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[Fic] Bayonetta // One Good Turn
I'm not gonna lie to you, I've been poking at this on and off ALL DAY, because apparently I had to try four different fandoms before I could find one that I could write a fic too. Don't know why! ... I still haven't found a Bayonetta icon, btw, but I'm at the library and I'm not sure I dare to google any Bayonetta stuff while I'm here.
Bayonetta // One Good Turn
G | 200 words | Bayonetta, Luka | No spoilers | Written for the![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
drabble_zone prompt "Gesture" | Bayonetta found something that belonged to him.
"If you're not going to take care of your toys, you're going to lose them," Bayonetta said crisply, slapping the sheaf of papers into Luka's chest as she passed. He scrambled to grab them – and then froze, a few of the sheets falling from his suddenly lax fingers. The papers were all torn notebook sheets, worn and faded with age. Some of them had photographs taped to the pages; all of them were covered in handwriting as familiar as his own.
Luka dropped to his knees, frantically gathering the pages that had escaped, turning them over to read snatches of what his father – his father – had written. "Notes on the Topic of Magic IV" next to "Ithavoll CEO - II" next to a photo labelled "To my beloved son" —
"How did you –?" Luka started, his voice choked. "When did you – I had some of his notes, but this —" He clutched the pages to his chest, disordered and bent, but here, and had to close his eyes, take a deep breath. Journalistic pride, right? "Thank you, Bayonetta. This means a lot to me."
He wasn't surprised when he opened his eyes and found himself alone.
Bayonetta // One Good Turn
G | 200 words | Bayonetta, Luka | No spoilers | Written for the
drabble_zone prompt "Gesture" | Bayonetta found something that belonged to him."If you're not going to take care of your toys, you're going to lose them," Bayonetta said crisply, slapping the sheaf of papers into Luka's chest as she passed. He scrambled to grab them – and then froze, a few of the sheets falling from his suddenly lax fingers. The papers were all torn notebook sheets, worn and faded with age. Some of them had photographs taped to the pages; all of them were covered in handwriting as familiar as his own.
Luka dropped to his knees, frantically gathering the pages that had escaped, turning them over to read snatches of what his father – his father – had written. "Notes on the Topic of Magic IV" next to "Ithavoll CEO - II" next to a photo labelled "To my beloved son" —
"How did you –?" Luka started, his voice choked. "When did you – I had some of his notes, but this —" He clutched the pages to his chest, disordered and bent, but here, and had to close his eyes, take a deep breath. Journalistic pride, right? "Thank you, Bayonetta. This means a lot to me."
He wasn't surprised when he opened his eyes and found himself alone.