fun, but sad to say, it was a bit disappointin‘.
Or, at least, where I worked. Information Headquarters. That’s what it was called. I wasn’t particularily fond of the name, but heck. S’a name. They were all the same to me.
And it’s not like I minded desk work. I disliked it as much as the next guy, but I almost grew up in a library, so I was used to sitting at a desk. (Complete with the dull numbness, of course.)
Homebase, as the workers liked to call it, was laid back. Yeah, everyone did their job and sometimes we had to do a little overtime, like any normal workplace. All due to the massive rush of calls on holidays. People askin’ for restaurants, hotels, reservations and all that jazz. But, it kind of reminded me of school. There was something different every day. A new caller-- or a new chapter in the textbook, if we‘re using the school-scenario. It was different, but it meshed with everyday life and fell into a repetitive circle. I’m not sure I can completely explain the feeling.
We were an information network. It was probably obvious, considering the name, but you wouldn’t believe the dolts in this world.
I could have told at least seventy stories about the idiotic questions I’ve received from people. But, you know. Work policy. (Gotta be kind to the customers, an’ all.)
Anyway, it was around four in the morning, and I didn’t really expect anyone to call. I might’ve fallen asleep for a second. Might’ve.
Might’ve, being the key word because at that certain moment, my line went off.
I jolted upright, nearly knocking over the mug of cold coffee on my desk. There was a flickerin’ green button on the phone, and I glared at it scathingly. (It was shaking in fear of me, I swear.)
I was a bit surprised though, not at the sudden noise, but at the fact someone was calling now. I only received calls from people in this area, and it was rare for me to get one this early in the morning. The people in the town of Martel liked their sleep.
Which is why I was cautious in picking up the phone, cradling it in the nook of my shoulder.
“Information please.” It was a young voice. A boy, I assumed. He was probably around fifteen, sixteen? Seventeen at the most. I couldn’t really tell.
“Information,” I said. Right about now, the person on the other line would probably:
A) Directly ask me what they wanted, apparently trying to get off the line as quickly as possible.
B) Stutter. (which made it really hard for me to interpret what they were saying.)
C) Attempt to make a conversation with me.
The people that tried to make a conversation with me were funny. Not in the charming-funny way. In the so-funny-I’d-like-to-send-you-to-the-funny-farm, kind of funny. If that made any sense.
But these people would always be either smooth talkers, or overly cheerful people. Either way, they somehow managed to sew their personal lives with their question for me. And by the time I answered, it was like, “Okaythankyoubye!” as if they hadn’t poured half their life story to me. Maybe I’m just ranting. (But hey! They got charged by the minute, not me. So it isn’t my problem, eh?)
The voice on the other paused for a minute, and oh God. I thought I had myself another stutterer. I rolled my eye and waited for his jumbled mess of a request.
“Stupid boy! Ask the man where the nearest bar is!” A deeper voice, farther away from the phone, drawled.
The boy on the line sighed, “No, Master. We have to find the motel. It’s four in the morning.”
Their voices went away from the phone from a second, and I could hear slight bickering. Or, I heard the deeper voice mutter things and the younger one’s voice rise in indignation, at least. If they hadn’t woken me up, or prevented me from taking a nap, I might’ve found this more amusing.
“Sir?” I said, shifting the phone into my hand.
There was a rustling noise, and the older man grabbed the phone, “Where’s the nearest ba--”
“Master!” More rustling.
“Um, sir?” I said again.
The noise stopped, “Ah-ha! Sorry! Sorry!”
“It’s alright, sir.”
“Allen. My name is Allen.”
“Excuse me?” Allen? Did this boy just seriously give me his name?
“Oh, my name. Uh, sorry. Reflex. Ah-ha-ha.” He laughed awkwardly, and in the background I heard a faint, “Stupid boy.”
I almost smirked, “It’s alright, sir. So, what can I help you with?” On with the point, on with the point.
“The nearest bar-”
“We need the directions to the Nalei Motel.” I gave into the smirk. It sounded like the boy was having a hard time on the other side.
“Well, Allen, give me a quick second.” The smirk grew as I heard an awkward cough on his end. Placin’ the phone back in the crook of my neck, I typed in ‘Nalei Motel.’
-----
I realized that if I stared at my hand under my desk light long enough, it changed colors. Trippy, very trippy.
-----
Four a.m.
I stared at the clock, trying to see if I could develop Jedi-like powers that gave me the ability to make time go faster. Then again, I didn’t know if Jedi’s could even control time. I’d have to ask Johnny, the resident Star War’s fan, about that. Or was it Star Trek? Trekkie? Wookies? Cookies? Pooky? Garfield?
I should stop trusting Lenalee’s coffee. It was makin’ me loony. I swirled the light chocolate brown liquid in a cup. Surprisingly, it had already gone cold. Her coffee tended to do that. I had always wondered why, but I don’t really know if I wanted to know.
Maybe it wasn’t her coffee. Maybe after spending all this time in this little cubicle in the back has finally driven me crazy. It wouldn’t be surprising.
I considered making paper airplanes out of post-it’s to pass the time when the phone rang. I shot a look at my unused headphone in the corner. I should really start using those someday. I picked up the phone and held it to my ear.
“Information please.” I had lifted the cold coffee to my mouth to take a sip when my ears quirked at the familiar voice.
“Hey! You‘re that Allen gu-- I mean, Information.”
Apparently he recognized me too, “Oh! It’s you again! Hello.” Something about him was a bit too polite for me. I bit my tongue in mild apprehension as I pictured him as a perfect gentleman. Last time I met one of those, I was swindled out of my clothes and my cash in a game of poker. And I thought he was pretty cool to begin with! Mikk or something or other. I don’t remember.
“Hello to you too,” I politely answered back with a tone that might have sounded mocking to some, “How may I help you, sir?”
“I know this is weird, but I’ve got this thing about being called anything other than my real name. Just call me Allen.” It was blunt, and said in one breath.
I found it to be such a weird statement I almost laughed into the phone, “But sir, our conversation might not last long enough for me to use your name in such a personal manner.”
“With a Master like mine,” there was a hint of frustration, “you’ll be hearing from me a lot. And expect weird questions.” His voice lifted a bit, as if he was smilin’ on his side.
“Well okay then, Allen,” I chuckled. Okay, ignore my gentleman comment earlier. He didn’t sound too bad. Over the top polite, maybe. But then again, I’m over the top polite to most of my customers. (Made me kind of a hypocrite, didn’t it?)
“So, uh. Back to my earlier question?”
“Go for it,” I said, slowly twirling the cord around my index finger.
----
There was a soda machine on the third floor of Home. It was broken. It stole my dollar fifty and I felt displeased. Especially since I had been having cravings for Dr. Pepper.
----
It was the sixth time he’d called me. The phone rang shortly after four-thirty a.m. this time, and I admit to being a little worried earlier. Usually, Allen called around or before four. Then again, he’d only called five other times and I wondered if I was getting too used to his calls. Or maybe I was getting used to him.
Allen had a cheerful personality. I mean, not as cheerful as I could be around my friends, but he was a nice guy. He sort of reminded me of a light. Not to be cheesily poetic or somethin’ crappy like that.
He was just the kind of guy that was always optimistic, even if he had short down moments. (Mostly caused by his Master, which I found both amusing and pitiful-ish.) Always lookin’ at the brightside, and walking on. I guess it’s weird how I learned all this after just five phone calls, but I’m usually good at tellin’ what people are like. It’s been a little gift’a mine. And Allen was just that likeable.
“Information please?”
“Yo’ Allen.” I drawled, hiding the small tinge of relief I was feeling.
“Hey,” he sounded tired, “Can you tell me where I can buy seventy bouquets of cheap, but nice roses?”
I blinked.
“Your Master is a busy man.”
“Yes. Yes he is.”
-----
I used to wonder why, just why there was no one sitting in the cubicles around me. We had such a huge building for Base, but it was strangely easy for a person to get lost. Not that I ever got lost. I memorized my route long ago.
-----
I picked up the phone, sighing softly ‘cause my daydream about me ruling the world with flying pigs that shot soba noodles out of their hooves was cut short.
“Information please?” Immediately my mood lifted. It was Allen!
And then I paused in my thoughts, wondering if I had really just mentally jumped like a freakin’ puppy at hearing his voice. Maybe I did. That couldn’t be good. I waved that thought away with a shake of my head.
“Information. Hey dude,” I said.
“I’m bored.”
“Excuse me?”
“Entertain me?”
I stared at a random spot on the wall. Did Allen just call me because he was bored? I couldn’t help but think he treated this as if he were just calling my cellphone or something instead of a place that charged by the minute.
“Uh, you do know that we charge by the minute, right?” I asked.
“Yeah. I know.” he sighed.
I pressed my lips together, wondering what to say.
“Meaning you have.. to pay… with money?” I said the sentence slowly, and I distantly wondered if Allen was drunk or something.
“I know I have to pay,” he snorted, as if I was being an idiot, “but I’ve already got a good paying job at the moment. I think I can stay on the phone a little longer than five minutes.”
I laughed at that, “Well, sure. Whatever floats your boat, dude.”
“Yeah. Well?”
“Well? Well what? Do you need me to remind you that,” I looked at the nearest clock, “it’s actually a little half past four thirty in the morning? Normal people should be sleeping, and if you’re that bored, you could be too.”
“I can’t sleep. I work at night. But that’s not important. I’m still really bored.”
I rolled my eyes, forgetting as many people do, that we were talking on the phone and he could not actually see the action. Not that I cared, “Okay then. I have a question for ya.”
“Hm?”
“Why’d ya say, “Information Please” if you’re not even gonna ask me anythin’?”
Allen didn’t say anything for a second or so, “I guess..”
“I guess…?” I urged him on.
“I guess it’s because it’s kind of become a habit for me.”
I cocked an eyebrow, “Habit? How so?”
He spent another second, “…I think it’s because when I say it, you immediately know it’s me.”
“Really?” I blinked in surprise.
Allen laughed, “Yeah. It’s like our little secret code!”
I laughed with him, “Secret code? Are we both gonna have codenames an’ stuff? What are ya? Five? Then again, you are a kid.”
“I am not! I just like secret codes and stuff. My dad used to teach me them when I was younger.”
“Ain’t that cute!” I crooned into the receiver. Allen snapped back, obviously displeased at my teasing. I smiled again, ‘cause even if I did make fun of him for saying it in the first place, I was a fan of codes too. And I really did think it made Allen cute, in a way.
------
There was a dartboard on the left wall of my cubicle. I used to play it while waiting for someone to call. There was one time when Allen called me and I was about to throw it. The shrill beep shocked me, and I threw the dart. There was a hole in the cubicle wall because of it.
------
I decided I fucking loved Allen.
His Brit-ness, of course.
After the first time he said, “bloody” while talking to me, of course. And then I forced him to say other things, and I laughed.
“It’s not that noticeable!” he said, annoyed by my constant laughter.
I grinned into the phone, “It’s not that noticeable. But when ya really listen, you can hear it!” It was true.
“I lived in England for most of my childhood. It’s not my fault!”
I laughed, “Never said it was a bad thing. I love your Brit-ness.”
“You’re an idiot.”
I knew he was smiling.
------
There was something weird about office chairs. I leaned back and forth in mine. It made squeaky noises.
------
“What’s the best movie right now?” Allen asked me, his voice using the same tone he’d always ask when it was related to his Master’s ridiculous requests and demands. However, this one wasn’t as bad. It was two tickets to the best movie at the movie theater.
“Uh, do ya want my personal opinion or like, the box office’s?”
“Box Office. Somehow, I don’t really know if I trust your taste in movies.”
What? Did he just diss my taste in movies? That was a no-no, Allen. You don’t diss a The Outsiders fan. I’d protect Dally and Ponyboy and Sodapop with my fuckin’ life, thank you very much, “Um, ‘scuse me but I’ve got pretty damn awesome taste in movies.”
“I know, I know.” Hpmh. Allen was trying to calm me down. Fine. I’ll avenge Johnny another day! I typed in the theater website, and scrolled their releases.
“Apparently “Love in the Locker Rooms” is a good movie.” I read the title, and stared at the picture. It was of a two young guys, probably in their senior years of highschool. They had their arm’s wrapped around eachother and for some reason I felt like the movie was probably some erotic gay fratboy movie.
“Sounds like gay pornography, for some reason.” Allen said, after a moment of thought.
“That’s what I thought!”
------
I vaguely wondered what life was like on the moon. It was all very profound til I started wondering about how hard it’d be to play Jacks in your spaceship. Then I gave up, and took a nap.
------
I was not in a good mood.
Grumpily seated at my desk, I continued to fume, and I felt like I could probably killed the next person to walk past my cubicle, or the first person to call me, asking me where fuckin‘ Burger King was.
My evil Gramps was in town, and he was staying at my house. I mean, I love my Gramps since he’s well, my Gramps. But we had this violent love-hate relationship. And it was violent. He’d get on my case about throwin’ away my talent or whatever in a place like HQ, and that I should quit this deadbeat job and do something with my life. And then he’d kick me in the face. Also, he intruded without calling me in the first place! I wasn’t even expectin’ him to come, but around noon, while I was sleepin’ since I actually do sleep unlike Allen, apparently. He picks my fuckin’ lock and then throws his suitcase on me, barkin’ some angry, senile babble about how I have a horrible security system. Then he kicks my out of my bed, tellin’ me to stop being lazy and go to work so he could get some fuckin’ sleep. When I said it was my bed, he fuckin’ kicked me in the face! And did I mention it was violent? Did I mention he was violent? No? I haven’t? Well then.
My Gramps is a violent ass.
I rubbed the sore spot on my cheek, still pissed off about his sudden appearance and abuse of my face when my line rang.
“Information please?”
“Hey.” I grouchily said.
“That’s a warm welcome,” Allen sarcastically remarked, “What’s wrong?”
I reached up and ruffled my hair, “S’nothing.”
“Oh really?” I could clearly tell Allen didn’t believe me at all, “Tell Dr. Allen all your problems. He can help for only a small fee of--.. Okay. I’m sorry.” he stopped mid-joke, realizing that it wouldn’t help my mood at all. I guess I was kind of thankful for it.
I grunted, still not in a very sociable mood.
“Oh come on. Cheer up. It can’t be that bad.” Allen said soothingly. It still wasn’t helping.
“Yeah. It is that bad, Allen. My Gramps is in town.” I groaned and placed my face in my palm, being cautious of the sore cheek. I found it funny that even though I was acting grumpy to Allen, I was still talking to him. If anyone asked, I could have probably said something like, “For the sake of my job” or something like that, but I knew it wasn’t. I supposed I just wanted to rant to Allen. (it was a highly possible idea.)
“Your Grandfather?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re afraid of him?”
That made me sound wimpy. I growled in my own defense, “Hey! Gramps ain’t a normal gramp. He’s like.. violent and grumpy twenty-four-seven! And did I mention he’s violent? He kicked me in my fuckin’ face!”
“Your… face?”
“My face.” I repeated, nodding once more to the Allen that couldn’t see it.
Allen promptly broke out laughing, which displeased me greatly.
------
I don’t mind kittens, but I’m more of a dog person. But both can be fluffy, so it didn’t matter much to me.
------
Somehow, I had been expecting the caller to be Allen.
“Information please?”
“You again?” I joked.
He made a hmph-noise on the other side, making me I smile as he said, “Well, excuse me for making you do your job.”
My smile grew into a full-blown grin, and I cooed into the phone, “You just like the sound of my voice, don’t you?”
Allen sputtered, and I could almost see a blush on his face, “What? No! Stop being an idiot!”
Laughing, I traced little imaginary circles on my desk. I abso-fucking-lutely loved makin’ Allen all riled up. It was like, my new hobby. I mused to myself that I should somehow make it an Olympic sport. It’d be a fun sport, indeed. It was just the way that he got all flustered brought me so much amusement, I just couldn’t help myself.
Sometimes, I wondered if this is what big brother’s felt when they were teasing their little brothers, but something in the back of my mind told me that I’d be lyin’ through my teeth if I tried to believe that. (However, I do admit that maybe some brothers enjoyed teasing their younger brothers, I thought my brand of teasing to be different. Different how? I don’t know.)
“Just kiddin’ with ya.” I said.
“Hmph,” There it was again. That little flustered ‘hmph’ noise that never failed to make me smile. (I also vaguely wondered if this made me like, some kind of level one sadist.)
“So, whatcha callin’ me for, Ahhhh-llen?” I drew out the ‘A’ in his name for fun.
“Huh? Oh! Right! Master wants me to find him the nearest Indian mixed with Chinese and a splash of Jamaican cuisine buffet.” Allen obviously thought that this was an incredibly stupid request, and was not afraid to voice it so to me.
“Uh, I’ll loo-”
“I mean, really! Where in the bloody world will you find a place like that? I’ll be relieved if we only have to drive within the next few states to find him somewhere like that! Goodness! The nerve of him!”
I heard a sigh, and I I felt one side of my mouth tilt up sympathetically, “Aw, don’be like that, Allen. I mean, sure. It might be hard for ya to actually find a place like that,” I placed my hands on the keys and started typing in what he was looking for, “but y’know. When ya find it, I bet the food’ll taste freakin’ amazi--..” I stopped and stared at the screen.
“Eh?”
“Allen. Did you know there actually is a place like that? Within the city?” My eyebrows were raised so high, I think I might have shifted my eyepatch out of place. I adjusted it absentmindedly as Allen spoke.
“..Are you serious?”
“Fo’ cereal, babes.” I said, acting like a a girl that worked at a diner with way too much make-up on and was busy fixing her hair. (Hair, eyepatch. No big difference, right?)
“Two things. One, that’s almost a miracle.” He paused and I waited.
“Two..?”
“Two, never speak like that again. Please.”
-----
Sometimes I hated having an eyepatch on one eye. You know those windows that open inwards? I walked into one of those on my right side because I didn’t notice it. It hurt.
-----
Allen had me on speakerphone, and I heard the dull thump as his head hit the table.
“Whoa, don’t hurt yourself there, buddy.” I said, the phone taking it’s usual home in the crook of my neck as I doodled lazer-firing stick figures all over post-it notes.
He made an unintelligable noise, and I raised an eyebrow, “What the heck was that?”
“mphms famphbi mphm mph.” I stopped doodling.
“I don’t speak your language, sorry. Would you like me to direct you to another language speaking operator?” I took on a an obviously fake, cheery voice.
“Blah! Dude!” Apparently, Allen’s head resurfaced from whatever table-top it had burried itself in. Huzzah!
“Master and his dumb cravings. I swear, that man will be the death of me.” Allen whined.
I flicked the phone receiver, making a high-pitched twap! noise, “Ahh-llen!”
“I know, I know.” I grinned ‘cause I could literally hear him scowling, “Don’t say things like that.” He mimicked in a very unattractive version of my voice.
“That’s a good boy. Respect ya elders.”
“But he wants me to make him homemade wasabi. Wasabi! Can you believe it?” I instantly felt my stomach lurch.
An involuntary ew noise came from my mouth, “Ew. Wasabi.”
“Huh?” Allen’s voice seemed interested, and I imagined him to be sitting up straight now, “You dislike wasabi?”
“Dude. Allen. It’s a mixture of horseradish powder and pure evil.”
Allen was silent, but he was probably ‘wtf-ing’ or somethin’ along those lines.
“Oh, Yuu. You’re so mean for telling me that wasabi was green pudding..” I unconsciously mumbled.
“You hate me?” his voice was confused.
Oops, did I say that out loud? “What? Oh. No. Not you. Yuu.”
“…me?”
…Geez. I hated explaining this. It was always my nightmare. It’s like what my English teacher would say about her English nightmare. Their. They’re. There. Augh. Oh well, might as well tell the story. (I actually enjoy telling stories. This one… not so much.)
“No, no,” I said, “I have a friend named Yuu. Y-U-U. Kanda Yuu, actually.”
“Ohh,” Allen said, understanding in his voice.
I nodded before stoppin’ myself after realizing Allen wouldn’t see it anyway, “So yeah. I was hanging around Yuu for a while, and I think he was getting annoyed with me. Oh, you-- Y-O-U, wouldn’t believe it, Allen. Yuu is such a hothead, but I love ‘im, y’know?”
“Err. Yes?”
“..Well yeah. So like, I was hangin’ with him when he went to get lunch. We were in highschool, and we went off campus. Or Yuu went off campus and I followed him. He ended up goin’ to this Japanese restaurant. Very posh, very posh.”
Allen mhm’ed into the phone.
“So I was sittin’ there and lookin’ at everything and askin’ him what all the writing on the pages said. I’ve studied a little Japanese here and there, but mostly just the Hiragana and that other one.. What’s it called..” I tapped my chin, trying to remember.
“Katakana?” he offered.
“Yeah! That’s it. Katakana.”
“I hope you know that you are sitting in front of a computer. And with a few quick keystrokes you could have probably found it out, right?” Ouchburnsizzle. I winced. To some, it would have sounded like he was being nice, extremely nice. I knew better. There was this eviller side to Allen, once you got past his extreme manners and all.
“Well, yeah, but,” I wondered about all the weird wisdoms my gramps had told me when I used to work at his place during summer, “It’s better to learn from those you know than from someone you don’t.” That was actually a load of philosophical BS I made up on the spot in my head, but I hoped I made it believable enough to fool Alle--
“You made that up, didn’t you?”
Caught!
“…no.” I meeped.
“Right.” Allen totally didn’t believe me. Plan failed! Abort! Abort!
“And I hope you know that I am sitting in front of my own laptop. It wasn’t hard to google it.”
“Aw, Allen. You really know how to kick a guy when he’s down.” I pouted. I know Allen couldn’t see me, but sometimes you just start forgetting you’re on the phone and end up doin’ stuff anyway.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving me off with his words, “So, the wasabi story?”
“Oh yeah! I trailed off--”
“Yep.”
“You make it sound like I always do.”
“You do.”
“Mean! Well, anyway. So I was askin’ Yuu about all the squiggly lines and kanji things I didn’t remember, and he finally snaps on me. He calls me a rabbit and tells me to leave him alone, in cruder terms, but you get the point. Wouldn’t wanna defile your pure, young ears!”
“I’m not that young!”
“Kid. I’m like, 22. You’re young to me.”
“That’s only a few years and don’t call me ‘kid’.”
“Whatever you say, kid,” He squeaked. Or it was a kind of mini-growl, “but yeah. So then Yuu whacks me over the head with this sword he carries around--”
Allen’s tone rose, “A sword?”
“Yeah. It’s like Yuu’s baby. He calls it Mugen.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Well duh, “ I said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which it kinda was at the moment, “but he keeps it sheathed. So anyways, he whacks me over the head and makes me sit down because I’m scaring the waitresses by hittin‘ on them,” Allen sniggered at this, “and pushes a bowl of green stuff in front of me.”
“Oh wow.” Allen sucked in air, sounding like he was trying not to laugh at this point. I wasn’t sure whether to smile because I was making him laugh or whine because he was laughing at my suffering.
“And he tells me that it’s green pudding.”
He broke out laughing.
“Oh-oh my God.”
“Hey! Don’t laugh!” I grinned anyway.
“Not my fault you thought wasabi was green pudding.”
“He said it was pudding!”
“And you believed him?” Allen’s laughter was growing, and I decided I liked his laugh. I liked it a lot.
----
I remember when I learned Allen had a kitten named Timcanpy.
“Hey, do you know where there’s a Petco or something like that?”
I paused in my seat, pen held in the air above the crossword of a Sunday newspaper, “Uh, nope.”
“What do you mean nope?”
“Meaning I don’t know where Petco is. Sorry Allen.” Did Allen think I was a directory or something? Psh. I don’t know where everything is.
Allen sounded like he was prepared to send me to a looney bin, “You work at an information network and you still don’t know where Petco is? You have a computer in front of you and you still don‘t know where Petco is? You have a huge database of information and you still don‘t know where Petco is?”
Oh crap. He’s right. I did work at one of those. I had that. And that. “Oops.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“It momentarily slipped my mind!”
----
I realized if I had pink font in Microsoft Word and then highlighted it with my cursor, it would turn black and green like the Matrix. I was highly amused for a total of five minutes until someone called, asking where the nearest hospital was.
----
“Quickest way to get over a hangover?” Allen groaned.
I cocked an eyebrow, “You have a hangover? Dude. Aren’t ya like, younger than me? Isn’t that illegal?”
“It’s for my--”
“For what? I swear Allen. If I have to bail you out of jail for underaged drinking or something I will never let you forget it.”
“Oh please. I don’t drink.”
“Drugs? Good Lord Allen! What happened to the pure boy I talked to on the phone long ago!?” I sighed dramatically. Of course, I’d done my share of illegal drugs and alcohol as a teenager. It wasn’t that abnormal, but if Allen was doing them… Well, it’s not like I’d try to stop him. It’s just I wouldn’t have expected someone like him to have dabbled in thing’s like it.
“No! Not drugs, idiot.”
“That’s mean!”
“Not my fault. And it’s for my Master.”
I ooh-ed in understanding, “Surprises me that you haven’t called me about this before.”
Allen grunted, “He usually doesn’t get hangovers. Not that I can tell. But he had this weird vodka-margarita-beer-whisky mix at a party.”
I mentally groaned, “That.. doesn’t sound healthy. Like, at all, dude.”
“That’s what I thought. And the weirdest part about it?”
“Hm?”
“It smelled like berries and mango.”
“That’s.. not weird at all.” At all. Seriously.
-----
I remember how I learned about Allen’s father.
Allen called me up one night, and asked me how to get a lady’s undergarment out of a car engine.
“Uh. What?” I stopped twirling my pencil in surprise. I figured that I would be used to the strange questions Allen asked me by now. I guess I was wrong.
He coughed awkwardly on the other side, “Er. Yeah. Master and his …friend …were--”
I interrupted, “No need to continue, my friend. No need.”
“Er, yeah. So, can you help me?”
“Of course!” Not really. I winged it, “Depends on how stuck it is.”
Allen paused for a second, and I assumed he went to look, “The …string is …caught on the …yeah.”
“I see. Well, have you tried untangling it?” I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. And it made me wonder why it was Allen takin’ care of all this when it was his Master and his boisterous lady friend’s fault.
“Awkwardly enough, I have.” I tried picturing Allen, whatever he looked like, trying to untangle underwear from a car engine and blushing. It brought a wide grin to my face, even more than the idea that they got freaking underwear caught in a car engine.
“Cut it?” I said.
“Can’t. Apparently the lady wants it back.”
Even after it was in a fuckin’ car engine?
“How noble of you, then. Following the wishes of a lady. I always new you were a true gentleman.”
“It’s how I was raised.” I heard no emotion. It sounded like he was just stating a plain fact.
“By your Master? He doesn’t sound like the perfect gentleman,” I sniggered. Allen’s Master, the few times I heard his voice through the other line, and the things Allen told me, were extremely un-gentleman-like.
Allen chuckled lightly, as if he was remembering something, “Actually, Master’s a perfect gentleman to a woman. It’s just… ‘stupid idiot boys’ he’s rough to.”
“Ouch?”
“Nah. I guess I learned a little bit from him, but I mostly learned from Mana.” Allen said.
“Mana?” I asked.
“My father. “
I thought his Master was his father, if not a slightly creepy one in my eyes, “But I thought..?”
“That Master was my father? Nah. He’s my guardian. Mana’s my real father. Well, he’s not my real-real father. Or, biologically anyway.”
“Huh?” So his Master wasn’t his dad, but neither was his dad his dad?
“Mana was the man that used to take care of me. I used to be an orphan cause of some issues, and he took me in. Taught me most of what I know today. He might as well have been my real father.“
Ohh, I got it. (Wait. Allen was an orphan?)
“So what happened to ‘im?” Shouldn’t he be with his dad instead of travellin’ with his Master? (And why the hell did Allen call him Master, anyway? I’m not a complete pervert, but my mind kept travellin’ to thoughts of dirtier things. )
“He died.” …oops.
“Oh, sorry man-”
“No, it’s okay,” Allen said wistfully, “It’s been a long time. And besides, my time with Master has been more painful.” He ended with a groan, which lead me to believe he was thinking about all the exploits and antics his Master had put him through. Poor guy.
“Sorry for asking.”
“No, it’s fine. But, I’m still trying to get this thong out of our engine.”
My mouth quirked into a smile at that, but I still couldn’t help but feel intrusive by asking him about his dad, “Pull it?”
“Nope. It’s like, wrapped around something.”
“Honestly, Allen. It’s not like I’ve ever actually had this kinda problem before!” I whined.
“Isn’t it your job to give me information?” He asked mockingly. I ground my teeth awkwardly, and for a split-second I wondered how a boy raised like him, acting like the perfect gentleman when I had first talked to on the phone had gotten so goddamn cheeky. (and then I wondered if any of it was my doing, but I brushed that thought away.) Apparently our topic didn’t seem to affect him too much, so I pushed it to the back of my mind, trying to temporarily forget it.
“Fine. Y’know what I’d do? Pull harder. Put some muscle into it, kid!”
“Maybe I will. And don‘t call me kid!”
Moments later, I heard the ripping of fabric and low groans.
“Sometimes, I hate your advice.”
I broke out laughing, “You know you love it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
And I just smiled.
----
Paper cuts from post-it’s hurt. I swear. I sucked at my finger and stared at the pink post-it that had a small, spreading splotch of red. Ew.
-----
I used to think names were just that. Names.
Growing up, I had been an avid reader. Mostly ‘cause of my Gramps since he’s a librarian. I’d flip through page after page of every history book in those big, dusty shelves. Names. That’s what filled each page. Names and dates and stories of what they did. Why they did it.
(‘How they died.’ remained unsaid at my lips. It was simply too gruesome for me to think about. Or so I’d tell myself.)
But I hadn’t really thought about my name. Deak Bukkman.
I was told that there were forty-nine male names acknowledged by my family. The first born male of the first born the generation before him would become the new head of the family once my Gramps decided. (Gramp’s wasn’t really my grandfather, though that’s what I told people. I don’t know how old he was, but he was old. Like, really old.)
The future head of the family would be given one of the forty-nine names from his father, who had received his name from his father, and so on. It was a completely strange process to me, but a great honor to my family. Or so my father told me.
I stopped caring about it once he died. But that was a long time ago.
My Gramp’s wasn’t pleased with it, though. He used to tell me that I was wasting my life and giving the Bukkman name a bad image. But, my family matters are another… more gruesome story altogether.
My main point was, I’d never actually told Allen my name.
And it’s not like he’d ever asked. At least, not til then.
“Have you ever wondered what it‘d be like to fly?” Allen said to me. It was a slow morning. I mean, it was like, four a.m., but it was slower than usual. Not that much happened at four a.m. but you get my point.
Mildly confused, I responded, “Well, yeah. Sure. I have. What kid doesn’t at one point in their life?”
Allen chuckled, “Not like that, silly.” He paused and sighed, “I mean like really fly. You know. See everything around you. Be free.”
“I hear drugs are a wonderful method for that,” I snickered.
He made a hmph-like sound, “Not funny. So not funny--” He stopped midsentence.
“Hm?” I quirked an eyebrow. (Not that he saw. God that was getting annoying.)
“You know what I just realized?”
“Uh, sorry Allen. I can’t read your mind, ya know.” I jokingly teased.
“I don’t actually know what your name is!” I froze. I don’t know why I froze in the first place, it just felt like he had just stepped into territory I’d rather not have touched. I know it was just my name for the love of God.. but I was unnerved. It felt like a critical point where Allen would learn one of my secrets. And I slowly let out the breathe that had hitched in my throat.
What do I say?
“What‘s wrong?” Allen asked, sensing my awkward silence.
I had started toning him out, lost in my panicked thoughts. Did I really trust Allen enough to tell him my name? I mean, sure, I had no issue with telling him about people like Yuu. They.. Well.. They weren’t me. This was someone I’d been talking to over the phone for God’s sake. We’ve been like pen pals. I mean I knew that we were a mostly anonymous information group. Meaning our workers were usually kept out of personal affairs, but I had been like, I don’t know. Fraternizing with a client or something. The insane part of it all was that I was just noticing it now.
Fuck. I liked Allen and all, but it was a wave of sudden nervousness that hit me. I didn’t--- I wasn’t---
My mind was going at ten million miles an hour and I, for a split second, contemplated hanging up. I couldn’t do that though.
“You okay?” His voice cut through my thoughts, and I realized I had my hand tangled up in the phone cord like a life-line.
“Y-yeah.” The stutter in my voice wasn’t noticeable to him, but I heard it.
“If you don’t want to tell me, it’s fine.” He sounded concerned, which made me feel even more uncomfortable. What should I tell him? Should I? What was I supposed to do?
“Ah! Darn. My Master’s calling. He’s telling me to help him load stuff into our car.”
I didn’t say anything. I felt like I didn’t have the nerve to say anything.
“Well goodbye, whatever your name is--”
“Lavi!” I nearly yelled out my father’s name.
“Lavi?” Allen sounded pleased. I felt like shit.
“That’s a nice name. Goodbye!”
“Bye.” And he hung up.
You know the feeling when you drop a glass cup or bowl on the floor? You don’t even know it’s coming sometimes. And then it hit’s the floor with a loud crack and the glass shards go everywhere. That’s what it felt like.
That’s exactly what it felt like.