Hellooooo...Ed's got more plot bunnies...this isn't good.
I tried writing a Kopeke/Matoro friendship fic which was slightly a prequel to Father and Son and in which Ehrye wasn't a jerk, but it fell through. I liked the idea, though, so here we are. There are going to be about four or five of these, if I can come up with enough scenarios ;) Each is inspired by a song BUT IS NOT A SONGFIC!
I know I should be working on Rahi Warrior and Metru Uni but this is basically getting rid of about five plot bunnies in one go. Don't worry, I'll still be posting semi-regularly.
I'm working on #2 (which is a surprise) and it should be posted by Sunday. Please review, and if you have any ideas for people to visit Matoro, feel free to request one! (Unless I've already done that person, in which case I don't do repeats.)
*Bionicle belongs to Lego. The song 'Smile' belongs to Charlie Chaplin and...whoever else did it.*
Smile, though your heart is aching
Smile, even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky, you'll get by (Smile, by Charlie Chaplin)
A single Ko-Matoran walked down the streets of Ko-Metru. Any other Ko-Matoran could tell you that this Matoran was Kopeke, one of the best ice carvers in the city, with the social skills of a sick Muaka. But they couldn't tell you why his eyes were glassy, why his step was shuffling, or why his head was bowed. No one knew anything about Kopeke besides what everyone knew.
At least, no one except Matoro.
Matoro and Kopeke had been best friends since forever. Matoro was the only one who could understand when Kopeke was being antisocial and when he was feeling shy. He knew when the artist wanted to be left alone without Kopeke saying anything. Kopeke could say three words and Matoro would instantly understand. He was the only one with this precious gift.
And he was dead.
Matoro had left Metru Nui without even a goodbye note with a group of Matoran and Takanuva. Eventually, he'd become a Toa, and had had many grand adventures. But he died using the Kanohi Ignika—the Mask of Life—to revive the universe. Kopeke hadn't even known what had become of his friends until the rest of his team returned and told him their tale. As the new Chronicler, he had to write it on the new Wall of History. He'd been putting it off for so long, people had stopped asking him to do it.
The street that Kopeke was walking down was very well known to him. He walked it every day in his quest to avoid writing Matoro's story. Eventually, he stopped next to one building that had many icicles hanging from its roof. Snapping a large one off, he continued on his way. Few Matoran that passed him spared him a glance, but he didn't care. He was almost at his destination.
There it was: Matoro's memorial statue. Kopeke himself had helped to carve it. It was a perfect likeness of Matoro's Toa Mahri form, at least according to the other Mahri. Kopeke wouldn't know. All he saw was a tall being made of ice that may or may not have been his best friend.
Kopeke came here every day. He was the last Matoran anyone would think of to hold onto an emotion, but Kopeke clung to his sadness. Or maybe his sadness clung to him. He wasn't sure. He just knew that he wanted his friend back.
But today he was not here to simply mourn and make illogical wishes. Today he had a specific task. Not as the Chronicler, not as a sports star—as a carver, and as a friend.
Sitting at the base of the statue, Kopeke ran his hand over the words carved there. They read "Matoro—Toa, hero, friend." It nigh broke his heart to see it every time. Turning so that he was sitting with his back to the statue, Kopeke took out his sculpting tools and set to work on the icicle he'd brought with him. A couple of Matoran passed by, but in the hour that he was there, no one spoke to him. That was fine. Kopeke didn't need anyone to speak to him. The only being he would have liked to have spoken to was dead.
Kopeke found himself humming slightly as he worked. Frowning, he shot a glare at Matoro's statue, as if it was the cause of the sudden urge to make noise. In all the years he'd known Matoro, the translator had never been comfortable with complete silence. It came from being with a Turaga who only spoke in strange bird talk, Kopeke supposed. Sometimes, when he and Matoro would be sitting and reading, or working on something, or doing something that otherwise was quiet, Matoro would start to hum. Then Kopeke would throw a snowball at him and he would stop, only to start up again a few minutes later. It was all Matoro's fault that now Kopeke was humming.
He didn't even realize what he was humming. It took him a few more bars before he remembered that it was a song that Matoro was fond of, about how if you smile things look better and you'll feel whole again. That was ridiculous. One does not smile when one is sad. Kopeke had told Matoro this, and Matoro had just sighed and shaken his head with a smile. "Come on, Kopeke," he'd say. "Not everything has to be logical!"
Sometimes Kopeke wondered if Matoro was actually a Po-Matoran in disguise.
Finally, he finished humming just as he finished his carving. Satisfied, he stood and placed it at the foot of Matoro's statue. It was very small next to the huge memorial, but it would do. Kopeke had carved a miniature statue of Matoro's Matoran form. It was the form that everyone on Metru Nui knew and loved—and it started to fill the void that Matoro had left in Kopeke's heart.
For the first time in a very long time, a small smile managed to work its way onto Kopeke's mask. He looked into the statuette's eyes. "Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for being my friend." Then he turned and walked away.