Sense8 KHR cross and the cluster first activating please?
hahaHA we continue on the tradition of me doing sense8 research and then going NAH FUCK THAT and writing whatever the hell i want
also this fic is TWT (Timeline? What timeline?) because atm i cannot be bothered to do the math to figure out exactly when everything occurs/how old everyone is.
Buuut, since I think that the younger kids in the cluster (Tsuna, Spanner, Fran, Suzuki) are all like….between three and five at this point, they don’t show up much. Call this a quick study on the older quartet.
It starts with a headache.
Okay, calling it a headache is like calling a killing blizzard a few flurries, but that’s semantics.
It starts with a headache, and it starts with the piano in his head. It becomes impossible to concentration on anything else. Quick tinkling notes falling past each other like a waterfall, the tune familiar but unplaceable. Xanxus has never had time for music.
Bianchi doesn’t know why finding out that the woman is dead hurt so much, inside. It means that she’s the center of attention again. It means her mother is happy.
But she can’t help feeling like something got lost. Something precious.
She hides in her room for almost a week, nursing a migraine that turns all of the lights in the mansion into rainbow spears through her skull.
Through it all, Für Elise keeps her company, one of the last pieces that the woman taught Hayato.
He keeps humming it, and he doesn’t know the song, but it won’t leave him alone, and sometimes it makes him so weirdly angry, and sometimes he feels like someone’s died and he feels so guilty about it.
And sometimes there’s just a kind of uncomplicated happy he hasn’t felt since it became clear he didn’t have a chance of leaving the Cavallone name behind.
Dino runs gentle fingers over the piano keys. His sister used to have lessons, but he’s never learned how to play, and since Dad and Uncle Mario started arguing when they think he and Chiara can’t hear, there’s been no more lessons.
It’s easy, says a girl who isn’t Chiara.
Dino looks up, and there’s a girl with pink hair and green eyes and a determined expression, standing next to the piano.
He feels like it should startle him, that she’s there, but it feels like this is how it’s supposed to be.
I can show you how to play it, I think, she says. The woman taught Hayato so it can’t be that hard.
Dino blinks. “I’d like that,” he says, and sits down on the piano bench, with a ghost of a girl beside him.
She shows him how to place his fingers, and they stumble, more than a little, as they try to play the sparkling, slightly sad song that still hasn’t left them.
I’m Bianchi Falco, she tells him, as they finally get the first few notes right.
“Dino Cavallone,” he says, and she smiles, like the barest flicker of starlight, and vanishes.
The boy is back, and as annoying as ever. Xanxus does his best to ignore him, poring over the documents he filched from his father’s office.
The Bassi? the boy says, skeptical. Maman doesn’t think they’re smart enough to do things like this.
“What are you doing here?” Xanxus asks, muttering under his breath so no one asks him why he’s speaking to thin air. He’s already learned that no one can see the others, the pink haired girl or the blond boy, or this annoying kid with a mop of hair like a dandelion tuft.
Lessons were boring. And I was trying to find the baby, not you. Guess you whine the same, the boy says, sticking out his tongue.
Xanxus growls back. “What baby?”
There can’t be more of these annoyances. No. He has enough scum in his life without more people he can’t keep out with a locked door.
The boy is suddenly serious though. There’s more of us–I thought you’d see it a lot faster. Even Dino noticed. They’re a lot younger than us though, so I don’t think they can visit us. But we could visit them.
Xanxus looks back at the documents for a moment, and the boy huffs, annoyed, before vanishing.
He’s right, you know, the girl says. Just because you don’t want to admit it….
Xanxus snarls at the voice in his head, and stands up from his desk.
Time to go practice at the firing range. No one bothers him there, and he can be free of all of these people he never asked to know.
There’s a hammerblow of satisfaction-got-you that flashes the brief image of a redheaded boy pinned to the ground across his eyes, and Xanxus grinds his teeth.
Maybe he’ll study his French instead, for when he has to deal with hunting down the one who keeps waking him up in the middle of the night with color-shape-pretty-happy-hungry!
That one is dead to him.