The Candy Man

Because of recent events occurring in the Pandora Hearts community on Tumblr, I’m going to be pulling out of my PH roleplay blogs, meaning pencil-pushing-march-hare and candy-coated-tongue will both be going without updates in the foreseeable future.  I’m sorry if I owe anyone responses (though I doubt it, as I don’t get much traffic on my blogs in general XD;;) , and if I do please send me an Ask with a link to whatever it was that was going on.

I’ll still be active-ish on my Badou account (chain-smoking-ginger), and on a new account that I’ve set up for the Tales of Symphonia fandom:cruxis-staff, where I’m pretty much every two-bit villain and lackey that shows up in-game, haha.

No hard feelings, of course.  It’s been a lot of fun, but there’s just been a lot of friction in the Tumblr PH community, and I’m protesting it in the only way I can think to.

black-coffee-and-cigarettes:

Gilbert stared for a moment, jaw locked, shoulders nearly at his ears. He was still shaking. And he was still clutching the damn saucer. As if dropping it would be the end of things, as if he hadn’t already done damage beyond repair. As if Break’s tone didn’t tell him that those walls were firmly back in place, that he’d blown his single chance…

He turned sharply to the older man, watching Break, watching those pale fingers, listening to the all too loud clinking of sugar cubes and a silver spoon against porcelain. It felt like every sounds pounded against his head, railing against him, ringing like a bell to tell him his time was up. Break’s time was up.

No. He refused to let this happen. He refused to lose again. The saucer clattered to the floor, the sharp sound of a fragment breaking and skittering off forcibly ignored. Porcelain was beautiful but fragile, made to be looked upon, admired, longed for, but never mishandled. Never mistreated. This man in front of him was not of the same make. He knew better; he knew firsthand.

He’d seen Break tear enemies apart in the blink of an eye. He’d watched the man fell attackers without removing the blade from his cane. He’d had the bastard beat him down when he’d been younger, when he’d lashed out in an attempt to gain some kind of footing. He’d watched as Break danced around Oz, ‘training’ the boy by springing about on far too nimble feet. No. This man in front of him wasn’t porcelain. This man was far too stubborn for that.

Gilbert caught Break’s chin in his hand, staring the man in the face and warring with himself. His thoughts were a jumbled, tangled, mess of anxiety and frustration. He didn’t care what this man told him the truth was; it wasn’t his truth. This moron was too strong to go out so simply, too damn stubborn to lose to something like simple physical frailty.

“No…” He huffed shortly, curling his fingers mindfully against Break’s jaw. “You’re not allowed to leave me like this. You wouldn’t let me, and I’m not letting you.”

Break blinked, his hand stilling in shock for a moment as Gilbert so suddenly took a hold of him, as the sound of breaking china nearly made him jump.  The boy’s hand wasn’t shaking any longer…the solidity of his grip was almost as alarming as the sudden steel behind his voice, but at the same time…

His second of panic dissappeared as quickly as it had arisen.  He could already tell that there was no real anger behind the sudden shift, no hate…Gilbert was still being gentle, in his own way, still scared, but he’d finally found some kind of resolve.

It made it tempting to relax again, for all that Break could name a hundred good reasons not to in a heartbeat.

He imagined he could feel Gilbert’s pulse along with the all too comforting warmth of the younger man’s skin where it radiated onto his own…there was strength there, waiting in the boy’s body, coiled like a spring.  He’d experienced it firsthand on the few occasions when Gilbert had finally been coaxed out of his selfconsciousness and convinced to do what needed to be done.  Though it was a detail easily forgotten, the boy wasn’t one of Pandora’s most successful operatives for no reason.

“You’ll fight for me, then~?” He tried to keep his tone light, tried to keep the hopeful note that his mind half wanted to provide out of his voice.  For all of his hesitations, all of his self-loathing, he didn’t want to die.  Didn’t want to slip past the veil to the final plateau of uselessness.  He clung to his obligations, his self-declaired duties, with all of the tenacity of a miser clinging to his last coin.  He fought tooth and nail to survive for all that he trod a martyr’s tightrope.  “You’ll force me to keep going~?  And how are you going to accomplish this lofty goal, hm?”

(Source: sugar-coated-tongue)

black-coffee-and-cigarettes:

The sound of someone knocking at the door had nearly made him jump. Somewhere along the way, he’d managed to forget that he’d made the request. He couldn’t even recall the face of the woman he’d asked. Something that had happened not minutes before felt like some kind of lost recollection…Everything was just going too fast. He couldn’t keep up.

Shaking his head and muttering something of an affirmation under his breath, Gilbert hauled himself off of the couch, frustrated by the amount of effort it took. He let his feet carry him to the door, barely recognizing his own hand as it sought to let that outside world in again. He heard himself greet and thank the young woman, felt himself move out of the way to let her in, felt the strain as he tried to smile when she bid them farewell. Leave the cart in the hall, she said. When they were done someone would be around to clean it up.

That was it though, wasn’t it? No matter what happened, no matter who fell, who failed, who was lost, someone would always come through to clean up what was left. The remains would be carefully swept up and disposed of. And that would be that. Not a trace would be left. Nothing but vague recollections of a taste long replaced by something new.

As the door bumped closed, the weight was back. The pain was back. Chased by that lingering paranoia, a voice screaming in his head that it was only a matter of time. It could happen in a flash. Everything would be gone. And he would be left to clean up.

Gilbert fought against the weakness in his legs, the weakness of his person, and brought everything back to the couch Break was waiting on. Sitting there and smiling, lopsided and twisted as always, like nothing was wrong. Like he was wasting his time. He shook his head and forced his eyes away, attention wrenched from one piece of porcelain to the another.

He poured the tea out, cursing how he shook, cursing the rattling of the cup against the saucer as he tried to pick it up. Hot water spilled over, shocking his skin, eliciting a sharp hiss and a tightened hold. He wouldn’t let it break. He refused to let it drop. No matter the lingering sting, the burn that may result, he couldn’t allow that cup to crack, that tea to spill. Not here. Not now.

Break sighed and shook his head, reaching out to take the cup from Gilbert as carefully as he could, uncaring of how the tea slopped over his own fingertips as he got it clear.  His fingers were numb enough that he didn’t feel the heat as he put the cup down and left Gilbert to hold the saucer, not wanting to fight the younger man’s grip on it.

This was always how it went when he finally admitted to his own shortcomings…whoever he thought he might share the information with, whoever he thought he could trust with his infirmity…he always had to pick up the pieces after them, to make sure that nothing came of the admission but as brief a period of introspection as possible.  He should have known better than to let Gilbert, of all people, on to this…the boy was possibly the worst suited to know things like this of anyone.

He got up carefully and poured the second cup of tea carefully, just leaving it on the tray for now and sitting back down with a soft huff, taking up his own cup again and dropping sugar cubes into it.

“…Perhaps you should just stay put for now.”

(Source: sugar-coated-tongue)

black-coffee-and-cigarettes:

Break’s skin was so cold…But then the man had always been cold. For as long as he’d known him, this teasing, laughing, joker had been like ice to the touch. Thinking of it now though…He could only laugh, the sound weak and hollow. As a child, he’d just written it off as something due to Break’s albinism, something to do with how cold-hearted the man could be. He’d been willing to dismiss it almost vindictively.

Now…Now the man just felt seconds away from death. If he hadn’t succumbed already.

It could have been funny. It could have been some kind of sick joke or some twisted idea of ‘justice’. But it wasn’t. It was so damn far from it, it made him want to wretch. His stomach twisted over on itself, his lungs refusing to take in as much air as they ought to…Why did this keep happening? Why wouldn’t this stop? And how could Break just sit there and make light of it all?

Gilbert curled his fingers mindfully against the other’s face, shaking his head and trying to get that damn trembling under control. Why was he shaking? Why was he so damn weak? Why couldn’t he just stop and be the man everyone kept pushing him to be? Why did he have to still be this useless?

“Just…stop…” He didn’t recognize his voice as he forced the words from his throat, eyes fixed on those pale hands, so stark a contrast against the dark fabric of Break’s pants. “Stop it. I can’t…I won’t let you keep…going on like this.” He shook his head roughly, locking his jaw in frustration. Why couldn’t he stop shaking, damn it?!

“I’ve had ten fucking years to get sick of you. I’ve had you haunting me and climbing out of my closet and scaring me in the kitchen, mocking me and harassing me and telling me I’m useless, and I’m still not sick of you.” He choked out another hoarse sound, an attempt at bitter amusement. “Don’t you get it?”

Break chuckled softly and shook his head a little, still leaning lightly into the warmth of the younger man’s palm…that hand that had so much strength behind it and yet so much hesitation…Gilbert was such an odd beast, a creature of constant contradictions that seemed to exist to frustrate him.

That was really the problem between the two of them, wasn’t it?  Break tried to live like a shadow, like a spectre that no one could touch.  He constantly tried to convince others that leaving him to his own devices was their idea…to carefully and deliberately alienate himself from anyone who would ever try to get close.  And yet here he’d found this awkward, lonely child and somehow…he’d been singled out.  Clung to.  This odd young man sitting next to him all but pled for every moment of conversation, every insult, because it meant that he was being noticed.  That he was worth mention.  It was as baffling as it was sometimes frustrating.  It kept the foolish boy coming back…

The whirl of Break’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking at the door…the tea, then.  It would be good to have something hot in his stomach, and he was sure Gilbert’s nerves would benefit from a cup as well.  He pulled away from the younger man carefully and gestured to the door, looking up into those too-bright golden eyes with a faint, crooked smile.

“I don’t.  Not one bit.  But I don’t doubt that you feel as much.  Now…would you be kind enough as to get the door…?  I don’t really want to get up just at the moment.”

(Source: sugar-coated-tongue)

black-coffee-and-cigarettes:

The feeling of Break swatting at him, batting his arm and nearly jarring his cigarette out of his hand, was enough to bring Gilbert back. He was slipping. He was making things worse. He’d let himself panic and it was only complicating matters…It had Break retreating again. Regretting the single slip he’d given.

He shook his head and cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m…I’m sorry. I just…I hadn’t expected it. I hadn’t thought you’d be…this tired.” He laughed dryly, feeling like his mouth was full of cotton. Like his head was spinning and the whole damn world wouldn’t hold still. “I mean…I knew you were…”

The words and thought died on his lips, his shoulders falling heavily. He’d known. He’d always known in some sense. It was just… “You said it yourself, didn’t you? I run from my troubles. I run from the truth. And…” He choked out another bitter chuckle. “I saw this coming but I couldn’t face it…I couldn’t…”

Gilbert looked at the older man, reaching out to tentatively touch Break’s face. “Not you…Not you too…”

Break sighed softly and closed his eye again, giving in to that much and just barely leaning into the hesitant touch of the younger man’s fingers.  He’d never had anyone treat him like he was breakable…but he supposed that he felt hollow enough to start crumbling away; stretched thin enough that he’d tear if too much pressure was put on his skin.

He could feel those long, graceful fingers trembling where they brushed his cheek.  It reminded him of nothing so much as the little, shaking boy he’d first met all those years ago, begging for direction and shivering in the rain like a chick who had fallen from its nest.  It had been so long, his cuckoo’s mission had been well and solidly accomplished, but regardless of the new nest and all of the resources he’d made available to this boy he’d come to think of as a fledgeling of his own, Gilbert refused to truly spread his wings…forever hopping to the end of a tether he clutched tightly in his own talons, only to flap back for fear of the wide open sky…

“Mm.  It truly is the end of an era.” Break chuckled dryly, shaking his head a bit and resting his hands in his lap. “Though it’s been quite the run…I’d like to say that I have no regrets, but that would be a lie.”

He just paused a long moment, his hand still resting lightly against Gilbert’s arm. “Don’t let it get you down just yet, Gilbert.  You still have some time to get sick of me before I’m well and truly out of your hair for good.  ‘Death bows to duty’, as someone once said.”

(Source: sugar-coated-tongue)

black-coffee-and-cigarettes:

The words almost went unheard. Caught up in his own head, in his own broken illusion, Gilbert felt as if he were being smothered. Like a blanket had been wrapped around his head and he couldn’t see what was or wasn’t real anymore. He couldn’t tell the difference. It all hurt; it was all cold…He shook his head, bringing himself back around and looking at Break.

Sitting on that couch, wrapped up in the soft pliant leather…The man could have almost passed for comfortable. If he couldn’t see the exhaustion in the other’s limbs, if he didn’t realize that the posture wasn’t out of convenience, but necessity…he would have believed it. But no…He’d stopped deluding himself hadn’t he?

Muttering his understanding under his breath, Gilbert rang for a servant and waited at the door, mustering a thin smile for the young woman who came to help them. He asked her politely for a tea service for the both of them, closing the door as she slipped away to carry out the request. Normally, he’d have done it himself. He’d have taken the chance to relieve some stress through cooking, baking, something that would come a little more naturally. Or something that wouldn’t require him to think.

He exhaled roughly, moving to sit on the couch and digging out a cigarette. His fingers were shaking. His whole body was trembling. He felt weak and out of breath. And every look at Break had that weight in his chest sinking further. This man…As a child he’d looked up to him. He’d fought against him and shouted at him, had pitched fits against him and thrown everything from temper tantrums to actual things. To think that that same man who’d hold him back by the forehead, who would push him over and tease him endlessly, could be reduced to this…

“…Jesus Christ…”

“Oh come, Gilbert.  You’ll be poor company if you do nothing but utter that tired oath over and over again.”

Break huffed softly, shaking his head a little and bringing a hand up to bat at Gilbert’s shoulder, frowning slightly at the younger man.  He could all but feel the boy shaking where he sat, and that just made him feel worse about his own condition, something he hardly had the patience or the temper to deal with.  This was why he hated letting others see his weakness.  This was why he kept his infirmity to himself.  It caused more trouble than it was worth.

He squared his shoulders carefully, sitting up properly and crossing one of his legs over the other as he forced himself to recover some of his usual bearing.

“Do you see why I’ve been minding myself now?  Look at you…more distressed over me than you’ve any right to be.”

(Source: sugar-coated-tongue)

madnessoftheabyss:

*looks hopeful*

black-coffee-and-cigarettes:

“I’ll send for it.” Gilbert nodded, watching Break and feeling something sink in his chest. The moment they were through the door, it felt like some final threshold had been crossed. It felt like he’d been consumed and smothered by a thick wave of cold water. His limbs felt heavier, his body colder…It was the same feeling he got whenever that damned seal moved another step on Oz’s chest.

He was losing this man.

He’d been right all along. He was getting left behind. But they weren’t walking away from him, were they? They weren’t progressing on and leaving him to lurk in their shadows, grasping after coattails and the afterimage of a forgotten smile…They were slipping through his fingers to somewhere he couldn’t follow. Somewhere he was too weak to follow. Both Oz and Break were dying…And it was just sinking in now.

How long had he been deluding himself? How long had he convinced himself there was something he could do? How many times had he forced himself to believe that they were stronger than him, that he’d be able to watch them disappear into something far greater than anything he could find? All because he couldn’t face the reality of the matter…If these two could fall, could be taken so easily…where did that leave him?

His mouth felt dry, his fingers shaking from a mixture of anxiety and terror. There was nothing he could do. No matter how many bullets he took for them, how many battles he tried to fight for them, they were caught in a war with their own bodies. He couldn’t take that burden from them. He couldn’t take that pain away. What was left?

Break sighed heavily, making his way to the sofa by memory and sitting down with a huff, closing his eye for a long moment and resting back in its soft leather embrace.  He felt as though the piece of furniture ought to be groaning under the weight of weariness tugging on his limbs, but he knew that physically he was probably lighter than he’d been before…he had little taste for food these days, though he did what he could to keep his strength up, for the sake of those who still relied on him.

…It was always for someone else’s sake, wasn’t it?  His smiles, his jokes…the jocularity he forced on himself even on days when he wanted nothing more than to rage and break things, to vent his spleen like he had in his youth — to such disasterous results.  With old age and experience had come the knowledge that being selfish for his own sake led to nothing but heartbreak and destruction.  For all that he was lying, for all that he was decieving and pushing others away, it was as selfless as he knew how to be.

He could feel the chill that had whipped up in the room with their entrance, the anxiety all but rolling off of the younger man now that they were in private.  He heaved a soft sigh and shook his head, bringing a hand up to run his fingers through his hair and trying to pick Gilbert’s sillouette out of the monotone blur that the rest of the room had turned into.

“Sit, if you’d like.” He patted the seat beside him and leaned lightly against a throw pillow. “Once you’ve called for our refreshments.”

(Source: sugar-coated-tongue)