Pride gave new meaning to the term 'tabula rasa'. In a million ways, half of
them literal, he was a complete blank slate. The blond had apparently abandoned his
memories - and was obviously completely at peace with that arrangement. They swamped back
up to engulf him from time to time, but never without impetus; they were always triggered
by some external stimulus.
Excepting those sporadic attacks of visions from his human life, the blond might as well be a blank piece of paper on which he could inscribe whatever he wanted. What he told Pride to do, he did. Where he told Pride to go, he went. And for the most part, who he told Pride to kill, he slew without any hint of emotion.
Going from those blank golden eyes, it was sometimes easy to forget who Pride had once been. Moments where he stopped to wait on a 'I'm not short' or a 'Who are you calling' rant were becoming fewer and farther between. It was even easier to forget when the blond didn't rise to the 'o-chibi-san' cracks he'd so enjoyed taking.
He had watched Pride emerge from the remnants of Edward. He had watched him struggle to form thoughts and opinions that were his own, not those given to him at his creation and since then. Pride was very much a work in progress, one that it would take him years to perfect.
And he'd thought life was going to be dull.
04 November 2005
And this particular story made me want to introduce Rippy the Razor. ~.~ (Two points if you get the reference.)
There we have it: five stories in five days. Now I can work at a less frantic pace.