The boy in the square talks without thinking, as children are wont to do. “Hey mister! You a clown?”
The mother is quick to catch up with him. Hands around his shoulder and cheeks flushed. “Johan,” she clucks, sternly, steering him away. She’s a handsome woman, tall and stalwart. Her hair done up in a thick, red braid. “That is very rude--”
“Oh, no!” says Allen, quickly. He can’t bear to let the situation stand. “It’s all right--”
Her eyes dart along his jacket cautiously; no doubt a woman of the faith, and no doubt having expected someone much older, with his hair so white.
“I do know a few tricks?” he offers, with a smile. There’s a blue handkerchief dangling from his sleeve. He extends his arm-- slowly, so as not to startle anyone--and he lets the child take a hold and tug. The result is six feet long with bells on it. The boy laughs in surprise. The children of the square end up gathered around. He shakes coins out of a glove and does a one-armed balancing trick on a little girl’s ball. Afterwards he bows and the village parents applaud. Afterwards Johan’s mother takes him aside and with her stern, stalwart expression addresses him.
“Are you waiting for the train, Exorcist.”
“Ah, well, yes--”
“That is the first time he has laughed since his sister died.”
The woman’s gaze is strong and knowing on him. His expression sobers. He raises his right hand palm up. “…I hope then, that--”
She takes his left, between both of hers. Her fingers are calloused from many years of work and hardship. She seems to think nothing of the knotted rises under the fabric of his glove, hard and unnatural. “God be with you,” she says to him, simple and sure.
“And you,” Allen Walker answers, with a gentle nod. It’s the train whistle that eventually summons him away. He leaves the bells behind, for the children.
D.Gray-man: Slight of Hand
The mother is quick to catch up with him. Hands around his shoulder and cheeks flushed. “Johan,” she clucks, sternly, steering him away. She’s a handsome woman, tall and stalwart. Her hair done up in a thick, red braid. “That is very rude--”
“Oh, no!” says Allen, quickly. He can’t bear to let the situation stand. “It’s all right--”
Her eyes dart along his jacket cautiously; no doubt a woman of the faith, and no doubt having expected someone much older, with his hair so white.
“I do know a few tricks?” he offers, with a smile. There’s a blue handkerchief dangling from his sleeve. He extends his arm-- slowly, so as not to startle anyone--and he lets the child take a hold and tug. The result is six feet long with bells on it. The boy laughs in surprise. The children of the square end up gathered around. He shakes coins out of a glove and does a one-armed balancing trick on a little girl’s ball. Afterwards he bows and the village parents applaud. Afterwards Johan’s mother takes him aside and with her stern, stalwart expression addresses him.
“Are you waiting for the train, Exorcist.”
“Ah, well, yes--”
“That is the first time he has laughed since his sister died.”
The woman’s gaze is strong and knowing on him. His expression sobers. He raises his right hand palm up. “…I hope then, that--”
She takes his left, between both of hers. Her fingers are calloused from many years of work and hardship. She seems to think nothing of the knotted rises under the fabric of his glove, hard and unnatural. “God be with you,” she says to him, simple and sure.
“And you,” Allen Walker answers, with a gentle nod. It’s the train whistle that eventually summons him away. He leaves the bells behind, for the children.