This definitely was not a C rank mission, and by God, his pay had better reflect that...if he ever made it back to Sunagakure alive, that is.
Running through the sparse forest that bordered the lands of Wind and Fire was alright. Bearable. There was some cover and some space to hide, though that worked the same for those after him. The open space of the desert was another thing entirely. If his enemies were still on his tail, he would likely be an easy target, and all his years living in the desert had failed to teach him to camouflage or hide amongst the dunes.
On the other hand, being surrounded by sand did give the solitary and rather terrified ninja a slight advantage. He was good with sand. Gradually, he slowed to a stop. It would do him no good to panic and get himself lost and ultimately killed by his own stupidity on home turf, so he had to stop, catch his breath, get his bearings. It was dark, but he considered his night vision fairly good, and couldn't see any sign of anyone.
At all.
Which way was Sunagakure? He was still in a panicked state, and more out of breath than he should have been, and he couldn't quite tell...and he hadn't seen his team mates for a good four hours now, at least. They'd scattered, like idiots, and sure as hell didn't have a meeting point to regroup at. And the team leader, who was frankly painfully underqualified to lead two peers, had been chased all the way back to the Sand.
The team leader in question was a cold genin by the name of Sajin, and one that certainly thought himself capable of accomplishing at the very least your average genin mission without his sensei hanging over him, but this? This was ridiculous. It was supposed to be a simple job involving going to meet someone, getting a package and delivering it back to someone else within the village who was too feeble to go out and get it himself. Not even the slightest suggestion someone might try and kill them over the damn thing. Heck, it had sounded for all intents and purposes like nothing more than, say, a teddy bear for the recipient's niece or something. And Sajin was the loser who ended up carrying the package, meaning he was the one most of them seemed to be after.
He could only hope Mujin and Mijin were still alive.
Okay, bearings. He needed to figure out where he was going and what his next move would be. Did he continue to the village or go back for the guys? No, he couldn't go look for the guys. That would be a foolish move and undoubtedly get him killed. He would have to go back the way he came, where his enemies were, and had no idea which way they'd gone in the first place. The smart thing would be to get to the safety of the village and explain what had happened, get a search party or some back-up. With the 5th in charge, he was sure he would get some help. So he hunkered down against a dune and took stock of his surroundings. He was facing west, Suna was to the east and a little to the south of the country...looking at things logically, he had to still be to the east of the village, he hadn't been travelling long enough to pass it. Locating south was simple enough. He could see the moon, and if he could see the moon, he could find south. If Sajin prided himself on anything, it had to be his way with directions. It was something he was very good at, so facing southwest...
With newfound determination, he set off, ready to complete this stupid mission. Only he didn't. He took one step, and pain lanced across his back and something struck the back of his knees hard, sending him sprawling. And he panicked, for what had to be the billionth time that day, gathering sand to him and sending it behind him in a spurt. Not offensive enough, but enough to momentarily blind whoever had attacked him. Staying and fighting was not an option, and he didn't fancy his chances if he surrendered, so he scrambled to his feet and started running again. He was pretty sure the people on his tail were S rank or Jounin something, so fighting was only a last resort if he was cornered.
And all too soon, he was more trapped than cornered.
~*~*~*~*~
Ever since the ever hanging threat of painful and brutal death when walking around at night had stopped being an issue, Korobi and Yaoki found they liked taking the odd walk around the village or the surrounding area. The Land of Wind could be a beautiful place, after all. They never ventured far, not unless they had good cause to do so, because to them it just seemed like common sense. Stay near the gates where the guards could see them.
That morning, Korobi had been waiting. Yaoki had told him to wait near the gates, and he chose to wait just outside, watch the sun rise, chatting amicably with one of the guards. It wasn't until the sun was high in the sky and Yaoki was undoubtedly late that the puppeteer noticed something out of the corner of his eye, off in the horizon.
"Hey, Kanso, do you see that?"
The guard followed Korobi's finger to the black blob in the distance. "What is that?"
"Is it a person? I think it's a person."
"Korobi-" And without another word, he set off to investigate, the guard following shortly after.
It must have been a lucky spot. The guy was one of theirs, lying unconscious in torn clothes and covered in blood. It looked like he'd dragged himself for quite a while after being injured. He was still breathing, still alive, but worryingly pale. Lord only knew how long he'd been out there. Korobi crouched beside him, trying to assess the damage. Not that he could tell much. He gently shook the man's shoulder (an idiotic move, as anyone with basic first aid knowledge would tell you) and called to him. "Hey, wake up! Can you hear me? Wake up!"
No reaction. "Pick him up. We'll take him back to the village." Kanso said, standing at the genin's shoulder.
The moment Korobi started to lift the injured shinobi, he let out a sound midway between a groan and a gurgle. Instantly, the puppeteer snatched his hands back with a very slight yelp. Kanso rolled his eyes and kicked him in the back, prompting him to speak again.
"Ah! Hey, can you hear me? Are you okay?" Stupid question.
The injured shinobi cracked open a dark and slightly swollen eye. "Who...?"
"It's okay...I'm Korobi. We're going to get you back to safety." He went to pick him up again, and almost drew back when the guy cried out. Almost. "What happened to you?"
"Fuck...no..." Was all the guy managed to get out. That and a choked sound. Korobi took that as his cue to lift the stranger. He'd seen him around the village before. A good looking guy with a permanent scowl on his face. They'd never spoken before but he'd never looked that friendly. Honestly, Korobi believed it would be no big loss if they never did speak. He didn't like rude, selfish and unkind people. But he himself always tried to be nice...
"What's your name?"
The guy didn't answer. He instead just turned his head until his face was buried against Korobi's flak jacket and passed out again.
~*~*~*~*~
Mijin and Mujin had made it back to the village before morning, before Sajin was found. They'd managed to regroup and figured, as Sajin was heading towards the village anyway, heading that way was the best way to go. It was honestly a shock when he was brought in after them, battered and bruised and long since defeated. Sajin was arguably more shocked when he woke up and saw those two idiots hanging over him, as well as the guy that had carried him in standing in the corner of the room. He spoke to his team mates, relieved but angry. He'd lost the package and failed the mission, almost lost his life and, had whoever chased them not already seen Sajin with it, Mijin and Mujin could have died as well. After the chunin exams, he'd learnt a little, and that little was that his friends were important, and sacrificing them for his own gain would only hurt him in the long run. He'd definitely regret it in future when he had no-one to turn to.
The guy with the box on his back, Korobi, coming across him was pure luck, but pure luck that likely saved his stupid life. A knight in shining armour, he would joke with his friends later.
It probably didn't help his addled mind that his rescuer was strong and cute and warm. All the stupid things he remembered. Feeling safe enough to fall asleep once someone was carrying him. He would have felt safe with any Suna ninja carrying him home after the night he'd had! He'd likely forget the guy within a week, provided they didn't speak.
Korobi, however, came to speak to him when his team mates left. Ensure he was okay or whatever. He seemed so kind. It was annoying, and by the end of the day, Sajin had a stupid crush. It was only infatuation or transference, he was sure of it, and equally sure that it would fade eventually, whether they interacted or not. It wasn't like they were fated to meet or fall for each other or whatever.
((I haven't properly written a story for the vast majority of the year, primarily because I lost all confidence in my ability. This piece focuses on minor-ass Suna genin because it's essentially a writing exercise to help me get back into things should I ever want to write again. I do enjoy writing, but sometimes find things difficult or don't have the time or motivation, so I have a lot of unfinished projects. Essentially, whether this is good or not, I was not intending to make this an especially good piece. Just messing around with the basic 'how your ship met' story. I crack ship a lot of minor characters in Naruto.))
Sunday, 18 December 2016
Sunday, 31 July 2016
Fraxus
Morning broke. It was early. Too early for Laxus to be awake, certainly. He was tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep, but a few things stopped him.
Firstly, the curtains weren't fully drawn. Light from outside, though not as bright as it could have been, still spilled directly over his eyes. Secondly, he had been pushed right to the edge of the bed. A literal roll would either send him over and onto the floor or over his bed fellow. Thirdly, something was in his mouth. Something unpleasant and that he couldn't quite identify. Reaching up, he grasped it and dragged it up until he could see it.
A long lock of green hair, shining with saliva. Ah.
Without much thought, he flicked it aside, letting it join the rest of Freed's hair, which had spread across the bed every which way during the night. He couldn't even see the younger man's face. However, how exactly that hair had made it into Laxus' mouth was beyond him, though hopefully, if Freed awoke before it dried, he would merely assume he had drooled onto it again. The rune mage drooled most nights.
After a moment, he decided to get up and at least close the curtains, maybe get back into bed on Freed's side so at the very least he had space again, but the moment he moved, there was a groan and a shift beside him.
"Good morning." Laxus mumbled on instinct, glancing over as Freed brushed his hair from his face.
"Is it time to get up?"
He glanced at the clock and then back to his mate. Freed's eyes remained shut. It seemed he had little intention to get up. "No." He answered honestly.
"Good." He draped an arm over the dragon slayer and tried to cuddle closer, perhaps still half-asleep, and Laxus drew away. "Where are you going?"
He didn't answer, simply got up and closed the curtains fully. Behind him, his mate sat up, watching him.
Upon his return to the warm embrace of his bed, the two cuddled up silently. It was only four in the morning, so sleep seemed like the only reasonable course of action.
"Laxus?"
"Hmm?"
"Why is my hair wet?"
((I tried to turn a scene I've had in my head into words. I haven't put that scene through my mind in at least a week, but I tried to write it anyway.))
Firstly, the curtains weren't fully drawn. Light from outside, though not as bright as it could have been, still spilled directly over his eyes. Secondly, he had been pushed right to the edge of the bed. A literal roll would either send him over and onto the floor or over his bed fellow. Thirdly, something was in his mouth. Something unpleasant and that he couldn't quite identify. Reaching up, he grasped it and dragged it up until he could see it.
A long lock of green hair, shining with saliva. Ah.
Without much thought, he flicked it aside, letting it join the rest of Freed's hair, which had spread across the bed every which way during the night. He couldn't even see the younger man's face. However, how exactly that hair had made it into Laxus' mouth was beyond him, though hopefully, if Freed awoke before it dried, he would merely assume he had drooled onto it again. The rune mage drooled most nights.
After a moment, he decided to get up and at least close the curtains, maybe get back into bed on Freed's side so at the very least he had space again, but the moment he moved, there was a groan and a shift beside him.
"Good morning." Laxus mumbled on instinct, glancing over as Freed brushed his hair from his face.
"Is it time to get up?"
He glanced at the clock and then back to his mate. Freed's eyes remained shut. It seemed he had little intention to get up. "No." He answered honestly.
"Good." He draped an arm over the dragon slayer and tried to cuddle closer, perhaps still half-asleep, and Laxus drew away. "Where are you going?"
He didn't answer, simply got up and closed the curtains fully. Behind him, his mate sat up, watching him.
Upon his return to the warm embrace of his bed, the two cuddled up silently. It was only four in the morning, so sleep seemed like the only reasonable course of action.
"Laxus?"
"Hmm?"
"Why is my hair wet?"
((I tried to turn a scene I've had in my head into words. I haven't put that scene through my mind in at least a week, but I tried to write it anyway.))
Monday, 20 June 2016
Balthasar Gammaleil
I've always been a strange guy. I accept that. In fact, after a certain point, I began to embrace that. My name's Balthasar. I like my hair long, small, fuzzy animals, flowers, romance, my family close. I'm very protective over my family. I'm technically the eldest, after all. I have to be strong for them, and protect them. I have a younger sister, and a brother who likes to act like he's the eldest and the toughest. We're twins, but I'm taller, stronger and fitter. We're non-identical. Clearly. We barely look related, aside from our eyes. We have the same hazel eyes. But he's short, fat and blond, and I'm tall, athletic and dark.
And a bit effeminate, I'll admit. I skip instead of walking and I love making flower crowns and I'm very in touch with my feminine side. I remember at first, someone tried to bully me for it. Jaimes, his name was. He was funny.
Anyway, I suppose up until recently, I'd been enjoying my life. I had friends and my family, and my mum had let me get my lip pierced (though Ben teased that if I got more metal put in me, I'd be drawn to every magnet) and I was feeling confident. I was doing well at school and...well, I was happy. My mum was happy, my brother was happy, my sister was happy...we were all happy!
I'm not sure when it was that things started to go to shit. I remembered getting sick during an exam, near my OWLs, I think it was. It was an exam that was important to me, so even though I was coughing and wheezing and breathless all the way, I sat through my exams and probably distracted those around me. What can I say? It was herbology and astronomy, and those are my passions! I couldn't just let them lie. And eventually, I got bad enough that I had to go down to the hospital wing and say I'd had a chest infection for ages and never gotten it seen to. Frankly, I'd expected it to just...fade over time. They normally do that.
And then I was back, talking with my best friends. Raphael and Ben. Exams were still on. Next one was potions.
"Please tell me you studied a little before you went to the hospital wing." Ben told me. He knew me well. He knew as long as I was ill, I would be more than happy to use it as an excuse to slack off.
"Potions is useless to me anyway." I assured my brother, which he responded to with a disgusted sigh.
"And what, exactly, are you expecting to do with your life?"
"I don't know. Party?"
"I'd be happy to join you with that." Raph interjected. We laughed and Benny rolled his eyes.
"You guys don't have any plans whatsoever, do you?"
"We're winging it." Raph confirmed with a nod, running his fingers through his hair. "Do you have a plan?"
"Yeah."
I turned to him, leaning forward slightly. "What's your plan then?"
"If I tell you, you'll tease me."
"True." I sat back, crossing my arms as my brother smirked at me. We had our secrets. We wanted to surprise each other. I had no plans, of course. And that stressed me out. Benny knew that stressed me out. That was why he wouldn't tell me his plans. I kind of knew he wanted to work with children, though, and that was...sweet. I wanted children of my own in the future. A beautiful baby girl, followed by a handsome young boy. Uri and Christine, I'd name them. I like the name Uri.
"You've lost weight."
The comment seemed to come from nowhere, but I could note that Raph was now staring at my chest.
"I have?" I asked, realising he was talking about me. I knew Benny had been trying to lose weight. In fact, he exercised rigorously, as he greatly enjoyed his cardio, but his weight was stable and high.
"Yeah. Not massive amounts, but..."
"Enough to be noticeable." Benny finished.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. As though suddenly my clothes would feel super loose or something. "I've been ill lately..."
"Are you sure you're totally recovered?" Raph asked softly. "You look pretty pale too, is all..."
"I'm fine." I assured them with a laugh, shaking my head. "You two are too...concerned."
"I'm your brother." Benny pointed out. "It's my job to be concerned."
"True." I conceded, checking my watch. "There's this really cute girl in Gryffindor." Raph stared at me for a moment. "What?"
"You're going to try to talk to us about girls?" Clearly, he wasn't impressed with the way I'd started. "Girls you want to bone?"
"Bally has a crush." Ben teased. "Our little boy's all grown up!"
"I didn't say I had a crush." I argued. "Or that I wanted to bone her, as you so eloquently put it. Jesus Christ, Raph. I just said I saw someone I thought was cute."
"Did she have a cute arse though?"
"I'm..not going to answer that."
"Please, it's not like I'm gonna steal her from you. If she's not Hettie, I'm not interested."
"I know. Practically the whole school knows. You'd sell your own mother for a chance to bone Hettie."
"See? Now you're saying it too!"
"Picked it up off you, didn't I?"
Benny interrupted us with "Potions." We both turned to look at him as he stood, and he gestured for us to follow him. "Potions. Exam. Come on."
Groaning, the two of us got up after him. Raph was alright with potions, but I hated it with a burning passion.
The exam went well enough. I came out of it in a bad mood because god, I hate potions classes. And exams. And potions in general. Long story short, I failed potions. But that didn't concern me. I hardly wanted to do potions in the first place. I slept well that night, and woke up early.
Quite early. To find my bedding drenched and my body slick. It was gross as fuck, let me tell you. My pillow was wet as well. I hadn't been so sweaty since...ever. Not even the most horrific of nightmares had managed this. I turned on my bedside light, rubbing my hand across my face as I tried to shake off the bleariness that came pretty much any time I woke up (my body hated mornings), and slowly opened my eyes to a none too pleasant sight. While mostly the unpleasant wetness was definitely sweat, my pillow was covered in blood. I'd had nighttime nosebleeds before. I used to get them a lot when I was little. I don't think I'd had one since puberty though. Part of me, a little childlike part, wanted to crawl out of bed and go to my brother. Wake him up, crawl into bed with him and ask him to hug me and make things better. He was good at comforting. Better than me, at any rate. Feeling distinctly woozy, I got up and made my way to the bathroom. I had to wash any lingering blood off my face and out of my hair. My chest felt tight and it seemed harder to breathe, but that was just psychosomatic. I was worried and a little scared of the dark, I'm not afraid to admit it, and having to walk around before it was light out, I was anxious, so I was finding it harder to breathe. Science. I mean, science is harder to believe when you find out you're a wizard, but still.
I got to the bathroom, snapped the light on and went to the sink by the mirror. I was starting to get what Raph was saying about me looking ill. I was paler than I thought possible, though I had just lost lord knows how much blood. It was still under my nose, on my lips and right cheek. And in my hair, of course. I looked about as tired as I felt, and there was a bruise on my chest where I'd knocked it against a desk during my exam. (I sleep topless in summer, so it was quite visible) Anyway, I washed my face and my hair as best I could, and planned to stay up until morning with a jewellery kit. When I was little, my mum spoiled me, and my brother, and my sister, as best she could. She gets money from our father, even though he has his own family and I've never met the man myself, and she wanted to shower us with...I don't know, maybe love, when my sister died. Y'see, originally I wasn't a twin, I was a triplet, but the other one died when we were very little. Little enough that I hardly remember her, but I remember the doctors. I remember the doctors, and the rush, and the way my mother cried most nights, and the thin, sickly child being made to feel far worse by whatever the doctors were doing to her. It's a horrible memory. Anyway, where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I used to love the aisle of toys that was all pink and pretty. I wanted all the dolls and jewellery things and fashion kits and ponies. And my mother was happy to buy them for me if it made me happy. So I had jewellery kits in my room and I was good with the slightly more professional stuff as well. Within reason.
Once I'd washed up, I took another look at myself in the mirror. Though I wasn't as athletic as Benny, I always had some muscle on me. Muscular arms, good pectorals, possibly a little in the way of, well, maybe abs, I'm not sure. Anyway, after a moment of staring at myself, I did have to admit I'd lost a little weight. Deciding I wanted to keep my body the way it was, I decided I would join Benny's little exercise regime tomorrow. Or today. Whichever it was. I collected my dressing gown and jewellery kit, and went down into the common room, settling into an armchair and deciding I would make a beautiful necklace.
I woke up. It was bright, and I was slumped in my chair, my back hurting and body stiff from simply being in an awkward position.
"He's got a fever. Not a very high one, but he's a bit warm."
"So should we tell Pomfrey? He won't wake up."
"He's just a heavy sleeper. He'll be fine."
Three voices from above me. I cracked an eye open. Two girls and a boy. I recognised them easily. Cherrie Swanson-Hyde and Tim Twitchell, I rarely spoke to, but they were in my year and house, so I knew them, and they knew me. Felix Schnorhavorian, I again wasn't especially close to him. "What time is it?" I asked.
"Uh..."
"Quarter past one." Cherrie answered before Felix could get his head together.
"What?" I sat up straight, and they moved back so I could get up. My jewellery kit fell to the floor and I swore. "Why didn't anyone wake me?"
"Well, we couldn't." Tim answered as she picked up my beads for me. "Well, you told Ben to leave you alone."
"I don't remember that."
"You weren't totally with it."
Felix spoke up next. "Thought you'd be up by now though. There's blood all over your pillow, by the way."
"I know." I snapped as I wandered up the stairs to my dorm. I heard them talking behind me as I went. I honestly hadn't felt that tired when I'd sat down. I don't think I got further than opening my box before I'd dropped off. The house elves would take care of my pillow, so I left it and got dressed. My chest was feeling weird and tight and uncomfortable again. I felt ill.
The next day I got another god damn chest infection. Every damn breath was one of those annoying rattly ones. And the next week, we were going home. The year was over and I was free. I fell asleep on the train, under the concerned gaze of Benny and a Gryffindor boy we were friends with. See, when we got home, I thought it would all be fine. I could sleep more and get over whatever was wrong with me. I stepped off the train, my mum took one look at me and instantly her hands were on me, asking if I was alright. Asking how long I'd been ill for and why I hadn't sent her a letter. I told her I just wanted to get home and she reluctantly agreed. It just kind of went downhill from there. I was getting worried about myself. As well as the infections coming back way too often, I woke up most nights with wet covers and a bloody pillow. I was tired all the time, my weight kept dropping (I wasn't muscular any more, whoops) and there was this stupid rash near my shoulder and everything was stiff and hurty. I honestly had no idea what was going on until my mum made a doctor's appointment for me...behind my back...but hey, I appreciated it, I guess. Right up until my mum actually spoke to the doctor.
"It's a...I think it might be cancer. I've seen it before, with my daughter. And even if it isn't, it's clear he's very, very sick and I just need to know what's wrong with him!"
That was what she'd said. It unnerved me more than anything that had happened so far. And there were tests, and multiple doctors, and ashen faces that held the promise of bad news. I cried. While I waited for all the results of some stupid biopsy, I dug my nails into my palms and played with my bracelets and rings and I cried. I was scared, and all I knew was that there was some abnormality or something in my blood and they needed to do this test and I might have been dying. And I didn't know where my mum was, and my brother and sister were at home, and I felt alone, and scared. And scared.
She turned up again when an oncologist spoke to us. He was talking about what he'd found. Or what they'd found. And how to help get rid of it. Aggressive leukaemia. Blood transfusions, antibiotics, chemotherapy...
"No..."
"Balthasar?" The name sounded weird on the doctor's tongue. He wasn't used to it. He was a muggle doctor, and probably not used to the kind of names my mum chose simply because they sounded unusual. He was tall, taller than me, and young, and needed a shave.
"I don't want chemotherapy."
"I know it sounds quite daunting, and this is quite a shock to you-"
"No, I don't want it! It's what they gave to Brieta, isn't it? It's the stuff that makes you even weaker and kills the healthy cells and the unhealthy ones and drains you so much but it can't even guarantee survival. It's not worth it and I'd rather die at my own rate."
My mother placed a hand on my shoulder. One of us was shaking. I wasn't sure which one. "Listen to what you're saying, Balthasar. You don't want to die..."
"No. No, I don't but...but I don't want to feel worse and I don't want to struggle and I want to pretend I'm normal and I don't want...I don't want chemotherapy. I refuse. I absolutely refuse."
"Balthasar!" My mother snapped, horrified. "Think about this! You're being ridiculous! Think about someone other than yourself for once-"
"Mrs Gammaleil-" The doctor interjected.
"Miss! And shut up!"
"I'm just saying, shouting at your son won't help. Balthasar...may be in shock, and maybe he isn't thinking straight, but maybe he is. For now, we should give him time to think things over, and I'll make sure he has all the facts, okay?"
And he did. And someone else came to talk to me to make sure I was thinking straight, and I had to talk to more people, and eventually it was settled. I'd take blood and antibiotics and painkillers but I wouldn't take chemotherapy. I became DNR. Or got a DNR. Whatever it is.
And I returned to school. I was still dreadfully ill, but I didn't tell any of my classmates, until I got a girlfriend. I mean, I couldn't keep it from her forever. She was lovely. Warm hugs and gentle nature and she loved my romantic side. I liked using what money I had to give her gifts. I also made her things. Flower crowns and bracelets and necklaces, and I liked plaiting her hair and I liked the kisses and the nights she would join me under the stars. I loved watching the stars with her, and we danced in the rain and sang songs and went for meals and spoke of wonderful things and made love and even went out to get a dog! Getting a dog was on my bucket list, you see. It was Raph who told me to make a bucket list. Apparently he'd made one, so I did too. And Mysteria helped me realise it. I got her name tattooed on my back.
You might understand, you might not, but I love her so much. I love every moment I spend with her and I am sure it's not just infatuation. The time of butterflies in my stomach and fireworks in my head has long since passed. I got her gold-plated roses. Sometimes, I think she felt overwhelmed with the gifts I gave her. It was fun, though. I didn't spoil her, but if I saw something she liked or I got some inspiration for jewellery, I'd jump at the chance.
I'd decided to take her out for a date. It was late, and a lovely evening, and I'd been wavering between a picnic and a restaurant. I took her out to restaurants before, though, and I thought maybe a picnic would be nice. We could watch the sun set, if my nose would stop bleeding. For about half an hour, I'd been trying to stem a nosebleed. I threw yet another tissue into the bin and stared at my reflection. It seemed to be finished, so I made sure it wasn't too visible, and wandered off to the kitchens to retrieve the picnic food I'd requested from the elves. They'd seemed very happy to make it for me, so I didn't feel guilty, and it had to be said, those elves sure could cook.
She knew I was ill by now. She knew I was dying. I knew she was sad about it, but at this point in time, it really didn't matter. So I went downstairs, as fast as I could as I couldn't risk being late. She would worry. I didn't want her to worry. I was in such a hurry, I got to the front entrance before her. After a minute or so, she walked up behind me.
"Bally, hey! You weren't waiting long, were you?"
"No," I assured her, "not at all. I was worried I might be late, actually."
"I don't think you've ever been late." Mysteria told me, taking my hand and leading me along.
"I'm always a little too early?" I asked with a slight chuckle.
"You're fine."
"I'm a smooth operator." She was more than used to my antics by now, and rolled her eyes with a sarcastic 'sure'. We wandered for a bit before I stopped and tried to lay out a blanket over the floor. I'd wanted to do it like on TV, where they do it in one flick and it covers everywhere it needs to cover, but it didn't work like that. Instead it flapped up and caught over my head, making me stumble until Mysti helped me, laughing a little. "Hold still!" She told me as she got the blanket to stop hugging me.
"Okay, that didn't quite go as planned." I mused, smirking before moving away, stretching the blanket between us and placing it down.
"Maybe it just likes you."
"Please, I'm sure anything would prefer me to the mud."
"Well, I'll admit you're better...marginally." She teased as I started unloading the basket.
"A very, very wide marginally."
"Not that wide."
"Must be very good dirt, then."
We sat, side by side. Cuddled up. Though it was a warm day, I was annoyingly cold. Cuddling up helped, but I do think she noticed, because she slung her cloak around me. She said something in response, but I didn't pay attention. I rested my head on her shoulder and kissed her cheek, and fell asleep before the sun set. Stupid. She kept me at her side, though, though I'm sure I drooled on her as I slept. Someone, I doubt it was her, carried me to my bed when it was dark. I woke up there, somewhat frightened to be shrouded in shadows, and I thought.
I thought, now I was alone (as when I was with Mysti or Benny or Alithia, I was happy and my thoughts were always cheerful) about what would come next. How this darkness would become everything. I would be nothing more than a soul, flitting from shadow to shadow, nothing to sustain me. I wouldn't even become a ghost. I'd be nothing. The strange movements out of the corner of someone's eye. I thought about being buried. I'd watched something once, where people were still aware after they'd died. I had no idea what would happen next, but every thought was an unpleasant one. I needed...I needed people to know what I wanted. Slowly, I sat up, flicking on my bedside lamp and reaching for my schoolbag, looking for paper and something to write with. I started writing, quick and somewhat messy. My handwriting had never been the neatest, no swirly, pretty letters or calligraphy. It was just about legible. My mother could read it. The teachers had gotten used to it. It didn't help when something fell on the paper, made the ink run. I was crying. I was doing that far too often lately. I let things get to me and thought about death too much and I cried whenever I was alone. There were two things I hated more than anything else. The dark and loneliness. Everyone around me was asleep, and I couldn't get into the girls' dorms, let alone those in the Gryffindor common room. Once I was finished writing, I folded the paper up, placed it into one of my brother's drawers and got into his bed. He didn't wake up, and I kept crying until everything had clogged up and I couldn't breathe and I knew I had to stop. Calm down. Peace. I hated peace.
((Okay, I think I accidentally made him slightly younger than I was supposed to, primarily because I got confused over O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts in the Harry Potter universe and when they occur. Mysteria Craven and Cherrie Swanson-Hyde belong to my friend. The others who appear (not including Pomfrey and Hettie, who are just name mentions) are all mine. I haven't actually got permission to use Hettie in my stories yet, but I've used characters by the same person without any complaint from them...In writing this, I had nothing specific in mind when I started. I just wanted to write and see where my fingers took me. I specifically cut out Balthasar actually meeting Mysteria because that was roleplayed once and I can't remember for the life of me what actually happened. Also I have never tried to write Mysti before and I apologise if I didn't do very well. Anyway, the point is this will probably come out as awkward and weird and eh. Technically, however, it is writing practice, hence the lack of planning.))
And a bit effeminate, I'll admit. I skip instead of walking and I love making flower crowns and I'm very in touch with my feminine side. I remember at first, someone tried to bully me for it. Jaimes, his name was. He was funny.
Anyway, I suppose up until recently, I'd been enjoying my life. I had friends and my family, and my mum had let me get my lip pierced (though Ben teased that if I got more metal put in me, I'd be drawn to every magnet) and I was feeling confident. I was doing well at school and...well, I was happy. My mum was happy, my brother was happy, my sister was happy...we were all happy!
I'm not sure when it was that things started to go to shit. I remembered getting sick during an exam, near my OWLs, I think it was. It was an exam that was important to me, so even though I was coughing and wheezing and breathless all the way, I sat through my exams and probably distracted those around me. What can I say? It was herbology and astronomy, and those are my passions! I couldn't just let them lie. And eventually, I got bad enough that I had to go down to the hospital wing and say I'd had a chest infection for ages and never gotten it seen to. Frankly, I'd expected it to just...fade over time. They normally do that.
And then I was back, talking with my best friends. Raphael and Ben. Exams were still on. Next one was potions.
"Please tell me you studied a little before you went to the hospital wing." Ben told me. He knew me well. He knew as long as I was ill, I would be more than happy to use it as an excuse to slack off.
"Potions is useless to me anyway." I assured my brother, which he responded to with a disgusted sigh.
"And what, exactly, are you expecting to do with your life?"
"I don't know. Party?"
"I'd be happy to join you with that." Raph interjected. We laughed and Benny rolled his eyes.
"You guys don't have any plans whatsoever, do you?"
"We're winging it." Raph confirmed with a nod, running his fingers through his hair. "Do you have a plan?"
"Yeah."
I turned to him, leaning forward slightly. "What's your plan then?"
"If I tell you, you'll tease me."
"True." I sat back, crossing my arms as my brother smirked at me. We had our secrets. We wanted to surprise each other. I had no plans, of course. And that stressed me out. Benny knew that stressed me out. That was why he wouldn't tell me his plans. I kind of knew he wanted to work with children, though, and that was...sweet. I wanted children of my own in the future. A beautiful baby girl, followed by a handsome young boy. Uri and Christine, I'd name them. I like the name Uri.
"You've lost weight."
The comment seemed to come from nowhere, but I could note that Raph was now staring at my chest.
"I have?" I asked, realising he was talking about me. I knew Benny had been trying to lose weight. In fact, he exercised rigorously, as he greatly enjoyed his cardio, but his weight was stable and high.
"Yeah. Not massive amounts, but..."
"Enough to be noticeable." Benny finished.
I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable. As though suddenly my clothes would feel super loose or something. "I've been ill lately..."
"Are you sure you're totally recovered?" Raph asked softly. "You look pretty pale too, is all..."
"I'm fine." I assured them with a laugh, shaking my head. "You two are too...concerned."
"I'm your brother." Benny pointed out. "It's my job to be concerned."
"True." I conceded, checking my watch. "There's this really cute girl in Gryffindor." Raph stared at me for a moment. "What?"
"You're going to try to talk to us about girls?" Clearly, he wasn't impressed with the way I'd started. "Girls you want to bone?"
"Bally has a crush." Ben teased. "Our little boy's all grown up!"
"I didn't say I had a crush." I argued. "Or that I wanted to bone her, as you so eloquently put it. Jesus Christ, Raph. I just said I saw someone I thought was cute."
"Did she have a cute arse though?"
"I'm..not going to answer that."
"Please, it's not like I'm gonna steal her from you. If she's not Hettie, I'm not interested."
"I know. Practically the whole school knows. You'd sell your own mother for a chance to bone Hettie."
"See? Now you're saying it too!"
"Picked it up off you, didn't I?"
Benny interrupted us with "Potions." We both turned to look at him as he stood, and he gestured for us to follow him. "Potions. Exam. Come on."
Groaning, the two of us got up after him. Raph was alright with potions, but I hated it with a burning passion.
The exam went well enough. I came out of it in a bad mood because god, I hate potions classes. And exams. And potions in general. Long story short, I failed potions. But that didn't concern me. I hardly wanted to do potions in the first place. I slept well that night, and woke up early.
Quite early. To find my bedding drenched and my body slick. It was gross as fuck, let me tell you. My pillow was wet as well. I hadn't been so sweaty since...ever. Not even the most horrific of nightmares had managed this. I turned on my bedside light, rubbing my hand across my face as I tried to shake off the bleariness that came pretty much any time I woke up (my body hated mornings), and slowly opened my eyes to a none too pleasant sight. While mostly the unpleasant wetness was definitely sweat, my pillow was covered in blood. I'd had nighttime nosebleeds before. I used to get them a lot when I was little. I don't think I'd had one since puberty though. Part of me, a little childlike part, wanted to crawl out of bed and go to my brother. Wake him up, crawl into bed with him and ask him to hug me and make things better. He was good at comforting. Better than me, at any rate. Feeling distinctly woozy, I got up and made my way to the bathroom. I had to wash any lingering blood off my face and out of my hair. My chest felt tight and it seemed harder to breathe, but that was just psychosomatic. I was worried and a little scared of the dark, I'm not afraid to admit it, and having to walk around before it was light out, I was anxious, so I was finding it harder to breathe. Science. I mean, science is harder to believe when you find out you're a wizard, but still.
I got to the bathroom, snapped the light on and went to the sink by the mirror. I was starting to get what Raph was saying about me looking ill. I was paler than I thought possible, though I had just lost lord knows how much blood. It was still under my nose, on my lips and right cheek. And in my hair, of course. I looked about as tired as I felt, and there was a bruise on my chest where I'd knocked it against a desk during my exam. (I sleep topless in summer, so it was quite visible) Anyway, I washed my face and my hair as best I could, and planned to stay up until morning with a jewellery kit. When I was little, my mum spoiled me, and my brother, and my sister, as best she could. She gets money from our father, even though he has his own family and I've never met the man myself, and she wanted to shower us with...I don't know, maybe love, when my sister died. Y'see, originally I wasn't a twin, I was a triplet, but the other one died when we were very little. Little enough that I hardly remember her, but I remember the doctors. I remember the doctors, and the rush, and the way my mother cried most nights, and the thin, sickly child being made to feel far worse by whatever the doctors were doing to her. It's a horrible memory. Anyway, where was I going with this? Oh yeah, I used to love the aisle of toys that was all pink and pretty. I wanted all the dolls and jewellery things and fashion kits and ponies. And my mother was happy to buy them for me if it made me happy. So I had jewellery kits in my room and I was good with the slightly more professional stuff as well. Within reason.
Once I'd washed up, I took another look at myself in the mirror. Though I wasn't as athletic as Benny, I always had some muscle on me. Muscular arms, good pectorals, possibly a little in the way of, well, maybe abs, I'm not sure. Anyway, after a moment of staring at myself, I did have to admit I'd lost a little weight. Deciding I wanted to keep my body the way it was, I decided I would join Benny's little exercise regime tomorrow. Or today. Whichever it was. I collected my dressing gown and jewellery kit, and went down into the common room, settling into an armchair and deciding I would make a beautiful necklace.
I woke up. It was bright, and I was slumped in my chair, my back hurting and body stiff from simply being in an awkward position.
"He's got a fever. Not a very high one, but he's a bit warm."
"So should we tell Pomfrey? He won't wake up."
"He's just a heavy sleeper. He'll be fine."
Three voices from above me. I cracked an eye open. Two girls and a boy. I recognised them easily. Cherrie Swanson-Hyde and Tim Twitchell, I rarely spoke to, but they were in my year and house, so I knew them, and they knew me. Felix Schnorhavorian, I again wasn't especially close to him. "What time is it?" I asked.
"Uh..."
"Quarter past one." Cherrie answered before Felix could get his head together.
"What?" I sat up straight, and they moved back so I could get up. My jewellery kit fell to the floor and I swore. "Why didn't anyone wake me?"
"Well, we couldn't." Tim answered as she picked up my beads for me. "Well, you told Ben to leave you alone."
"I don't remember that."
"You weren't totally with it."
Felix spoke up next. "Thought you'd be up by now though. There's blood all over your pillow, by the way."
"I know." I snapped as I wandered up the stairs to my dorm. I heard them talking behind me as I went. I honestly hadn't felt that tired when I'd sat down. I don't think I got further than opening my box before I'd dropped off. The house elves would take care of my pillow, so I left it and got dressed. My chest was feeling weird and tight and uncomfortable again. I felt ill.
The next day I got another god damn chest infection. Every damn breath was one of those annoying rattly ones. And the next week, we were going home. The year was over and I was free. I fell asleep on the train, under the concerned gaze of Benny and a Gryffindor boy we were friends with. See, when we got home, I thought it would all be fine. I could sleep more and get over whatever was wrong with me. I stepped off the train, my mum took one look at me and instantly her hands were on me, asking if I was alright. Asking how long I'd been ill for and why I hadn't sent her a letter. I told her I just wanted to get home and she reluctantly agreed. It just kind of went downhill from there. I was getting worried about myself. As well as the infections coming back way too often, I woke up most nights with wet covers and a bloody pillow. I was tired all the time, my weight kept dropping (I wasn't muscular any more, whoops) and there was this stupid rash near my shoulder and everything was stiff and hurty. I honestly had no idea what was going on until my mum made a doctor's appointment for me...behind my back...but hey, I appreciated it, I guess. Right up until my mum actually spoke to the doctor.
"It's a...I think it might be cancer. I've seen it before, with my daughter. And even if it isn't, it's clear he's very, very sick and I just need to know what's wrong with him!"
That was what she'd said. It unnerved me more than anything that had happened so far. And there were tests, and multiple doctors, and ashen faces that held the promise of bad news. I cried. While I waited for all the results of some stupid biopsy, I dug my nails into my palms and played with my bracelets and rings and I cried. I was scared, and all I knew was that there was some abnormality or something in my blood and they needed to do this test and I might have been dying. And I didn't know where my mum was, and my brother and sister were at home, and I felt alone, and scared. And scared.
She turned up again when an oncologist spoke to us. He was talking about what he'd found. Or what they'd found. And how to help get rid of it. Aggressive leukaemia. Blood transfusions, antibiotics, chemotherapy...
"No..."
"Balthasar?" The name sounded weird on the doctor's tongue. He wasn't used to it. He was a muggle doctor, and probably not used to the kind of names my mum chose simply because they sounded unusual. He was tall, taller than me, and young, and needed a shave.
"I don't want chemotherapy."
"I know it sounds quite daunting, and this is quite a shock to you-"
"No, I don't want it! It's what they gave to Brieta, isn't it? It's the stuff that makes you even weaker and kills the healthy cells and the unhealthy ones and drains you so much but it can't even guarantee survival. It's not worth it and I'd rather die at my own rate."
My mother placed a hand on my shoulder. One of us was shaking. I wasn't sure which one. "Listen to what you're saying, Balthasar. You don't want to die..."
"No. No, I don't but...but I don't want to feel worse and I don't want to struggle and I want to pretend I'm normal and I don't want...I don't want chemotherapy. I refuse. I absolutely refuse."
"Balthasar!" My mother snapped, horrified. "Think about this! You're being ridiculous! Think about someone other than yourself for once-"
"Mrs Gammaleil-" The doctor interjected.
"Miss! And shut up!"
"I'm just saying, shouting at your son won't help. Balthasar...may be in shock, and maybe he isn't thinking straight, but maybe he is. For now, we should give him time to think things over, and I'll make sure he has all the facts, okay?"
And he did. And someone else came to talk to me to make sure I was thinking straight, and I had to talk to more people, and eventually it was settled. I'd take blood and antibiotics and painkillers but I wouldn't take chemotherapy. I became DNR. Or got a DNR. Whatever it is.
And I returned to school. I was still dreadfully ill, but I didn't tell any of my classmates, until I got a girlfriend. I mean, I couldn't keep it from her forever. She was lovely. Warm hugs and gentle nature and she loved my romantic side. I liked using what money I had to give her gifts. I also made her things. Flower crowns and bracelets and necklaces, and I liked plaiting her hair and I liked the kisses and the nights she would join me under the stars. I loved watching the stars with her, and we danced in the rain and sang songs and went for meals and spoke of wonderful things and made love and even went out to get a dog! Getting a dog was on my bucket list, you see. It was Raph who told me to make a bucket list. Apparently he'd made one, so I did too. And Mysteria helped me realise it. I got her name tattooed on my back.
You might understand, you might not, but I love her so much. I love every moment I spend with her and I am sure it's not just infatuation. The time of butterflies in my stomach and fireworks in my head has long since passed. I got her gold-plated roses. Sometimes, I think she felt overwhelmed with the gifts I gave her. It was fun, though. I didn't spoil her, but if I saw something she liked or I got some inspiration for jewellery, I'd jump at the chance.
I'd decided to take her out for a date. It was late, and a lovely evening, and I'd been wavering between a picnic and a restaurant. I took her out to restaurants before, though, and I thought maybe a picnic would be nice. We could watch the sun set, if my nose would stop bleeding. For about half an hour, I'd been trying to stem a nosebleed. I threw yet another tissue into the bin and stared at my reflection. It seemed to be finished, so I made sure it wasn't too visible, and wandered off to the kitchens to retrieve the picnic food I'd requested from the elves. They'd seemed very happy to make it for me, so I didn't feel guilty, and it had to be said, those elves sure could cook.
She knew I was ill by now. She knew I was dying. I knew she was sad about it, but at this point in time, it really didn't matter. So I went downstairs, as fast as I could as I couldn't risk being late. She would worry. I didn't want her to worry. I was in such a hurry, I got to the front entrance before her. After a minute or so, she walked up behind me.
"Bally, hey! You weren't waiting long, were you?"
"No," I assured her, "not at all. I was worried I might be late, actually."
"I don't think you've ever been late." Mysteria told me, taking my hand and leading me along.
"I'm always a little too early?" I asked with a slight chuckle.
"You're fine."
"I'm a smooth operator." She was more than used to my antics by now, and rolled her eyes with a sarcastic 'sure'. We wandered for a bit before I stopped and tried to lay out a blanket over the floor. I'd wanted to do it like on TV, where they do it in one flick and it covers everywhere it needs to cover, but it didn't work like that. Instead it flapped up and caught over my head, making me stumble until Mysti helped me, laughing a little. "Hold still!" She told me as she got the blanket to stop hugging me.
"Okay, that didn't quite go as planned." I mused, smirking before moving away, stretching the blanket between us and placing it down.
"Maybe it just likes you."
"Please, I'm sure anything would prefer me to the mud."
"Well, I'll admit you're better...marginally." She teased as I started unloading the basket.
"A very, very wide marginally."
"Not that wide."
"Must be very good dirt, then."
We sat, side by side. Cuddled up. Though it was a warm day, I was annoyingly cold. Cuddling up helped, but I do think she noticed, because she slung her cloak around me. She said something in response, but I didn't pay attention. I rested my head on her shoulder and kissed her cheek, and fell asleep before the sun set. Stupid. She kept me at her side, though, though I'm sure I drooled on her as I slept. Someone, I doubt it was her, carried me to my bed when it was dark. I woke up there, somewhat frightened to be shrouded in shadows, and I thought.
I thought, now I was alone (as when I was with Mysti or Benny or Alithia, I was happy and my thoughts were always cheerful) about what would come next. How this darkness would become everything. I would be nothing more than a soul, flitting from shadow to shadow, nothing to sustain me. I wouldn't even become a ghost. I'd be nothing. The strange movements out of the corner of someone's eye. I thought about being buried. I'd watched something once, where people were still aware after they'd died. I had no idea what would happen next, but every thought was an unpleasant one. I needed...I needed people to know what I wanted. Slowly, I sat up, flicking on my bedside lamp and reaching for my schoolbag, looking for paper and something to write with. I started writing, quick and somewhat messy. My handwriting had never been the neatest, no swirly, pretty letters or calligraphy. It was just about legible. My mother could read it. The teachers had gotten used to it. It didn't help when something fell on the paper, made the ink run. I was crying. I was doing that far too often lately. I let things get to me and thought about death too much and I cried whenever I was alone. There were two things I hated more than anything else. The dark and loneliness. Everyone around me was asleep, and I couldn't get into the girls' dorms, let alone those in the Gryffindor common room. Once I was finished writing, I folded the paper up, placed it into one of my brother's drawers and got into his bed. He didn't wake up, and I kept crying until everything had clogged up and I couldn't breathe and I knew I had to stop. Calm down. Peace. I hated peace.
((Okay, I think I accidentally made him slightly younger than I was supposed to, primarily because I got confused over O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts in the Harry Potter universe and when they occur. Mysteria Craven and Cherrie Swanson-Hyde belong to my friend. The others who appear (not including Pomfrey and Hettie, who are just name mentions) are all mine. I haven't actually got permission to use Hettie in my stories yet, but I've used characters by the same person without any complaint from them...In writing this, I had nothing specific in mind when I started. I just wanted to write and see where my fingers took me. I specifically cut out Balthasar actually meeting Mysteria because that was roleplayed once and I can't remember for the life of me what actually happened. Also I have never tried to write Mysti before and I apologise if I didn't do very well. Anyway, the point is this will probably come out as awkward and weird and eh. Technically, however, it is writing practice, hence the lack of planning.))
Monday, 23 May 2016
Losing Battles
The Ravenclaw Common Rooms and dorms were seldom the site of fights. Arguments, certainly, but never a physical scrap. The students knew better, for one thing, and more often than not, if they were fighters (and not many of them were), they would be fighting with students from other houses in the courtyard. Some even waited until dueling club to get their own back.
Nicholas Weldon-Whitlock was a fighter. It was what made people...less endeared to him. He picked fights and flew off the handle at the slightest thing and pissed people off. He flirted with other boys' girlfriends and sisters, and just about anything in a skirt, really. Basically, for the most part, he was seen as a nasty piece of work, with the odd female in the school who found themselves genuinely interested in his advances. That would generally end with a girl naked in a bed as he sneaked off to avoid morning after awkwardness.
Gael Masters was a fighter. In their second year, he had started bullying Nicky for the hell of it. Pointing out the massive scar on his forehead (now hidden by his hair at all times) and how they could have played dot to dot with the freckles on his face and how much of a pathetic weed he used to be back then. He hadn't been a nice guy, and now he still wasn't. And Gael liked to fight because fighting had its thrills. It was fun, and he couldn't recall a time he hadn't won.
The Ravenclaw boys' dormitory. Nicky was alone. Just how he liked it. He was on his back, on his bed, looking at his reflection in a compact mirror he carried everywhere he went. Some would call him vain. Many probably would, for that matter. But vanity would suggest he loved himself, when his appearance was instead something he despised beyond belief. Hence why he spent so long on it, trying to make himself look halfway decent. He was an attractive lad, but he couldn't see it. Fingers brushed through his hair, trying to get it just so, scowling in disgust whenever he saw the flash of a scar beneath the reddish strands. Why did he have to be ginger? Why couldn't he have had dark hair like his brothers? Or blue eyes instead of grey? Or a different nose or different cheekbones or just different parents so he could start from scratch? His fingers trailed down, running over every feature he hated, pressing on it like doing so would make it change. He stayed like this for a few minutes before he heard voices and footsteps approaching. Sitting up like a shot, he snapped the mirror shut and stuffed it under his pillow, watching the door to see which of his (ever hated) dorm mates would be coming through.
Gael was likely everything Nicky wished he could be. His confidence wasn't false or used as a mask, he had dark hair and dark eyes and his skin was clear, he was attractive and intelligent and he had a good body, though he was short. And he had friends. That was an important one. He had friends who liked him despite the fact that he was frankly horrible. He walked into the dorm room with two of those friends at his shoulders. They were chatting away about something that had just happened elsewhere in the castle, possibly having just come back from dinner. High spirits. Then they noticed Nicky staring at them and stopped. All merriment left them as they glared at the redhead.
"What are you staring at, ugly?" Gael snapped, walking right up to him. "Haven't you got anything better to do than be here? Another window to break? Another slut to fuck?"
Keep calm. Nicky told himself. He's just trying to rile you up so he can get you in trouble.
Gael didn't seem to appreciate Nicky's silence. "Hey, Scarface, you know it's rude to ignore people, right?" And then he laughed. "Guys, look at this. The stupid look on his face. I think he's trying to be intimidating."
"Are you going to be making noise all evening? Only, I would like to try sleeping for once without hearing what sounds like a kestrel in pain every time you open your mouth."
"Are you mocking my voice?"
"No, just passing comments. Mocking is for children. Of course, you'd know a lot about that, considering your balls haven't even dropped and you still play with dolls, but who am I to judge? You remind me of my baby brother, sometimes. He's six. You're almost at his intellectual level, but I'd give it a few years."
Gael scowled for a moment before giving a good-natured laugh. "Oh Nicky, I know you like to think you're tough and great and that you deserve some kind of preferential treatment, but I also know that deep inside, even you realise it. You're worthless. I can see it in your eye. Even you know you're nothing more than a brat with a temper tantrum. You're not entitled to anything this world can give you, especially when you can't even pass remedial Charms classes. I mean, it would help if your ugly arse didn't bunk off every other lesson you have, but you don't care about intellect after all, do you? You don't belong here. Not in Ravenclaw, not in Hogwarts. You never take your classes seriously. The only thing you take seriously is how many girls you can get in your bed before you catch something. Maybe you should get them to do your homework for you, like a good school-age prostitute. You're failing every class and hoping to get by on what, you attitude? You're going to starve on the streets a failure, and we'll be there, pointing and laughing."
"You talk too much," Nicky told him once he had finished. "But say precious little." Of course, everything Gael had said, Nicky already knew. He knew he was failing, but he'd not had the energy to leave the room that day, let alone to face classes that sapped what little joy he had. His body didn't want to move. He hadn't even been able to drag himself down to the hall for meals, especially since there were so many stairs to bypass. Not that he would have eaten much anyway. Nicky had an abnormally small appetite, no matter how hungry he got. He knew he didn't take classes seriously. He never paid attention to the teacher. There was no future for him, and constantly surrounded by the students who valued intelligence and education over all else made him wonder why he was in Ravenclaw. Often he forgot that when he was younger, that was what was important to him too. The fact was, in Nicky's eyes, Nicky had always been worthless. Had never had a chance.
Gael was speaking again. "...And there's that attitude again. Are you even listening to me? I'm giving you a lecture, Nicholas. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms will get you nowhere in life. Then again, you probably deserve everything you get, behaving like this. It's no wonder your daddy used to hit you-"
Gael was cut off when a fist went flying into his face, cracking into his nose and sending him stumbling back. He reached up, checking he wasn't bleeding before glaring at Nicky, something new in his dark eyes. Fury. He wouldn't let his attacker get away with that. Not in a million years.
It took Nicky a moment to realise he was on his feet now, right hand hovering in front of his left shoulder and balled up tightly in a fist. His knuckles hurt. He'd gotten in many fights before over far less than this, but he'd never moved without realising it. He wasn't even sure how Gael could possibly know about his father. Nobody at school knew.
Gael came forward and Nicky moved to the side, vaulting over his bed and putting it between them. To win a fight against a stronger boy, his best bet was to play dirty. He moved to pull the curtains of his bed down, but Gael moved quickly, onto the bed and lashing out a kick into the taller boy's gut. He stumbled into the next bed along and kicked out at Gael's knee, then charged forward and brought his elbows up. One in the face and one towards the throat, but the latter was caught and the arm twisted. Gritting his teeth, Nicky stamped down hard on his dorm mate's foot, then shifted his weight, trying to put all of it on the victim's toes as his free hand found his face, the thumb going for the eye.
The two other boys were watching the scrap play out. "They're fighting." Said the first, with long brown hair and tanned skin. "They're actually fighting."
The second, with blond hair and glasses that made him appear owlish, asked "Should we stop them?"
"Proper muggle fighting!" Continued the first, as though the second had not spoken. He sounded excited. "No magic or anything!"
By this point, Nicky had grabbed Gael's jumper and was attempting to haul him off the floor and into the centre of the room, where they would have more space to maneuver. Gael retaliated by reaching up, searching blindly for a good grip on Nicky's hair. There was blood on his face now, so the redhead must have gotten some good shots in. Once he had a firm grip, he turned the redhead and slammed him face first into the window. The resulting sound was loud and dull. Dissatisfied, he hammered his opponent's face into the window five more times, hoping to break one or the other, before Nicky managed to get his foot behind Gael's heel. He snapped his leg back, sweeping the smaller boy's feet out from underneath him, and Gael went down with his hand still in Nicky's hair. He pulled the taller boy down on top of him and slugged him across the jaw.
Gael was first up, kicking Nicky in the face and stomach to keep him down. Then he simply went for wherever his foot could make contact as Nicky curled up in an attempt to protect himself. For a moment, it looked like he wouldn't be getting up. At first, he merely uncurled slightly, getting a boot in the ribs for his effort and gasping in pain, which had his opponent laughing. Then, he struck like a cobra, with speed and ferocity. His teeth closed around the flesh on Gael's leg, and with a howl of pain he tried to step back, only to drag Nicky along with him. He changed his tactic to stamping as hard as he could on the redhead's ribs, and with every hit, Nicky bit down harder. The material of Gael's trouser leg was making his tongue dry and it was getting harder to breathe, but he was still determined not to let go. When he couldn't hold on any longer, he punched up, aiming for the gut but hitting the crotch with all his strength. It look a moment (and a few more kicks) for the pain to hit, and when it did, Gael doubled over and Nicky grabbed his tie, pulling him to the floor and pulling the tie as tight as he possibly could. His focus changed to trying to slacken the knot so he could breathe, and it was now Nicky's turn to rain down punches.
"Now we should stop them." The boy with long hair decided, running forward and trying to haul the redhead off his friend, only to earn an elbow in the ribs for his efforts. The other boy came forward and helped haul Nicky away, punching him in the face as he did so. It was a good punch. Hard and strong and accurate, and enough to finally tell the redhead's body it was time to give up.
He woke up some time later in his bed, in the same position he had fallen when he had passed out. Gael and his friends had gone to the hospital wing to ensure the brief strangulation wouldn't have any lasting effects, and of course explained that Nicky had gone for Gael in a 'completely unprovoked' attack. He figured he'd be in detention for the rest of his life at this rate. Not that he wanted his life to be especially long. Death by a peanutted tie didn't seem that bad, after all.
It was dark, and every bed was occupied, but nobody had decided Nicky might need medical attention. Well, at least that makes dying easier, he thought bitterly. His chest was the worst. It hurt to breathe, and when he dared to take a deep breath, he began coughing and tears came to his eyes. He stuck to shallow breaths and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep, trying not to cry. Honestly, he failed on both counts. He lifted the mirror from beneath his pillow, took one look at himself and started to sob.
Nicholas Weldon-Whitlock was a fighter. He picked fights he had no hope of winning. He was hot-headed and hated everyone else almost as much as he hated himself. He didn't mind losing a fight because he felt he deserved every bit of pain he received from them, and behind the scenes he hurt himself anyway. Covered in scars and believing himself to be disfigured, he had long since come to the conclusion he would never be happy. A long time ago he had been told the only thing he had that made him worth anything was his good looks, and it stuck with him. Stuck with him just like every bad memory. Every fight and scream and failure. He was a fighter. Not just against his classmates. Not just against the people who made him angry. He fought a losing battle all day, every day, against his own mind. Nicky did not recall a single fight he didn't lose.
((...So, Gael is a brand new character, created just last night. Literally. I was in bed and I created this douche to be in Nicky's year, as all other charcaters I'd made in his year had been female. (and one of them his future wife woot) This is primarily because in a group roleplay I take part in, we have a set of students for each year and in my set 7th year, Nicky's brothers (the six-year-old mentioned above and his twin) are there, so Nicky himself has long since left the school. Thus I don't play him often in a setting where others in his year are known. Now Gael Masters exists. And they hate each other. Also there's a Gryffindor student with no name who hates Nicky. And these two dorm mates with no name. If I do name them, then they become more bloody OCs for my list *sigh*. Nicky suffers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Clinical Depression and Body Dysmorphic Disorder. He uses his bad temper and a flirtatious nature to hide his issues under the impression that others at the school would tear into him if they found out (an impression that is founded by the fact he is and has been bullied since second year). Also the scar on his forehead comes from his father since because hitting. Anyway, that's all, I'll shut up now.))
Nicholas Weldon-Whitlock was a fighter. It was what made people...less endeared to him. He picked fights and flew off the handle at the slightest thing and pissed people off. He flirted with other boys' girlfriends and sisters, and just about anything in a skirt, really. Basically, for the most part, he was seen as a nasty piece of work, with the odd female in the school who found themselves genuinely interested in his advances. That would generally end with a girl naked in a bed as he sneaked off to avoid morning after awkwardness.
Gael Masters was a fighter. In their second year, he had started bullying Nicky for the hell of it. Pointing out the massive scar on his forehead (now hidden by his hair at all times) and how they could have played dot to dot with the freckles on his face and how much of a pathetic weed he used to be back then. He hadn't been a nice guy, and now he still wasn't. And Gael liked to fight because fighting had its thrills. It was fun, and he couldn't recall a time he hadn't won.
The Ravenclaw boys' dormitory. Nicky was alone. Just how he liked it. He was on his back, on his bed, looking at his reflection in a compact mirror he carried everywhere he went. Some would call him vain. Many probably would, for that matter. But vanity would suggest he loved himself, when his appearance was instead something he despised beyond belief. Hence why he spent so long on it, trying to make himself look halfway decent. He was an attractive lad, but he couldn't see it. Fingers brushed through his hair, trying to get it just so, scowling in disgust whenever he saw the flash of a scar beneath the reddish strands. Why did he have to be ginger? Why couldn't he have had dark hair like his brothers? Or blue eyes instead of grey? Or a different nose or different cheekbones or just different parents so he could start from scratch? His fingers trailed down, running over every feature he hated, pressing on it like doing so would make it change. He stayed like this for a few minutes before he heard voices and footsteps approaching. Sitting up like a shot, he snapped the mirror shut and stuffed it under his pillow, watching the door to see which of his (ever hated) dorm mates would be coming through.
Gael was likely everything Nicky wished he could be. His confidence wasn't false or used as a mask, he had dark hair and dark eyes and his skin was clear, he was attractive and intelligent and he had a good body, though he was short. And he had friends. That was an important one. He had friends who liked him despite the fact that he was frankly horrible. He walked into the dorm room with two of those friends at his shoulders. They were chatting away about something that had just happened elsewhere in the castle, possibly having just come back from dinner. High spirits. Then they noticed Nicky staring at them and stopped. All merriment left them as they glared at the redhead.
"What are you staring at, ugly?" Gael snapped, walking right up to him. "Haven't you got anything better to do than be here? Another window to break? Another slut to fuck?"
Keep calm. Nicky told himself. He's just trying to rile you up so he can get you in trouble.
Gael didn't seem to appreciate Nicky's silence. "Hey, Scarface, you know it's rude to ignore people, right?" And then he laughed. "Guys, look at this. The stupid look on his face. I think he's trying to be intimidating."
"Are you going to be making noise all evening? Only, I would like to try sleeping for once without hearing what sounds like a kestrel in pain every time you open your mouth."
"Are you mocking my voice?"
"No, just passing comments. Mocking is for children. Of course, you'd know a lot about that, considering your balls haven't even dropped and you still play with dolls, but who am I to judge? You remind me of my baby brother, sometimes. He's six. You're almost at his intellectual level, but I'd give it a few years."
Gael scowled for a moment before giving a good-natured laugh. "Oh Nicky, I know you like to think you're tough and great and that you deserve some kind of preferential treatment, but I also know that deep inside, even you realise it. You're worthless. I can see it in your eye. Even you know you're nothing more than a brat with a temper tantrum. You're not entitled to anything this world can give you, especially when you can't even pass remedial Charms classes. I mean, it would help if your ugly arse didn't bunk off every other lesson you have, but you don't care about intellect after all, do you? You don't belong here. Not in Ravenclaw, not in Hogwarts. You never take your classes seriously. The only thing you take seriously is how many girls you can get in your bed before you catch something. Maybe you should get them to do your homework for you, like a good school-age prostitute. You're failing every class and hoping to get by on what, you attitude? You're going to starve on the streets a failure, and we'll be there, pointing and laughing."
"You talk too much," Nicky told him once he had finished. "But say precious little." Of course, everything Gael had said, Nicky already knew. He knew he was failing, but he'd not had the energy to leave the room that day, let alone to face classes that sapped what little joy he had. His body didn't want to move. He hadn't even been able to drag himself down to the hall for meals, especially since there were so many stairs to bypass. Not that he would have eaten much anyway. Nicky had an abnormally small appetite, no matter how hungry he got. He knew he didn't take classes seriously. He never paid attention to the teacher. There was no future for him, and constantly surrounded by the students who valued intelligence and education over all else made him wonder why he was in Ravenclaw. Often he forgot that when he was younger, that was what was important to him too. The fact was, in Nicky's eyes, Nicky had always been worthless. Had never had a chance.
Gael was speaking again. "...And there's that attitude again. Are you even listening to me? I'm giving you a lecture, Nicholas. Rolling your eyes and crossing your arms will get you nowhere in life. Then again, you probably deserve everything you get, behaving like this. It's no wonder your daddy used to hit you-"
Gael was cut off when a fist went flying into his face, cracking into his nose and sending him stumbling back. He reached up, checking he wasn't bleeding before glaring at Nicky, something new in his dark eyes. Fury. He wouldn't let his attacker get away with that. Not in a million years.
It took Nicky a moment to realise he was on his feet now, right hand hovering in front of his left shoulder and balled up tightly in a fist. His knuckles hurt. He'd gotten in many fights before over far less than this, but he'd never moved without realising it. He wasn't even sure how Gael could possibly know about his father. Nobody at school knew.
Gael came forward and Nicky moved to the side, vaulting over his bed and putting it between them. To win a fight against a stronger boy, his best bet was to play dirty. He moved to pull the curtains of his bed down, but Gael moved quickly, onto the bed and lashing out a kick into the taller boy's gut. He stumbled into the next bed along and kicked out at Gael's knee, then charged forward and brought his elbows up. One in the face and one towards the throat, but the latter was caught and the arm twisted. Gritting his teeth, Nicky stamped down hard on his dorm mate's foot, then shifted his weight, trying to put all of it on the victim's toes as his free hand found his face, the thumb going for the eye.
The two other boys were watching the scrap play out. "They're fighting." Said the first, with long brown hair and tanned skin. "They're actually fighting."
The second, with blond hair and glasses that made him appear owlish, asked "Should we stop them?"
"Proper muggle fighting!" Continued the first, as though the second had not spoken. He sounded excited. "No magic or anything!"
By this point, Nicky had grabbed Gael's jumper and was attempting to haul him off the floor and into the centre of the room, where they would have more space to maneuver. Gael retaliated by reaching up, searching blindly for a good grip on Nicky's hair. There was blood on his face now, so the redhead must have gotten some good shots in. Once he had a firm grip, he turned the redhead and slammed him face first into the window. The resulting sound was loud and dull. Dissatisfied, he hammered his opponent's face into the window five more times, hoping to break one or the other, before Nicky managed to get his foot behind Gael's heel. He snapped his leg back, sweeping the smaller boy's feet out from underneath him, and Gael went down with his hand still in Nicky's hair. He pulled the taller boy down on top of him and slugged him across the jaw.
Gael was first up, kicking Nicky in the face and stomach to keep him down. Then he simply went for wherever his foot could make contact as Nicky curled up in an attempt to protect himself. For a moment, it looked like he wouldn't be getting up. At first, he merely uncurled slightly, getting a boot in the ribs for his effort and gasping in pain, which had his opponent laughing. Then, he struck like a cobra, with speed and ferocity. His teeth closed around the flesh on Gael's leg, and with a howl of pain he tried to step back, only to drag Nicky along with him. He changed his tactic to stamping as hard as he could on the redhead's ribs, and with every hit, Nicky bit down harder. The material of Gael's trouser leg was making his tongue dry and it was getting harder to breathe, but he was still determined not to let go. When he couldn't hold on any longer, he punched up, aiming for the gut but hitting the crotch with all his strength. It look a moment (and a few more kicks) for the pain to hit, and when it did, Gael doubled over and Nicky grabbed his tie, pulling him to the floor and pulling the tie as tight as he possibly could. His focus changed to trying to slacken the knot so he could breathe, and it was now Nicky's turn to rain down punches.
"Now we should stop them." The boy with long hair decided, running forward and trying to haul the redhead off his friend, only to earn an elbow in the ribs for his efforts. The other boy came forward and helped haul Nicky away, punching him in the face as he did so. It was a good punch. Hard and strong and accurate, and enough to finally tell the redhead's body it was time to give up.
He woke up some time later in his bed, in the same position he had fallen when he had passed out. Gael and his friends had gone to the hospital wing to ensure the brief strangulation wouldn't have any lasting effects, and of course explained that Nicky had gone for Gael in a 'completely unprovoked' attack. He figured he'd be in detention for the rest of his life at this rate. Not that he wanted his life to be especially long. Death by a peanutted tie didn't seem that bad, after all.
It was dark, and every bed was occupied, but nobody had decided Nicky might need medical attention. Well, at least that makes dying easier, he thought bitterly. His chest was the worst. It hurt to breathe, and when he dared to take a deep breath, he began coughing and tears came to his eyes. He stuck to shallow breaths and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep, trying not to cry. Honestly, he failed on both counts. He lifted the mirror from beneath his pillow, took one look at himself and started to sob.
Nicholas Weldon-Whitlock was a fighter. He picked fights he had no hope of winning. He was hot-headed and hated everyone else almost as much as he hated himself. He didn't mind losing a fight because he felt he deserved every bit of pain he received from them, and behind the scenes he hurt himself anyway. Covered in scars and believing himself to be disfigured, he had long since come to the conclusion he would never be happy. A long time ago he had been told the only thing he had that made him worth anything was his good looks, and it stuck with him. Stuck with him just like every bad memory. Every fight and scream and failure. He was a fighter. Not just against his classmates. Not just against the people who made him angry. He fought a losing battle all day, every day, against his own mind. Nicky did not recall a single fight he didn't lose.
((...So, Gael is a brand new character, created just last night. Literally. I was in bed and I created this douche to be in Nicky's year, as all other charcaters I'd made in his year had been female. (and one of them his future wife woot) This is primarily because in a group roleplay I take part in, we have a set of students for each year and in my set 7th year, Nicky's brothers (the six-year-old mentioned above and his twin) are there, so Nicky himself has long since left the school. Thus I don't play him often in a setting where others in his year are known. Now Gael Masters exists. And they hate each other. Also there's a Gryffindor student with no name who hates Nicky. And these two dorm mates with no name. If I do name them, then they become more bloody OCs for my list *sigh*. Nicky suffers with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Clinical Depression and Body Dysmorphic Disorder. He uses his bad temper and a flirtatious nature to hide his issues under the impression that others at the school would tear into him if they found out (an impression that is founded by the fact he is and has been bullied since second year). Also the scar on his forehead comes from his father since because hitting. Anyway, that's all, I'll shut up now.))
Wednesday, 20 April 2016
New Home
It was strange, thought the pale teenager with the chunk of blue hair as he followed the boy with skin the colour of a bad fake tan through the streets. They had just left the hospital. The pale boy had been quite ill due to some...unfortunate circumstances. He was just lucky fake tan boy had found him and taken him to a doctor.
The problem was, the pale boy, Pepinôt, had found himself recently left out on the streets. His parents had rejected him, and he had no friends to turn to. And he had been scared. He'd been frightened beyond belief because all he could think of was that he could die out on the streets. And now, as he followed the other boy around, he feared that all that had occurred that morning had simply delayed his suffering.
The boy who had helped him was large. Athletic. He had a shock of golden-blond hair and matching eyes, and he wore jeans and a plain white top. He was attractive, and big enough that Pepinôt only came up to his shoulders. Bigger than most boys their age by a long shot (but then, Pepinôt was smaller than average by a fair bit himself). Big enough to be intimidating. Especially when he wheeled round to fix the far smaller boy with a glare.
"What do you want?"
"I...I...um..."
"You're following me. Why are you following me?"
He hesitated, fidgeting, not sure how to respond. When his silence had dragged on enough, the tan boy figured he had two options. Try and get his stalker to talk or just walk on and leave him. In the end, he heaved a sigh and stepped closer.
"Where do you live? I can walk you home if you like." Perhaps stalker boy was lost, he mused. Or upset about something. He had been curled up round the back of the pizza shop, after all.
"I...don't really have anywhere..."
"You don't have anywhere to stay? Jeez...how old are you?"
"Fourteen..."
"You don't look fourteen. You look ten."
"You look eighteen."
"I'm sixteen."
"You don't look sixteen. You look almost grown up." It was the facial features. And the height. That had to be it. "Is your skin naturally that colour?"
The tan boy's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"Ah! I mean-"
"Is yours naturally that colour or are you still feeling queasy?"
"It's naturally...but you look good, don't get me wrong! Almost...golden." He felt his cheeks reddening. Pepinôt was not good at saying the right thing at the right time. He always made an idiot out of himself. Still, gold boy seemed placated with this answer.
"Thanks...my name's Henri, by the way."
"Pepinôt." He offered his hand and Henri took it in a firm grip.
"Stick with me, Pepinôt. I'll...well, we don't want you getting sick again. I'll manage to source you some medication. Diabetic, right? I'll help you figure something out."
"I can't stay with you then?"
Henri laughed. "We've only just met, pipsqueak. Plus, I'm not the nicest of guys...you don't want to share a place with me."
"If it has a roof, I'm happy!"
He laughed again. "You're so cute when you do that. Come on. I'll at least bring you to my place and we can work something out." He yawned, pausing to wipe his forehead against his sleeve, as though the sun were beating down on them relentlessly.
It was Autumn, and it wasn't warm. In fact, Pepinôt was shivering ever so slightly.
They walked on through the streets, Henri struggling to appear like a friendly and helpful person. He was getting agitated. How long had he been around this kid? A couple of hours at least, including finding him and the hospital. The younger boy was very quiet. Almost shy. But surprisingly cheerful for a homeless kid forced to trust a complete stranger. Henri himself was quiet, as what was there to say?
"What kind of music do you like?" Pepinôt suddenly asked, a smile on his face. Henri gave him a strange look and shrugged.
"Uh, music? Um...Blues, I suppose."
"I like metal!"
"Really?"
"Really."
"Looking at you, I'd say you'd be one for Classical music."
"That grates on my nerves."
"Fair enough. I'm not really one for metal or rock or whatever."
"I love it. I like Black Veil Brides best."
"They're American, right?"
"Yeah. I think so."
"Cool. You don't drink or smoke or take anything illegal, do you?"
Pepinôt froze, frowning. "No, no and no...why?"
"Why were you kicked out? You were kicked out, right? Oh god, you're not an orphan, are you? Because if you are, I'm sorry I said-"
"I was kicked out! Calm down." He laughed, shaking his head. "I...just wasn't what my parents wanted, I guess..."
Henri gazed at him for a moment, scrutinising him. "I get you. Me neither." He gestured loosely to a house up ahead. A big place.
"Do you live by yourself?"
"Yeah. I don't own the place, someone else pays for it, but I stay there. My friend is loaded. Anyway, that there, that's the place. You can't stay there long. It's...not very sanitary inside."
"It looks lovely."
"It was, before I got near it." They came to the front gate, and there were two people by the front door, both about Henri's age. One with long brown hair, blue eyes and wearing a blue tracksuit, leaning against the wall and flicking through his phone. The other with short black hair, grey eyes and glasses, wearing a canary yellow suit and sat slumped against the door. They looked up as Henri and Pepinôt approached and immediately launched into a volley of shouts.
"Where have you been?"
"We've been waiting for hours!"
"You didn't say you were going to be out!"
"It's so cold out and you were meant to meet us for breakfast!"
"Henri, we were waiting!"
"People have been staring at us like we're beggars or thieves!"
"This is why you're supposed to carry your phone with you."
"I have had enough of dirty looks for today and all."
"And I mean charged this time!"
Henri held up his hands. "Millard, Christophe, please! I was at the hospital. And I swear I just went for a quick walk because I couldn't sleep. I wasn't...I didn't mean to be out so long."
The long-haired boy helped the one in the suit up. "Hospital?" He asked, arching a disbelieving eyebrow. Pepinôt got the impression that Henri failed to join his friends punctually on a regular basis. The boy in the glasses gave Pepinôt a very cold look.
"I'm Pepinôt." He greeted with a wide smile. "I'm sorry I held your friend up. I was ill. It's good to meet you."
"My name's Millard...Millard Bellemare. Pleasure."
"I'm Christophe." The long-haired boy interjected. "You've already met Henri, I see." He spoke in a much more cheerful tone than Millard. Millard spoke almost...monotonously.
"You feel better now though...?" Asked Millard.
"Yeah..."
"What was wrong?"
"Um...hypoglycaemia..."
"You're diabetic."
"Yeah..."
Henri grabbed Pepinôt by the arm. A firm grip. "I'm going to take him inside, get him settled. He's had a rough day. I'll be a little while. You guys go ahead."
"Honestly..." Christophe muttered, rolling his eyes. "Are you coming at all?"
"Rain check. I'll call you."
They walked off, grumbling all the way, and Henri led Pepinôt inside. The house wasn't that warm, and Henri hadn't bothered to clean up despite the fact that he'd been expecting company. The younger boy cared little about the mess. It was vastly different to the immaculate rooms at his parents' house. The older boy was quick to move a few things out of sight before Pepinôt could really clock them, and then they went upstairs, where Henri led the way to a bedroom. Again, the floor was cluttered, but the bed was large and plump, with fresh bedding. The fourteen-year-old hadn't realised how tired he was, but suddenly his body felt so...heavy. While his new friend pulled a laptop computer off a desk, he curled up on the bed (shoes still on).
Somewhere along the line, Pepinôt managed to convince Henri to let him stay. A mix of having nowhere to go, not knowing a lot of skills necessary to live on his own and the simple fact that they both fancied each other and had plenty in common. He also discovered some on Henri's less pleasant habits, and insisted on helping. It didn't work, and Henri insisted he didn't want help and could even get violent when Pepinôt insisted on 'helping' regardless. Still, it was nice, or at least that was what he felt.
((I have been doing some character development file things for some old superheroes and their children. Pepinôt is the son of two of the heroes from the team I was focusing on. I've never focused on his relationship with Henri properly before. All the characters in this are French and I know the scene with Christophe and Millard may have seemed a bit forced or out of place, but Christophe I can't remember very well as he was an insignificant character to begin with, and Millard is new and undeveloped. I no longer write on Deviantart due to the fact that I irritated the hell out of people there so...eh. Henri turns out to be quite abusive due to uncontrolled temper, but he often tries to tell Pepinôt to get the hell out of that relationship for his own safety and breaks up with him several times for that reason, buuut Pep keeps coming back because Henri 'needs his help'...and I have all these character files on store but unless requested I probably won't share them. I will, however, be writing another piece about Pepinôt and his best friend, Afton! Afton and Henri also have superpowers.))
The problem was, the pale boy, Pepinôt, had found himself recently left out on the streets. His parents had rejected him, and he had no friends to turn to. And he had been scared. He'd been frightened beyond belief because all he could think of was that he could die out on the streets. And now, as he followed the other boy around, he feared that all that had occurred that morning had simply delayed his suffering.
The boy who had helped him was large. Athletic. He had a shock of golden-blond hair and matching eyes, and he wore jeans and a plain white top. He was attractive, and big enough that Pepinôt only came up to his shoulders. Bigger than most boys their age by a long shot (but then, Pepinôt was smaller than average by a fair bit himself). Big enough to be intimidating. Especially when he wheeled round to fix the far smaller boy with a glare.
"What do you want?"
"I...I...um..."
"You're following me. Why are you following me?"
He hesitated, fidgeting, not sure how to respond. When his silence had dragged on enough, the tan boy figured he had two options. Try and get his stalker to talk or just walk on and leave him. In the end, he heaved a sigh and stepped closer.
"Where do you live? I can walk you home if you like." Perhaps stalker boy was lost, he mused. Or upset about something. He had been curled up round the back of the pizza shop, after all.
"I...don't really have anywhere..."
"You don't have anywhere to stay? Jeez...how old are you?"
"Fourteen..."
"You don't look fourteen. You look ten."
"You look eighteen."
"I'm sixteen."
"You don't look sixteen. You look almost grown up." It was the facial features. And the height. That had to be it. "Is your skin naturally that colour?"
The tan boy's eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
"Ah! I mean-"
"Is yours naturally that colour or are you still feeling queasy?"
"It's naturally...but you look good, don't get me wrong! Almost...golden." He felt his cheeks reddening. Pepinôt was not good at saying the right thing at the right time. He always made an idiot out of himself. Still, gold boy seemed placated with this answer.
"Thanks...my name's Henri, by the way."
"Pepinôt." He offered his hand and Henri took it in a firm grip.
"Stick with me, Pepinôt. I'll...well, we don't want you getting sick again. I'll manage to source you some medication. Diabetic, right? I'll help you figure something out."
"I can't stay with you then?"
Henri laughed. "We've only just met, pipsqueak. Plus, I'm not the nicest of guys...you don't want to share a place with me."
"If it has a roof, I'm happy!"
He laughed again. "You're so cute when you do that. Come on. I'll at least bring you to my place and we can work something out." He yawned, pausing to wipe his forehead against his sleeve, as though the sun were beating down on them relentlessly.
It was Autumn, and it wasn't warm. In fact, Pepinôt was shivering ever so slightly.
They walked on through the streets, Henri struggling to appear like a friendly and helpful person. He was getting agitated. How long had he been around this kid? A couple of hours at least, including finding him and the hospital. The younger boy was very quiet. Almost shy. But surprisingly cheerful for a homeless kid forced to trust a complete stranger. Henri himself was quiet, as what was there to say?
"What kind of music do you like?" Pepinôt suddenly asked, a smile on his face. Henri gave him a strange look and shrugged.
"Uh, music? Um...Blues, I suppose."
"I like metal!"
"Really?"
"Really."
"Looking at you, I'd say you'd be one for Classical music."
"That grates on my nerves."
"Fair enough. I'm not really one for metal or rock or whatever."
"I love it. I like Black Veil Brides best."
"They're American, right?"
"Yeah. I think so."
"Cool. You don't drink or smoke or take anything illegal, do you?"
Pepinôt froze, frowning. "No, no and no...why?"
"Why were you kicked out? You were kicked out, right? Oh god, you're not an orphan, are you? Because if you are, I'm sorry I said-"
"I was kicked out! Calm down." He laughed, shaking his head. "I...just wasn't what my parents wanted, I guess..."
Henri gazed at him for a moment, scrutinising him. "I get you. Me neither." He gestured loosely to a house up ahead. A big place.
"Do you live by yourself?"
"Yeah. I don't own the place, someone else pays for it, but I stay there. My friend is loaded. Anyway, that there, that's the place. You can't stay there long. It's...not very sanitary inside."
"It looks lovely."
"It was, before I got near it." They came to the front gate, and there were two people by the front door, both about Henri's age. One with long brown hair, blue eyes and wearing a blue tracksuit, leaning against the wall and flicking through his phone. The other with short black hair, grey eyes and glasses, wearing a canary yellow suit and sat slumped against the door. They looked up as Henri and Pepinôt approached and immediately launched into a volley of shouts.
"Where have you been?"
"We've been waiting for hours!"
"You didn't say you were going to be out!"
"It's so cold out and you were meant to meet us for breakfast!"
"Henri, we were waiting!"
"People have been staring at us like we're beggars or thieves!"
"This is why you're supposed to carry your phone with you."
"I have had enough of dirty looks for today and all."
"And I mean charged this time!"
Henri held up his hands. "Millard, Christophe, please! I was at the hospital. And I swear I just went for a quick walk because I couldn't sleep. I wasn't...I didn't mean to be out so long."
The long-haired boy helped the one in the suit up. "Hospital?" He asked, arching a disbelieving eyebrow. Pepinôt got the impression that Henri failed to join his friends punctually on a regular basis. The boy in the glasses gave Pepinôt a very cold look.
"I'm Pepinôt." He greeted with a wide smile. "I'm sorry I held your friend up. I was ill. It's good to meet you."
"My name's Millard...Millard Bellemare. Pleasure."
"I'm Christophe." The long-haired boy interjected. "You've already met Henri, I see." He spoke in a much more cheerful tone than Millard. Millard spoke almost...monotonously.
"You feel better now though...?" Asked Millard.
"Yeah..."
"What was wrong?"
"Um...hypoglycaemia..."
"You're diabetic."
"Yeah..."
Henri grabbed Pepinôt by the arm. A firm grip. "I'm going to take him inside, get him settled. He's had a rough day. I'll be a little while. You guys go ahead."
"Honestly..." Christophe muttered, rolling his eyes. "Are you coming at all?"
"Rain check. I'll call you."
They walked off, grumbling all the way, and Henri led Pepinôt inside. The house wasn't that warm, and Henri hadn't bothered to clean up despite the fact that he'd been expecting company. The younger boy cared little about the mess. It was vastly different to the immaculate rooms at his parents' house. The older boy was quick to move a few things out of sight before Pepinôt could really clock them, and then they went upstairs, where Henri led the way to a bedroom. Again, the floor was cluttered, but the bed was large and plump, with fresh bedding. The fourteen-year-old hadn't realised how tired he was, but suddenly his body felt so...heavy. While his new friend pulled a laptop computer off a desk, he curled up on the bed (shoes still on).
Somewhere along the line, Pepinôt managed to convince Henri to let him stay. A mix of having nowhere to go, not knowing a lot of skills necessary to live on his own and the simple fact that they both fancied each other and had plenty in common. He also discovered some on Henri's less pleasant habits, and insisted on helping. It didn't work, and Henri insisted he didn't want help and could even get violent when Pepinôt insisted on 'helping' regardless. Still, it was nice, or at least that was what he felt.
((I have been doing some character development file things for some old superheroes and their children. Pepinôt is the son of two of the heroes from the team I was focusing on. I've never focused on his relationship with Henri properly before. All the characters in this are French and I know the scene with Christophe and Millard may have seemed a bit forced or out of place, but Christophe I can't remember very well as he was an insignificant character to begin with, and Millard is new and undeveloped. I no longer write on Deviantart due to the fact that I irritated the hell out of people there so...eh. Henri turns out to be quite abusive due to uncontrolled temper, but he often tries to tell Pepinôt to get the hell out of that relationship for his own safety and breaks up with him several times for that reason, buuut Pep keeps coming back because Henri 'needs his help'...and I have all these character files on store but unless requested I probably won't share them. I will, however, be writing another piece about Pepinôt and his best friend, Afton! Afton and Henri also have superpowers.))
Monday, 22 February 2016
A Friend on the Edge
Now how on God's green Earth did he find himself here? He was sat on the bridge, a mile and a half from his home, crystal blue water thundering beneath him with the odd rock sticking up. It was cold. A biting wind was whistling through the metalwork, and his cheap denim jacket didn't help much. His hair was long enough to blow around and whip his skin.
He'd been chased out of the house again. Normally it was his sister who did that with threats and violence and general bad treatment, but this time he'd had his dear old dad on his case. A report from the school had arrived, mentioning he'd only been in school 12 times that month. His grades were, naturally, through the floor, and when he did attend a class, he never stayed through the whole thing. He would kick off because the others would bully him relentlessly. He never got any relief. The same shit from every single angle. Plus, the last time he'd skipped school, he'd forged a signature and gotten his lip pierced. His father had been furious and it certainly hadn't helped the situation at hand.
Tremayne Morden-O'Callaghary went on to wander the streets for a bit, thinking over everything. Constantly dealing with unbearable, crushing misery...well, he wasn't dealing. He had no friends, no-one to talk to, nowhere he could feel safe. It was agonising. Painful. Who knew emotion could cause so much physical pain? He could feel it in his chest, and he wished he was dead. God, he had wished that for seven long years. Why was he still walking, talking, breathing, crying?
He was crying. Brilliant. Furious, he wiped at his eyes and ran, and saw the bridge and now he was sat there, seriously considering throwing himself to the rocks and water below. Tears made tracks down his cheeks. No friends, no family, no choice, no future, no life. Once when he was little, he'd had a rather unusual dream of reaping the souls of innocents and making them all pay. When was the last time he was in school? A few days ago. He'd hidden in the toilets from Peter Delgado, who had been one of his most violent terrorisers at school. He had cried and rocked himself and prayed to any god who might listen that Peter fucking Delgado would leave him the fuck alone. Nobody helped him. The next day, he'd refused to leave his bed. The day after, his father had dragged him out by his feet and told him to get to school. He bunked off, terrified of seeing anyone from school again and thought about how much he hated them. When he came back home, one of his brothers called him fat, another called him ugly, the third pushed him down the stairs and his sisters poured icy water on him. He hated them too. They pulled his hair, pointed out every physical fault he had, hammered home how useless and worthless and stupid he was and how it truly wasn't worth him being alive. That his life was nothing more than a burden to each and every one of them.
At least they would be happy if he ended it all, he thought as he edged himself towards the edge, not daring to look down. He may have been about to kill himself, but he still hated heights.
"Now excuse me!" Called a voice. One with a thick, southern accent. Alabama, he figured. Whatever it was, it made him freeze. "Now, just what the hell do you think you're doin'?"
Tremayne glanced over his shoulder. A blond boy with a sunburned face and bright eyes. He had a smile. Not a cheerful one, a 'I want to help and you can trust me' one. He didn't answer and Alabama boy approached.
"Because it looks to me like you're gonna jump. And I know you ought not to jump."
"You don't know anything about me." He croaked out without thinking.
"I know what it's like to be where you are." Alabama answered gently, climbing through the steel separating the locals from the water. "To be so depressed, feel so hopeless, you think you have no choice but to end it all." Edging across the edge with some clear nervousness, he rested a hand on Trey's shoulder, which he quickly shrugged off. "But there's always a choice."
He had a few questions in his head. Alabama looked about his age, maybe a little younger, and his eyes were blue, sparkling with happiness...full of a life worth living.
"Who even are you?" He asked first. Alabama's smile widened.
"Name's Chester. Chester McCain!" He offered his hand and Trey glared at it.
"Well, Chester McCain, you seem awfully cheerful."
Chester slowly closed up his hand. "Now, that's just who I am, I suppose. What's your name?"
"Tremayne."
"Tremayne?" He asked, seemingly shocked by the name.
"Yes. Tremayne."
"Nice to meet you, Tremayne." He looked down at the water below. He didn't seem as nervous now he'd settled, and he certainly didn't seem afraid of the height. "Y'know, when I was younger, I had a really nice family. Two parents, a little sister, we sometimes went to visit my grandfather. They were very...conservative. All the adults were. Now, I don't know why it happened, but one day, one day, my parents just snapped. Said they didn't want me any more. And they...dropped me off at my grandfather's house. They kept my little sister, and I had no idea what had happened. I was dirt poor from that point on, and people teased me a lot for that. Um...it wasn't pleasant, and it got worse and worse the older I got, because when I hit puberty, I realised I didn't fancy girls...I wasn't totally sure what I was for the longest time because I wasn't gay and I wasn't straight. I was attracted to this genderfluid non-binary kid in school who also got teased. And sometimes I felt attraction to other people and was I bi? Was I pan? What the heck is skoliosexual?" He heaved a sigh, the light in his eyes flickering a little as he spilled his soul. Part of Tremayne knew he was just saying it all to garner his trust and get him to speak back. "I started looking it up, and people found out I wasn't straight and they bullied me a lot worse. And eventually they started scrawling homophobic slurs all over. Even on my granddad's house and my bag and they stole my shoes and clothes and lunch, and sometimes that lunch was the only food I had. And of course, with all that going on, my granddad found out as well, and I didn't even get to tell him because I was still figuring out what the hell I was and what I was feeling. And he said I could either change or get the hell out of his life, so...I ended up on the streets. And naturally things got a lot worse for me. Next few months were a blur of illness and cold and fear, and then I tried to commit...and lo and behold, my sister came to visit, found out what had happened and found me trying to drown myself...and she stopped me..." He paused, wiping his eyes.
Tremayne watched him for a moment before heaving a sigh. "I haven't eaten or drunk anything all day. I don't have money with me and I'm afraid to go home. I have six older siblings, three sisters, three brothers, and they beat me and insult me and dare I say it I think I may have been sexually abused by them. I am terrified of each and every one of them. Terrified of what they'll do next. I'd rather be homeless or dead than go back to them...and my father says I should just suck it up. That I'm being pathetic. And maybe I am, but I'm in hell and I can't deal with it. My mother died six years ago. I'm...since then, the entire family's been much colder, but they already hated me to start with. I've been bullied since I started school, and first considered suicide seven years ago, when I was seven. One group of boys beats the shit out of me every day I turn up for lessons. The teachers piss me off so much. I can't sit through a whole lesson. I walk out every time. My father is threatening to kick me out because I'm failing every class. And because I got my lip pierced. I get beaten up and belittled everywhere I go. There's no-where I feel safe and no-one I could possibly talk to about things. If I tried to talk to anyone, they'd simply come up here and push me over the edge. Everyone hates me. Everyone wants me dead. I want me dead."
"And yet, you've managed to talk to someone without that someone pushing you over the edge."
Trey looked to Chester with a frown. Chester in turn watched curiously, chewing his lip slightly, hoping that would mean at least something. Tremayne stood, pressed himself to the metalwork, glanced down and began to panic.
"Oh fuck, oh shit, oh shitting fuck!"
"Tremayne?" He gripped the Gothic boy's wrist protectively, standing as well. He was a little taller. "Come on, let's get back to steady ground."
"I hate heights..."
"Come back. Listen, I know some people. There's this youth centre...it's for kids with depression, mostly. I was at a branch in Alabama, but I'm transferring here...they can help you."
"No they can't! Don't you get it? Nobody can help me!"
"Now, that's what I thought too. I was wrong. There are kids just like you there."
"Nobody's like me. If there was someone out there like me, I wouldn't have the whole world hating me." He wasn't having second thoughts when he panicked, the fear just set in. The only reason he hadn't jumped now was that Chester was clinging onto him. He did not want to murder this guy. This guy seemed nice.
"Tremayne, the whole world doesn't hate you." He moved his hand down, gripping his hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I don't hate you, now, do I? I'm here, trying to get you to see that there may just be something out there for you. Something you can't see because the bastards have got you right where they want you. Come with me, give it a try. If it doesn't work, you can come right back here and take a flying leap because I was dead wrong, but right now I am sure of it. You have a life worth living." Tremayne shut his eyes tight and didn't answer. "You got a favourite style of music?"
"Rock...heavy metal..."
"No shit, me too! What's your favourite artist?"
"Musical?"
"Yeah, musical."
"...Avril Lavigne..."
"You got a favourite song by her?"
"Um..."
"Keep Holding On? Girlfriend? Smile?"
"...Wish You Were Here..."
"You know the lyrics to that little ditty?"
"Yuh-huh..."
"You sing at all?"
"No..."
"No...and you're probably thirsty too...I know the lyrics a little..."
"You do?"
He cleared his throat and began to sing, loud and clear, though a little shaky considering the dangerous place he was standing. "I can be tough, I can be strong, but when I'm with you, it's not like that at all...there's a girl...who gives a shit..."
Tremayne opened his eyes, looking at Chester through tears. Chester, to his credit, didn't take his eyes off the other boy, just kept singing. He mussed up a few lyrics, naturally, but his voice...it was good. This guy had talent. And he was wasting that talent trying to keep Tremayne from jumping off a bridge. He just wished the sunburned brat would let go of his hand. Towards the end of the song, Trey started to sing along. He had a good voice too. It would have been better had he not been in tears and dehydrated but still. When the song was finished, he shook his head.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I don't want you to throw your life away. You can get away from all those people making things so bad for you without killing yourself, Trey. Can I call you Trey?"
"My name's Tremayne..."
"Okay, sorry. But hey, if I save you, maybe one day you might save someone else's life."
He shook his head. "I couldn't. I'm not strong or smart or brave."
"Trey, buddy, you said you first wanted to end it all when you were seven. You have been strong and brave beyond belief for seven long years, and damn it man, the only reason you think you're dumb is because idiots are chasing you out of your classes!" He reached over and flicked the smaller boy on the forehead. "Kid, you are strong, you are unbelievably strong and brave to have made it this far through all that. But you're depressed. You're ill. And I want to help you. If you're smart, you will let me help you. Are you smart?"
"I...I don't think so..."
"Are you smart enough to take the right way out when you see it?"
"You're saying you're the right way out?"
"Exactly. And if I'm not, you'll have plenty of other chances to find it." He began to edge back to the road, and Tremayne gave it some thought before shaking his head and going with him.
And so, fifteen minutes later, he found himself in a kiddy restaurant drinking Coca Cola through a silly straw. "So now I've come with you, what in the name of fuck am I supposed to do?"
"What do you mean?" Asked Chester, staring at his lemonade like it had been poisoned.
"I can't go to school or go home."
"What school to you go to?"
"Five Saints High."
"No shit, I'm starting there next week..."
"So?"
"So I'll hang with you, make sure you don't get too much stick."
"Um...we might be in different grades, classes, everything."
"I'll request the same class as you. You can't be higher than 9th grade, right?"
"Well...no...but-"
"So we'll see what happens, but you have a friend now, and once you've eaten, I can take you over to the youth centre. They can help set something up."
Tremayne was suitably skeptical, but Chester was offering him a lot of things he'd never been offered before in his life.
"This place is full of depressed kids."
"Yeah...it's got loads of activities and stuff and a real strict no fighting rule so you'll be safe and therapy and it's run by volunteers and some kids are offered bed and board."
"Sounds stupid."
"You're just worried you won't fit in."
"And there are kids from all over California at these things?"
"Well, in this city it's just the kids from this city, otherwise they have a bit far to travel."
He gave a slight nod. "Right...but if I just go and live there, I'll be, like, a runaway...they could be accused of all shit..."
"I think they have some stupid ...what's it called? Ah hell, they have a way they deal with it, man. It'll be fine."
The rest of the afternoon was kind of blurry. The two talked about things they liked. Animals they thought were cute, tattoos they wanted to get (Tremayne wanted lots but Chester didn't want any), books and films they liked (Tremayne was big on horror), games, surfing, music, cartoons (Chester was shocked to hear Tremayne had never watched TV, as his father had banned television in the household) and they found they had a little in common. Even if that something in common was just music, animals and a love for books.
And to Tremayne's surprise, Chester was happy to call him his friend. When they got to this youth centre thing, it was...cheerful. The entire place was outfitted in baby blue, spring green and saffron yellow. Ugly to him, but he saw what they were trying to do. Make a happy and safe environment or whatever. There were three women at the front desk, and a redheaded boy in a Five Saints jacket. The school didn't have a uniform, but it had a regulation jacket that you had to wear instead of a normal one. The boy's name was Craig, if Tremayne remembered correctly, and while he wasn't a huge bully like Peter, he was still in the same year and still someone to be afraid of. So Tremayne dug his heels in.
"I can't do this." He muttered, tightening his grip on Chester's hand, digging his nails in so tight he was surprised the other boy didn't shriek or at least bleed.
"Why not?"
"There are kids from my school here. Do you know what they'll do to me?"
"There's a no fighting rule, and no bullying, and what happens here, it stays here, I swear." Chester turned, placing his hands on Tremayne's shoulders. "You can avoid people you know if you want. You don't have to talk to them, it's fine."
"It's terrifying!" He snapped, clinging onto the other boy's red lumberjack shirt. "I can't be here, it's not safe."
"Tremayne, listen to me, this is just about the safest place you can be right now, short of a witness protection programme." Craig turned at the mention of a familiar name, swore and pulled his collar up to hide his face. "Here, nobody is going to hurt you. Here, you are going to be welcomed. And here, here you already have a friend. Now come on." He dragged him to the front desk and the lady there looked up with a smile. Chester quickly explained he was transferring from Alabama and he was a resident patient. His details were brought up, things were confirmed and the lady turned to Tremayne.
"And this is?"
"This is my friend. He's new here."
"And what's your name?"
And so he had to say his name, spell it, spell it again and explain he couldn't return home when they asked for contact details. There were all these stupid formalities, they spoke to a few people on the phone, and then he had to wait for a time before being allowed in, but Chester waited with him. Then they were finally allowed in and he was asked to speak to someone else, a big burly man with a strong East-Asian accent. A very kind man who helped him sort things out. It was late then, and the kids who would be staying overnight were given dinner and a room. None of the rooms had locks. It was just in case someone tried to hurt themselves. It was him, Chester, Craig, two other boys and a girl. Tremayne didn't sleep well. Chester slept like a rock. The next day was a school day, but Tremayne didn't want to go. He refused, and the workers didn't force him, but they asked Craig and Chester if they could pick up any work for him. Chester came back with the work and offered to help his new friend understand things. Tremayne found the Alabama boy was pretty smart when it came to this academic bullshit, and he could explain it in a way that made him understand. For the first time in a while, Tremayne learned something from schoolwork. He was then dragged downstairs to some musical activity and Chester insisted he would love to learn to play an instrument. He displayed his own skill with a guitar and suggested percussion would at least mean he could hit something. Tremayne started to learn the drums. He stuck close to Chester throughout and didn't speak to the other kids for a very long time. It was suggested by a visiting doctor that he was put on medication, and he reluctantly accepted, and eventually he went into school. When Peter tried to hurt him, Chester came and punched him in the face. For once, Tremayne began to feel things might turn out okay.
And then, he met the future Dark Pulse, and things...well, then things got interesting.
He'd been chased out of the house again. Normally it was his sister who did that with threats and violence and general bad treatment, but this time he'd had his dear old dad on his case. A report from the school had arrived, mentioning he'd only been in school 12 times that month. His grades were, naturally, through the floor, and when he did attend a class, he never stayed through the whole thing. He would kick off because the others would bully him relentlessly. He never got any relief. The same shit from every single angle. Plus, the last time he'd skipped school, he'd forged a signature and gotten his lip pierced. His father had been furious and it certainly hadn't helped the situation at hand.
Tremayne Morden-O'Callaghary went on to wander the streets for a bit, thinking over everything. Constantly dealing with unbearable, crushing misery...well, he wasn't dealing. He had no friends, no-one to talk to, nowhere he could feel safe. It was agonising. Painful. Who knew emotion could cause so much physical pain? He could feel it in his chest, and he wished he was dead. God, he had wished that for seven long years. Why was he still walking, talking, breathing, crying?
He was crying. Brilliant. Furious, he wiped at his eyes and ran, and saw the bridge and now he was sat there, seriously considering throwing himself to the rocks and water below. Tears made tracks down his cheeks. No friends, no family, no choice, no future, no life. Once when he was little, he'd had a rather unusual dream of reaping the souls of innocents and making them all pay. When was the last time he was in school? A few days ago. He'd hidden in the toilets from Peter Delgado, who had been one of his most violent terrorisers at school. He had cried and rocked himself and prayed to any god who might listen that Peter fucking Delgado would leave him the fuck alone. Nobody helped him. The next day, he'd refused to leave his bed. The day after, his father had dragged him out by his feet and told him to get to school. He bunked off, terrified of seeing anyone from school again and thought about how much he hated them. When he came back home, one of his brothers called him fat, another called him ugly, the third pushed him down the stairs and his sisters poured icy water on him. He hated them too. They pulled his hair, pointed out every physical fault he had, hammered home how useless and worthless and stupid he was and how it truly wasn't worth him being alive. That his life was nothing more than a burden to each and every one of them.
At least they would be happy if he ended it all, he thought as he edged himself towards the edge, not daring to look down. He may have been about to kill himself, but he still hated heights.
"Now excuse me!" Called a voice. One with a thick, southern accent. Alabama, he figured. Whatever it was, it made him freeze. "Now, just what the hell do you think you're doin'?"
Tremayne glanced over his shoulder. A blond boy with a sunburned face and bright eyes. He had a smile. Not a cheerful one, a 'I want to help and you can trust me' one. He didn't answer and Alabama boy approached.
"Because it looks to me like you're gonna jump. And I know you ought not to jump."
"You don't know anything about me." He croaked out without thinking.
"I know what it's like to be where you are." Alabama answered gently, climbing through the steel separating the locals from the water. "To be so depressed, feel so hopeless, you think you have no choice but to end it all." Edging across the edge with some clear nervousness, he rested a hand on Trey's shoulder, which he quickly shrugged off. "But there's always a choice."
He had a few questions in his head. Alabama looked about his age, maybe a little younger, and his eyes were blue, sparkling with happiness...full of a life worth living.
"Who even are you?" He asked first. Alabama's smile widened.
"Name's Chester. Chester McCain!" He offered his hand and Trey glared at it.
"Well, Chester McCain, you seem awfully cheerful."
Chester slowly closed up his hand. "Now, that's just who I am, I suppose. What's your name?"
"Tremayne."
"Tremayne?" He asked, seemingly shocked by the name.
"Yes. Tremayne."
"Nice to meet you, Tremayne." He looked down at the water below. He didn't seem as nervous now he'd settled, and he certainly didn't seem afraid of the height. "Y'know, when I was younger, I had a really nice family. Two parents, a little sister, we sometimes went to visit my grandfather. They were very...conservative. All the adults were. Now, I don't know why it happened, but one day, one day, my parents just snapped. Said they didn't want me any more. And they...dropped me off at my grandfather's house. They kept my little sister, and I had no idea what had happened. I was dirt poor from that point on, and people teased me a lot for that. Um...it wasn't pleasant, and it got worse and worse the older I got, because when I hit puberty, I realised I didn't fancy girls...I wasn't totally sure what I was for the longest time because I wasn't gay and I wasn't straight. I was attracted to this genderfluid non-binary kid in school who also got teased. And sometimes I felt attraction to other people and was I bi? Was I pan? What the heck is skoliosexual?" He heaved a sigh, the light in his eyes flickering a little as he spilled his soul. Part of Tremayne knew he was just saying it all to garner his trust and get him to speak back. "I started looking it up, and people found out I wasn't straight and they bullied me a lot worse. And eventually they started scrawling homophobic slurs all over. Even on my granddad's house and my bag and they stole my shoes and clothes and lunch, and sometimes that lunch was the only food I had. And of course, with all that going on, my granddad found out as well, and I didn't even get to tell him because I was still figuring out what the hell I was and what I was feeling. And he said I could either change or get the hell out of his life, so...I ended up on the streets. And naturally things got a lot worse for me. Next few months were a blur of illness and cold and fear, and then I tried to commit...and lo and behold, my sister came to visit, found out what had happened and found me trying to drown myself...and she stopped me..." He paused, wiping his eyes.
Tremayne watched him for a moment before heaving a sigh. "I haven't eaten or drunk anything all day. I don't have money with me and I'm afraid to go home. I have six older siblings, three sisters, three brothers, and they beat me and insult me and dare I say it I think I may have been sexually abused by them. I am terrified of each and every one of them. Terrified of what they'll do next. I'd rather be homeless or dead than go back to them...and my father says I should just suck it up. That I'm being pathetic. And maybe I am, but I'm in hell and I can't deal with it. My mother died six years ago. I'm...since then, the entire family's been much colder, but they already hated me to start with. I've been bullied since I started school, and first considered suicide seven years ago, when I was seven. One group of boys beats the shit out of me every day I turn up for lessons. The teachers piss me off so much. I can't sit through a whole lesson. I walk out every time. My father is threatening to kick me out because I'm failing every class. And because I got my lip pierced. I get beaten up and belittled everywhere I go. There's no-where I feel safe and no-one I could possibly talk to about things. If I tried to talk to anyone, they'd simply come up here and push me over the edge. Everyone hates me. Everyone wants me dead. I want me dead."
"And yet, you've managed to talk to someone without that someone pushing you over the edge."
Trey looked to Chester with a frown. Chester in turn watched curiously, chewing his lip slightly, hoping that would mean at least something. Tremayne stood, pressed himself to the metalwork, glanced down and began to panic.
"Oh fuck, oh shit, oh shitting fuck!"
"Tremayne?" He gripped the Gothic boy's wrist protectively, standing as well. He was a little taller. "Come on, let's get back to steady ground."
"I hate heights..."
"Come back. Listen, I know some people. There's this youth centre...it's for kids with depression, mostly. I was at a branch in Alabama, but I'm transferring here...they can help you."
"No they can't! Don't you get it? Nobody can help me!"
"Now, that's what I thought too. I was wrong. There are kids just like you there."
"Nobody's like me. If there was someone out there like me, I wouldn't have the whole world hating me." He wasn't having second thoughts when he panicked, the fear just set in. The only reason he hadn't jumped now was that Chester was clinging onto him. He did not want to murder this guy. This guy seemed nice.
"Tremayne, the whole world doesn't hate you." He moved his hand down, gripping his hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "I don't hate you, now, do I? I'm here, trying to get you to see that there may just be something out there for you. Something you can't see because the bastards have got you right where they want you. Come with me, give it a try. If it doesn't work, you can come right back here and take a flying leap because I was dead wrong, but right now I am sure of it. You have a life worth living." Tremayne shut his eyes tight and didn't answer. "You got a favourite style of music?"
"Rock...heavy metal..."
"No shit, me too! What's your favourite artist?"
"Musical?"
"Yeah, musical."
"...Avril Lavigne..."
"You got a favourite song by her?"
"Um..."
"Keep Holding On? Girlfriend? Smile?"
"...Wish You Were Here..."
"You know the lyrics to that little ditty?"
"Yuh-huh..."
"You sing at all?"
"No..."
"No...and you're probably thirsty too...I know the lyrics a little..."
"You do?"
He cleared his throat and began to sing, loud and clear, though a little shaky considering the dangerous place he was standing. "I can be tough, I can be strong, but when I'm with you, it's not like that at all...there's a girl...who gives a shit..."
Tremayne opened his eyes, looking at Chester through tears. Chester, to his credit, didn't take his eyes off the other boy, just kept singing. He mussed up a few lyrics, naturally, but his voice...it was good. This guy had talent. And he was wasting that talent trying to keep Tremayne from jumping off a bridge. He just wished the sunburned brat would let go of his hand. Towards the end of the song, Trey started to sing along. He had a good voice too. It would have been better had he not been in tears and dehydrated but still. When the song was finished, he shook his head.
"Why are you doing this?"
"Because I don't want you to throw your life away. You can get away from all those people making things so bad for you without killing yourself, Trey. Can I call you Trey?"
"My name's Tremayne..."
"Okay, sorry. But hey, if I save you, maybe one day you might save someone else's life."
He shook his head. "I couldn't. I'm not strong or smart or brave."
"Trey, buddy, you said you first wanted to end it all when you were seven. You have been strong and brave beyond belief for seven long years, and damn it man, the only reason you think you're dumb is because idiots are chasing you out of your classes!" He reached over and flicked the smaller boy on the forehead. "Kid, you are strong, you are unbelievably strong and brave to have made it this far through all that. But you're depressed. You're ill. And I want to help you. If you're smart, you will let me help you. Are you smart?"
"I...I don't think so..."
"Are you smart enough to take the right way out when you see it?"
"You're saying you're the right way out?"
"Exactly. And if I'm not, you'll have plenty of other chances to find it." He began to edge back to the road, and Tremayne gave it some thought before shaking his head and going with him.
And so, fifteen minutes later, he found himself in a kiddy restaurant drinking Coca Cola through a silly straw. "So now I've come with you, what in the name of fuck am I supposed to do?"
"What do you mean?" Asked Chester, staring at his lemonade like it had been poisoned.
"I can't go to school or go home."
"What school to you go to?"
"Five Saints High."
"No shit, I'm starting there next week..."
"So?"
"So I'll hang with you, make sure you don't get too much stick."
"Um...we might be in different grades, classes, everything."
"I'll request the same class as you. You can't be higher than 9th grade, right?"
"Well...no...but-"
"So we'll see what happens, but you have a friend now, and once you've eaten, I can take you over to the youth centre. They can help set something up."
Tremayne was suitably skeptical, but Chester was offering him a lot of things he'd never been offered before in his life.
"This place is full of depressed kids."
"Yeah...it's got loads of activities and stuff and a real strict no fighting rule so you'll be safe and therapy and it's run by volunteers and some kids are offered bed and board."
"Sounds stupid."
"You're just worried you won't fit in."
"And there are kids from all over California at these things?"
"Well, in this city it's just the kids from this city, otherwise they have a bit far to travel."
He gave a slight nod. "Right...but if I just go and live there, I'll be, like, a runaway...they could be accused of all shit..."
"I think they have some stupid ...what's it called? Ah hell, they have a way they deal with it, man. It'll be fine."
The rest of the afternoon was kind of blurry. The two talked about things they liked. Animals they thought were cute, tattoos they wanted to get (Tremayne wanted lots but Chester didn't want any), books and films they liked (Tremayne was big on horror), games, surfing, music, cartoons (Chester was shocked to hear Tremayne had never watched TV, as his father had banned television in the household) and they found they had a little in common. Even if that something in common was just music, animals and a love for books.
And to Tremayne's surprise, Chester was happy to call him his friend. When they got to this youth centre thing, it was...cheerful. The entire place was outfitted in baby blue, spring green and saffron yellow. Ugly to him, but he saw what they were trying to do. Make a happy and safe environment or whatever. There were three women at the front desk, and a redheaded boy in a Five Saints jacket. The school didn't have a uniform, but it had a regulation jacket that you had to wear instead of a normal one. The boy's name was Craig, if Tremayne remembered correctly, and while he wasn't a huge bully like Peter, he was still in the same year and still someone to be afraid of. So Tremayne dug his heels in.
"I can't do this." He muttered, tightening his grip on Chester's hand, digging his nails in so tight he was surprised the other boy didn't shriek or at least bleed.
"Why not?"
"There are kids from my school here. Do you know what they'll do to me?"
"There's a no fighting rule, and no bullying, and what happens here, it stays here, I swear." Chester turned, placing his hands on Tremayne's shoulders. "You can avoid people you know if you want. You don't have to talk to them, it's fine."
"It's terrifying!" He snapped, clinging onto the other boy's red lumberjack shirt. "I can't be here, it's not safe."
"Tremayne, listen to me, this is just about the safest place you can be right now, short of a witness protection programme." Craig turned at the mention of a familiar name, swore and pulled his collar up to hide his face. "Here, nobody is going to hurt you. Here, you are going to be welcomed. And here, here you already have a friend. Now come on." He dragged him to the front desk and the lady there looked up with a smile. Chester quickly explained he was transferring from Alabama and he was a resident patient. His details were brought up, things were confirmed and the lady turned to Tremayne.
"And this is?"
"This is my friend. He's new here."
"And what's your name?"
And so he had to say his name, spell it, spell it again and explain he couldn't return home when they asked for contact details. There were all these stupid formalities, they spoke to a few people on the phone, and then he had to wait for a time before being allowed in, but Chester waited with him. Then they were finally allowed in and he was asked to speak to someone else, a big burly man with a strong East-Asian accent. A very kind man who helped him sort things out. It was late then, and the kids who would be staying overnight were given dinner and a room. None of the rooms had locks. It was just in case someone tried to hurt themselves. It was him, Chester, Craig, two other boys and a girl. Tremayne didn't sleep well. Chester slept like a rock. The next day was a school day, but Tremayne didn't want to go. He refused, and the workers didn't force him, but they asked Craig and Chester if they could pick up any work for him. Chester came back with the work and offered to help his new friend understand things. Tremayne found the Alabama boy was pretty smart when it came to this academic bullshit, and he could explain it in a way that made him understand. For the first time in a while, Tremayne learned something from schoolwork. He was then dragged downstairs to some musical activity and Chester insisted he would love to learn to play an instrument. He displayed his own skill with a guitar and suggested percussion would at least mean he could hit something. Tremayne started to learn the drums. He stuck close to Chester throughout and didn't speak to the other kids for a very long time. It was suggested by a visiting doctor that he was put on medication, and he reluctantly accepted, and eventually he went into school. When Peter tried to hurt him, Chester came and punched him in the face. For once, Tremayne began to feel things might turn out okay.
And then, he met the future Dark Pulse, and things...well, then things got interesting.
Friday, 22 January 2016
Cupcakes
When Kankurou and Temari woke up that morning, they had gone for their usual routine, as far as their younger brother could see. Temari always came to the breakfast table first, and after checking pointlessly to see if her other younger brother was there yet and giving a brief and somewhat tense greeting to the youngest, who was at the table, watching her intently, she fixed herself a bowl of cereal. She didn't ask if he wanted one. She never did, and that was fine because he didn't. He had tried that cereal once and it had been very sweet. A varying amount of time later, Kankurou would come down, face paint firmly in place, and give a tired greeting to his sister before fixing his own breakfast. Sometimes Kankurou remembered that Gaara was always at the table and greeted him too, sometimes he gave a vague greeting to both his siblings, and sometimes he greeted Gaara after he'd started to cook or after he had sat down. He never offered his brother anything either. That was fine too. The youngest of the three siblings had no wish to sample his elder brother's cooking. He highly doubted it was any good.
During breakfast, the elder two siblings would talk. Recently, they had done their best to include Gaara in their conversations, occasionally asking him questions or asking his opinion on a certain subject, to which he would give a vague or simple reply, and the conversation would continue.
He had been shocked the first time they had chosen to include him. He hadn't been listening to his siblings' conversation. Instead, he had been studying his brother's face, trying to figure out why he always wore that garish war paint, when Temari had turned to him and simply said "Isn't that right, Gaara?"
Kankurou had frozen up, shocked that his sister would consider asking Gaara's opinion. Gaara looked to her upon hearing his name, and it took him a moment to realise she was waiting for him to respond. Tension filled the air, the kind that you could only cut through with a guillotine, and he found himself reluctant to admit he hadn't been paying attention.
"Sure." He eventually stated, though he had no idea what he was agreeing to. Temari smiled and turned back to Kankurou with a triumphant look, and the horror on the elder brother's face slowly slipped into an embarrassed annoyance. Gaara paid attention to the conversations more often after that, and Temari continued to ask his opinion, a habit that Kankurou eventually fell into as well.
After breakfast, the three siblings went their separate ways. Gaara went out to train that day, as Kankurou had shut himself away with his puppets and Temari said she had promised to meet someone in the village that day. The day was uneventful, aside from the usual whispers and efforts to avoid him, which he did his best to ignore, and he went back home when he started to feel hungry.
This was probably the strangest interruption to routine he had ever seen, if he was honest. When he returned to the kitchen, there was a sweet smell in the air. It reminded him of a bakery he had wandered into once. Someone had been baking, but Temari didn't cook and Kankurou certainly didn't seem like he enjoyed cooking. And yet, someone had left twelve cupcakes on the table. All chocolate, with some reddish-pink icing and raspberries on top. Probably left out to cool. Glancing around, the young shinobi saw no sign of either of his siblings, and curiously lifted one of the cakes. He disliked sweet things, and had no intention of eating it, but it was still a strange item to find around here. And still warm.
"You can have that, if you want."
Slowly, Gaara turned to look at his brother, who was now stood in the doorway, watching with a bored expression. "I don't want it." Gaara answered after a moment, but he didn't put it down. Even so, for a split second, Kankurou looked disappointed.
"Fair enough." He turned to leave again, and the younger brother frowned. He was still learning to build bonds with others, and his first step was to build those bonds with his siblings, and some part of him believed his siblings wished to build those bonds with him, but it was difficult. If he wanted to build bonds, he would have to spend more time with them, talk to them more. He knew this. Of course he knew this, but it didn't make it any easier.
"Did you make them?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd registered the thought, but Kankurou stopped and turned.
"Yeah. There's plenty of stuff left that'd otherwise go to waste, so I decided...why not? So...I made some cakes."
"How?"
Now, the puppeteer frowned. Had Gaara just asked him how to make a cake? It seemed fairly straightforward to him. Then again, it made sense that Gaara wouldn't know how to bake. "You...want me to teach you how to bake cupcakes?"
He didn't particularly want that, Gaara decided almost instantly, but Kankurou was interested in spending time with him now. He nodded. "Ones without chocolate."
"I can do that..." The elder went to the cupboards, pulling out a variety of objects. Large bowls and wooden spoons, bags of sugar and flour, a set of scales..."Could you get eggs and butter from the fridge?"
"Eggs and butter." Gaara echoed dully, doing as told and placing the ingredients beside the mixing bowl. Kankurou stood back so his younger brother could stand at the counter.
"Okay, first, we need to measure out the flour. For twelve cakes, you need six ounces of flour, and six ounces of sugar. Equal weights, and half that number of eggs, so we'll be using three eggs. Anyway, for now just...measure the flour." He watched for a moment before nodding. "That's it. Now it goes into the bowl."
Tipping the flour into one of the bowls didn't go too well. It blew up in a cloud of floury smoke, some finding its way onto Gaara's face and black top. He coughed and Kankurou tried not to laugh, reminding himself firmly that laughing could cost him his life.
"Okay, that's a, um, occupational hazard, jaan. That happens even if you're careful. Okay, now six ounces of sugar. Careful, don't pour out too much at once..." There was a huge heap of sugar on the scales now. Almost the whole packet! Gaara scowled at the scales.
"It went wrong."
"Just put the sugar back in the bag. You can use your hands if you want, you've washed them. Or pour it all back in from the scale bowl itself."
And so the next few minutes were spent shoveling sugar back into the sugar bag until the scales read roughly six ounces. Kankurou helped out, of course.
"Now, that goes in a different bowl. We'll add them together in a minute." While the younger brother carefully transferred the sugar to its proper place, the elder unwrapped the butter and cut chunks off until the remaining stick weighed the same as the sugar and flour. "Same measurements for the butter." He explained before placing it in with the sugar. He then handed Gaara the wooden spoon. "This next bit, you have to cream that together, which is basically working them together with the spoon until they're sort of like a paste. Just try and mash the butter into the sugar. I've forgotten to get a few things." He turned back to the cupboards as Gaara struggled with the latest task. It was harder than it sounded. The butter refused to move and wouldn't mix with the sugar right unless he managed to cut it with the spoon and mash it against the side of the bowl. As he continued to struggle on, a whisk and smaller bowl was placed on the counter, on the other side of the flour bowl, and a moment later, a sieve joined them.
"What are those for?" The redhead asked suspiciously.
"The eggs." Came the simple response. "Need a hand with that?"
He released the spoon. "You do this. I'll do the eggs."
"Yeah, sure." They switched places, and Kankurou took care of the creaming with ease.
"What do I do exactly?"
"Crack the eggs against the side of the small bowl and pour the yolks in, then whisk them up." For a moment, Gaara hesitated, hyper aware of what he was doing lest he mess up again. Then he became hyper aware that Kankurou was watching him, and quickly set to cracking three eggs. No mistakes here, and there were still four eggs left over for breakfast the next morning. "Done."
"Yeah, I'm done here too. Bring that over here."
Once again, he found himself doing exactly as his big brother asked, and once again he messed up.
When Kankurou had unwrapped the butter, he had carelessly tossed the wrapper onto the edge of the counter. When he left to get everything for the eggs, the wrapper had fallen to the floor. Gaara did not see it there, and stepped on it, and his foot slipped from underneath him...
He didn't hit the floor, or even a bed of sand. Egg went flying, the bowl leaving his hands as he threw them out to save himself. Hands closed firmly around his wrists, keeping him from falling too far. Kankurou had caught him, and was somewhat humourously splattered in the face with a good amount of egg.
"You okay, ototo?" He asked, helping Gaara right himself. He had a strange tone to his voice, something the young jinchuriki took a bit of time to identify. His brother was concerned.
"I'm fine..." When Kankurou released him, he wiped his hands off on his top, only to find it was also covered in egg. The puppeteer paused to pick up the butter wrapper and put the rest of the butter away, then returned and placed the bowl on the counter again. Then, he started to laugh.
"Sorry!" He managed through the fit of giggles. "I'm not laughing at you, honest I'm not, but this is...it's not a situation I ever thought I'd be in. In the kitchen, with you, trying to bond over cupcakes and covered in egg!"
Gaara went to crack three more eggs. "It seems to work."
"Huh?" He laughed again, picking up the bowl of flour. "You think so?"
"You seem relaxed." It honestly seemed that slipping and throwing egg everywhere had broken the tension.
"I suppose I am."
He whisked the egg up again. "Do you enjoy cooking?" It did strike him that he knew very little about his brother.
"I find it pretty enjoyable, I guess. Not my favourite thing to do, but still. It's a hobby."
"I see."
Kankurou seemed to have the same kind of thought concerning what he did and didn't know about his younger brother. "What do you like doing?"
"As...hobbies?"
"Yeah. Oh, pour some of the egg into the sugar, I'll add a bit of flour, you mix it and we'll repeat that until it's all together."
Gaara thought for a moment. "I'm not sure."
"Do you have any big interests?"
"...Cacti..."
"Cacti?"
"Yes. I've been trying to care for one. It's not as easy as some might think."
"Nothing ever really is, but I get what you mean."
They fell silent then, but Gaara was okay with that, Kankurou was remarkably relaxed in his company, and he supposed just being in his presence, working with him on something that wasn't life or death, it would improve their relationship.
When they finished mixing everything, Kankurou brought a baking tray, a new spoon and several cupcake cases over to the counter with the simple explanation that they needed to separate the cake mix into the cases, trying to make them roughly equal. That was simple enough, yet Gaara still managed to drop a good amount down his front, and then into the oven they went, and the boys set about cleaning everything away.
~*~*~*~*~
Much later, Temari entered the living room to find two plates of cakes on the table. She heard footsteps behind her and glanced over her shoulder.
"Kankurou, I think you have a problem. You're constantly making these things..."
"I didn't make those ones." He answered, coming to stand beside his elder sister. "Gaara did."
"Gaara?" She hesitated. "Are they safe to eat?"
"They're quite good, actually. You can have one if you want. I think he actually enjoyed making them."
Temari looked at the collection of cupcakes on the table and thought that maybe, just maybe, her youngest brother was going to become a real brother, one they wouldn't have to fear, and that, with any luck, he could even stay that way.
During breakfast, the elder two siblings would talk. Recently, they had done their best to include Gaara in their conversations, occasionally asking him questions or asking his opinion on a certain subject, to which he would give a vague or simple reply, and the conversation would continue.
He had been shocked the first time they had chosen to include him. He hadn't been listening to his siblings' conversation. Instead, he had been studying his brother's face, trying to figure out why he always wore that garish war paint, when Temari had turned to him and simply said "Isn't that right, Gaara?"
Kankurou had frozen up, shocked that his sister would consider asking Gaara's opinion. Gaara looked to her upon hearing his name, and it took him a moment to realise she was waiting for him to respond. Tension filled the air, the kind that you could only cut through with a guillotine, and he found himself reluctant to admit he hadn't been paying attention.
"Sure." He eventually stated, though he had no idea what he was agreeing to. Temari smiled and turned back to Kankurou with a triumphant look, and the horror on the elder brother's face slowly slipped into an embarrassed annoyance. Gaara paid attention to the conversations more often after that, and Temari continued to ask his opinion, a habit that Kankurou eventually fell into as well.
After breakfast, the three siblings went their separate ways. Gaara went out to train that day, as Kankurou had shut himself away with his puppets and Temari said she had promised to meet someone in the village that day. The day was uneventful, aside from the usual whispers and efforts to avoid him, which he did his best to ignore, and he went back home when he started to feel hungry.
This was probably the strangest interruption to routine he had ever seen, if he was honest. When he returned to the kitchen, there was a sweet smell in the air. It reminded him of a bakery he had wandered into once. Someone had been baking, but Temari didn't cook and Kankurou certainly didn't seem like he enjoyed cooking. And yet, someone had left twelve cupcakes on the table. All chocolate, with some reddish-pink icing and raspberries on top. Probably left out to cool. Glancing around, the young shinobi saw no sign of either of his siblings, and curiously lifted one of the cakes. He disliked sweet things, and had no intention of eating it, but it was still a strange item to find around here. And still warm.
"You can have that, if you want."
Slowly, Gaara turned to look at his brother, who was now stood in the doorway, watching with a bored expression. "I don't want it." Gaara answered after a moment, but he didn't put it down. Even so, for a split second, Kankurou looked disappointed.
"Fair enough." He turned to leave again, and the younger brother frowned. He was still learning to build bonds with others, and his first step was to build those bonds with his siblings, and some part of him believed his siblings wished to build those bonds with him, but it was difficult. If he wanted to build bonds, he would have to spend more time with them, talk to them more. He knew this. Of course he knew this, but it didn't make it any easier.
"Did you make them?" The words were out of his mouth before he'd registered the thought, but Kankurou stopped and turned.
"Yeah. There's plenty of stuff left that'd otherwise go to waste, so I decided...why not? So...I made some cakes."
"How?"
Now, the puppeteer frowned. Had Gaara just asked him how to make a cake? It seemed fairly straightforward to him. Then again, it made sense that Gaara wouldn't know how to bake. "You...want me to teach you how to bake cupcakes?"
He didn't particularly want that, Gaara decided almost instantly, but Kankurou was interested in spending time with him now. He nodded. "Ones without chocolate."
"I can do that..." The elder went to the cupboards, pulling out a variety of objects. Large bowls and wooden spoons, bags of sugar and flour, a set of scales..."Could you get eggs and butter from the fridge?"
"Eggs and butter." Gaara echoed dully, doing as told and placing the ingredients beside the mixing bowl. Kankurou stood back so his younger brother could stand at the counter.
"Okay, first, we need to measure out the flour. For twelve cakes, you need six ounces of flour, and six ounces of sugar. Equal weights, and half that number of eggs, so we'll be using three eggs. Anyway, for now just...measure the flour." He watched for a moment before nodding. "That's it. Now it goes into the bowl."
Tipping the flour into one of the bowls didn't go too well. It blew up in a cloud of floury smoke, some finding its way onto Gaara's face and black top. He coughed and Kankurou tried not to laugh, reminding himself firmly that laughing could cost him his life.
"Okay, that's a, um, occupational hazard, jaan. That happens even if you're careful. Okay, now six ounces of sugar. Careful, don't pour out too much at once..." There was a huge heap of sugar on the scales now. Almost the whole packet! Gaara scowled at the scales.
"It went wrong."
"Just put the sugar back in the bag. You can use your hands if you want, you've washed them. Or pour it all back in from the scale bowl itself."
And so the next few minutes were spent shoveling sugar back into the sugar bag until the scales read roughly six ounces. Kankurou helped out, of course.
"Now, that goes in a different bowl. We'll add them together in a minute." While the younger brother carefully transferred the sugar to its proper place, the elder unwrapped the butter and cut chunks off until the remaining stick weighed the same as the sugar and flour. "Same measurements for the butter." He explained before placing it in with the sugar. He then handed Gaara the wooden spoon. "This next bit, you have to cream that together, which is basically working them together with the spoon until they're sort of like a paste. Just try and mash the butter into the sugar. I've forgotten to get a few things." He turned back to the cupboards as Gaara struggled with the latest task. It was harder than it sounded. The butter refused to move and wouldn't mix with the sugar right unless he managed to cut it with the spoon and mash it against the side of the bowl. As he continued to struggle on, a whisk and smaller bowl was placed on the counter, on the other side of the flour bowl, and a moment later, a sieve joined them.
"What are those for?" The redhead asked suspiciously.
"The eggs." Came the simple response. "Need a hand with that?"
He released the spoon. "You do this. I'll do the eggs."
"Yeah, sure." They switched places, and Kankurou took care of the creaming with ease.
"What do I do exactly?"
"Crack the eggs against the side of the small bowl and pour the yolks in, then whisk them up." For a moment, Gaara hesitated, hyper aware of what he was doing lest he mess up again. Then he became hyper aware that Kankurou was watching him, and quickly set to cracking three eggs. No mistakes here, and there were still four eggs left over for breakfast the next morning. "Done."
"Yeah, I'm done here too. Bring that over here."
Once again, he found himself doing exactly as his big brother asked, and once again he messed up.
When Kankurou had unwrapped the butter, he had carelessly tossed the wrapper onto the edge of the counter. When he left to get everything for the eggs, the wrapper had fallen to the floor. Gaara did not see it there, and stepped on it, and his foot slipped from underneath him...
He didn't hit the floor, or even a bed of sand. Egg went flying, the bowl leaving his hands as he threw them out to save himself. Hands closed firmly around his wrists, keeping him from falling too far. Kankurou had caught him, and was somewhat humourously splattered in the face with a good amount of egg.
"You okay, ototo?" He asked, helping Gaara right himself. He had a strange tone to his voice, something the young jinchuriki took a bit of time to identify. His brother was concerned.
"I'm fine..." When Kankurou released him, he wiped his hands off on his top, only to find it was also covered in egg. The puppeteer paused to pick up the butter wrapper and put the rest of the butter away, then returned and placed the bowl on the counter again. Then, he started to laugh.
"Sorry!" He managed through the fit of giggles. "I'm not laughing at you, honest I'm not, but this is...it's not a situation I ever thought I'd be in. In the kitchen, with you, trying to bond over cupcakes and covered in egg!"
Gaara went to crack three more eggs. "It seems to work."
"Huh?" He laughed again, picking up the bowl of flour. "You think so?"
"You seem relaxed." It honestly seemed that slipping and throwing egg everywhere had broken the tension.
"I suppose I am."
He whisked the egg up again. "Do you enjoy cooking?" It did strike him that he knew very little about his brother.
"I find it pretty enjoyable, I guess. Not my favourite thing to do, but still. It's a hobby."
"I see."
Kankurou seemed to have the same kind of thought concerning what he did and didn't know about his younger brother. "What do you like doing?"
"As...hobbies?"
"Yeah. Oh, pour some of the egg into the sugar, I'll add a bit of flour, you mix it and we'll repeat that until it's all together."
Gaara thought for a moment. "I'm not sure."
"Do you have any big interests?"
"...Cacti..."
"Cacti?"
"Yes. I've been trying to care for one. It's not as easy as some might think."
"Nothing ever really is, but I get what you mean."
They fell silent then, but Gaara was okay with that, Kankurou was remarkably relaxed in his company, and he supposed just being in his presence, working with him on something that wasn't life or death, it would improve their relationship.
When they finished mixing everything, Kankurou brought a baking tray, a new spoon and several cupcake cases over to the counter with the simple explanation that they needed to separate the cake mix into the cases, trying to make them roughly equal. That was simple enough, yet Gaara still managed to drop a good amount down his front, and then into the oven they went, and the boys set about cleaning everything away.
~*~*~*~*~
Much later, Temari entered the living room to find two plates of cakes on the table. She heard footsteps behind her and glanced over her shoulder.
"Kankurou, I think you have a problem. You're constantly making these things..."
"I didn't make those ones." He answered, coming to stand beside his elder sister. "Gaara did."
"Gaara?" She hesitated. "Are they safe to eat?"
"They're quite good, actually. You can have one if you want. I think he actually enjoyed making them."
Temari looked at the collection of cupcakes on the table and thought that maybe, just maybe, her youngest brother was going to become a real brother, one they wouldn't have to fear, and that, with any luck, he could even stay that way.
Wednesday, 6 January 2016
B-Day Gift for Fiona
The doors were locked, preventing escape, and for good reason, though admittedly it made Erskine nervous. The phone lines had been brought down by the storm and there was no signal, preventing calls for help, almost setting him on the verge of a panic attack. He shifted from foot to foot uncertainly, watching the faces of a good eleven other people, including the detective.
You see, no less than half an hour ago, a murder had taken place. And once again, Erskine Allwood wondered why he found himself in the middle of this sort of thing all the time. Really, it was ridiculous! He was always the centre of that god awful attention. To his right, arms crossed when he wished above all else they were there for comfort, stood Erskine's husband, Mario. The bodybuilder likely felt guilty, which was why he would not meet Erskine's eyes or touch him. They had not too long ago returned from their honeymoon, during which the bodybuilder had been possessed, and had subsequently cheated on his husband, though it was almost certainly against his will. So far, he had yet to forgive himself for his misdeeds.
To his left stood a wealthy-looking old bag of a woman, with her hair dyed platinum blonde, a heavy coat made of real fur, lots of pink and white make-up over her wrinkles (giving the effect of a powdered and sprinkled doughnut) and a small dog with dyed pink fur in her arms. Every so often, she gave the two men a vile glare. Erskine didn't like her. Opposite the three of them, a muscular blonde woman hung tight onto a bearded man's arm. Judging by the weight around her waistline, the woman was pregnant. She didn't seem scared or even disturbed by the presence of a corpse. Her husband, however, had his eyes covered with his free hand.
Crouched over the body, examining it closely, was the detective. A man with long, black hair and pale skin, and a hearing aid. A deaf detective, just what everyone needed. And there he crouched over the body. It had been a man, small and redheaded, and the cause of death was some kind of brutal traumatic injury. Not something you wanted to see when on holiday.
And that's what everyone there was doing. They were on holiday. The building was a sort of getaway retreat in the countryside, where people of all walks of life went to spend a week or two in peace. Well, some peace! Peace would be a nice book on the terrace. Peace would be your favourite song while you daydream. Peace is watching TV with friends or family. Drifting around a lovely or interesting area and taking in every breathtaking sight. Not here, though. Here, people had come with the intention of doing exactly that, only for the guests to find that one of their number had been mowed down in the night. The detective straightened, took in the faces of the other ten people gathered there before asking, loud and clear, "Does anyone know the identity of this man?"
There was a cold silence before one man spoke up. He was the tallest there, apart from Mario. He hadn't woken up that long ago judging by his tired, rumpled and sickly look. "Yeah...his name's Stan..."
"Stan...and his full name? Stanley...?"
"Langston Dennis."
"I see." The detective muttered, writing something down before doing a - somewhat comedic - double take. "What did you say?"
"Langston Dennis. The guy on the floor. He's twenty, from London, doesn't work. Studies performing arts at Mountview."
"Oh...oh, I recognise him now..." He wrote something else down before stepping back. "How do you know the, uh, the deceased?"
"I'm his brother."
The air grew colder. You could hear the bitter bite of sorrow in the sickly man's voice as he said these words, and nobody dared contradict them. They were close, as siblings went, and it was a shocking revelation. And now, tiny Langston Dennis was nothing more than a cooling corpse on the carpet. There was something else there though. The detective turned to the sickly elder brother once more.
"It's good to see you again, old friend." And with that, he swept his arm to direct us to a nearby recreational room. "I shall speak to you first, actually, since you're furthest from the door. Everyone else, this way, please. Wait to be called."
With that, the other ten suspects went to the newly dubbed waiting room to await their fates. For all they knew, as they looked at one another, one of the people in there with them was a murderer. A woman Erskine was sure worked there spoke first.
"I think I'm going to be sick..."
The lodge's owner placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "There there, Shivani, darlink. The awful man who did this will be brought to justice, and I know you're innocent."
The girl, Shivani, gave a weak smile, but the lodge owner continued.
"Obviously the poor boy was killed with a lot of force, though, so I doubt it was a woman. It must have been one of the strong men over there. Not the flabby mess in spectacles or the weedy black boy."
A few cries of indignation flew out, followed by "Not all women are weak and pathetic like you, you know."
The speaker was a woman. American. The athletic girl who was obviously pregnant. "I can take down men the size of Mr Muscle here." She continued, gesturing to Mario carelessly.
"Young ladies like you shouldn't be lifting weights and fighting boys." The woman with the pink dog scolded under her breath. "Women are delicate flowers who should be keeping clean and pure and not dirtying themselves to the level of filthy men."
"Ah, a sexist." The American mused, crossing her arms with a smirk. "And my husband should go out, work hard and support and protect me at all times? My ambition is to be a business woman. A successful one. You think I shouldn't do that because I'm a woman?"
"Absolutely not! You're about to become a mother! What kind of mother would you be, running businesses, lifting weights, making your poor children so embarrassed?"
The American stood, and in an effort to stop a fight breaking out, Erskine moved to the middle of the room. "Right!" He yelled at the top of his voice. "It's nice to meet you all! I haven't had the pleasure of really getting to know most of you, as it is. My name is Erskine, I'm from Ireland, I'm on holiday to recover from traumatic experience, and this really isn't helping! This is my husband, Ma-"
"I knew there was something wrong about you!" The pink dog woman yelled.
"Mario!" Erskine continued as though she had said nothing. "He's here for the same reason. What's your name?" He gestured to the dog woman, who sneered at his hand.
"I am the honourable Lady Petunia Magnolia Prudence Octavia Baudelaire."
"Petunia. Pleasure. I'm sure we all know our landlady, Elka."
"Alka." Alka corrected dully.
"And evidently the maid with us today is named Shivani."
Shivani gave a shy wave and the room fell silent, waiting for the next introduction. Finally, the overweight man with spectacles spoke up.
"My name's Randy, and this is my wife, Hannah..." Hannah inclined her head politely. Like her, her husband was American. "I'm here on, um, business travel."
"Aren't you that author?" A boy with green lipstick asked.
"I'm an author, yes..."
"You're the guy that wrote 'Pigs Without Ears' and 'When The Tower Falls'! Oh man, I have wanted to meet you forever!"
"Thank you, um..."
"Prince! Prince Day!" Prince excitedly bounced up to the rather stunned author and shook his hand vigorously. "I even have one of your books with me! You think you could sign it?"
"Maybe...once all this has blown over...I suppose..."
"I'm Marley." The scrawny dark-skinned boy mumbled beneath this repeatedly before finally raising his voice enough to be heard. Then, all eyes turned to an otherwise silent and solemn man by the window. Marley didn't seem to mind not being greeted. Window man said nothing.
"And you are...?" Hannah asked eventually.
"Aidan." The man answered eventually. He said nothing more, just kept staring out the window at a squirrel or something. Silence fell. Things were a little less tense, a little more comfortable.
Meanwhile, with Detective Burrira, in a cleaning cupboard that they had thrown the supplies out of, the interview of the first suspect had begun.
"Name?" The detective asked, all business.
"You know my name." The suspect replied, scowling, arms crossed.
"I have to at least try to play this by the book, Prosperity." Phoenix pointed out as he noted the man's name regardless. "And I suppose we can skip age and how you know the corpse as well."
"He...don't refer to him as 'the corpse'! He's my brother!"
"Now now, let's remain calm. Prosperity, were you aware of any enemies Langston may have had?"
"None."
"Okay..." He noted something down again. Prosperity was, of course, the best one to grill for information on the deceased by nature. "Do you know anyone else here today? Anyone here who may have known him?"
"His ex..."
"Her name?"
"Shivani Smith-Duffy."
More notes. "I see. How did they break up?"
"It was...I'm not sure. You'll have to ask her."
"When did you last see the deceased alive?"
Prosperity shuddered. "Um...before I went to bed...we were at the bar, having a drink...I turned in early. I normally turn in quite early these days as I just get so tired...took some painkillers, bid he sleep well and left him. I didn't leave my room at any point in the night."
"Have you got an alibi?"
"Well, no-one shared my room with me, so...no...I suppose not." He shrugged, rubbing his eye. "Wait...you don't think I killed him..."
"It's my job. I ought to suspect everyone." Phoenix pointed out, rolling his eyes. "Have you got any previous convictions?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
"Of course."
"And why are you both here today?"
"Holiday...um..."
"That much is obvious, I suppose...why did you want to come on holiday here?"
"I'm not well...Stan's been helping." Prosperity answered uncertainly, trying to draw up the facts in his head. "Helping look after me, and my daughter, and...I guess he needed a break, and our sister won these two tickets...gave them to us, and Stan sort of insisted I come because it was that or leave me at the mercy of the hospitals..."
"And would that be a bad thing?"
"I don't really like hospitals...I've spent enough time in them."
"And you've been getting on well with your brother? No major fights?"
"Not that I've...no reason to go as far as to bloody kill him, certainly!"
"Calm down." Phoenix urged in an annoyingly gentle tone. "If you start shouting this close up, it'll be a nightmare. Everyone has their motives, even you."
"Then what is mine?"
"All in good time. You have quite a temper on you, after all."
"I-! You little-! I don't-!"
The detective noted something down with a smirk before gesturing for Prosperity to leave. "Send in the next suspect please."
One by one, Phoenix called them in to discuss things. Erskine and Mario were each others' alibis. Hannah certainly had the strength for such a brutal murder on a normal day, but heavily pregnant her strength would be more awkward to use. No weapon had yet been found despite the detective's best efforts, but then again, there were professionals around him, such as convicted criminal Aidan Jenkins, who Phoenix remembered vaguely from an old murder case that was all over the news when he was seven. Then again, Phoenix noted his umbrella was missing from the stand and may well have matched the wounds in young Langston's body if he found it.
Shivani had discovered the body first, and was the woman Prosperity sent in after him. She was petite and very nervous when she came in to be questioned, but Phoenix found little from her. She had been up all night, judging by the bags under her eyes, but she claimed she had slept through the night easily, aside from hearing a man get up in the night to go to the bathroom and be sick. Poor man, she had commented.
"Any idea who it was?"
"No, but the footsteps were heavy, definitely a man, and definitely sick, like Prosperity."
Phoenix nodded. "You know his name."
"I know all my guest's names..." She answered shakily.
"Do you know my name?"
She paled and stayed silent. The answer was clear enough. She knew the room numbers, and where to bring everything to, but she never saw the names on the books.
"And how do you know the deceased?" He asked after a moment.
"Mr Dennis is a guest here, I've-"
"Yet, you know him as more than just a guest, Miss Smith."
"Not...not very well...not any more...I haven't seen him for a while now...a couple of months..."
"Were you close?"
"Once." She had at least realised that lying would get her nowhere, and now was hugging herself tightly, shivering slightly, as though the closet was made of ice. "Not any more. He's my ex boyfriend."
"I see. And you broke up?"
"He dumped me for a more feminine model." She spat. Shivani had a somewhat masculine face, he had to admit, and a boyish build, so he could understand what Shivani meant. Langston had found a prettier girl. A girl with more curves and softer features, and at some point along the line he had found he preferred the new skirt. If Phoenix knew Shivani, he might have been able to judge, but for all he knew, the girl stood before him could have been an absolute cow to the deceased. And with those words, that bitter, cold, hateful tone, Shivani had just announced her motive. "And I was living with him at the time as well. Where the hell did he expect me to go?! He's put me through hell lately and...and now he's...oh god!" She covered her face with her hands, the shock getting to her. Phoenix offered no comfort, no words to calm her, just wrote in his notebook. He didn't get much more out of her. Apparently, Langston was a painfully shy person apart from when performing. He didn't have many friends, and didn't talk to many strangers, and mostly preferred to keep to himself. Not the kind of guy who made enemies easily.
Erskine was next into the detective's makeshift office, and he frankly looked bored. Arms crossed, unimpressed scowl, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for a bus. Phoenix didn't like him. Erskine was a light sleeper who had woken at every slight sound during the night in a jumpy manner, only to be comforted that nothing was wrong. It was possible that he had heard the murder, but his husband had told him to turn over and go back to sleep.
"I can tell you one thing." Erskine stated with a smile. "It wasn't supernatural. If it was, it would probably target me."
"Supernatural?" Phoenix asked skeptically.
"You probably think I'm nuts. Maybe I am. Most people think I'm nuts. Anyway, I certainly heard something in the night. Something hitting something meaty. Like someone was beating up a carcass..." He shuddered. "Mario said he'd heard nothing and it might have been a cook...a cook, at three in the morning? I ask you..." He shook his head and kept talking before Phoenix had thought up a reply. "I told him he was stupid, of course. He got really pissy then and told me to go to sleep or he'd make me sleep. Not that that's anything to worry about, we jokingly make little threats all the time, so naturally I laughed in his face and he just hugged me. I really like him, but I swear something awful was going on downstairs. It was kind of frightening, so most of the night I was kind of afraid. I think I woke up a few times in the night for no reason other than fear, y'know? And then waking up and, um, the body...god...I was right and he was wrong though, which is strange. Normally it's the other way around."
Phoenix frowned. This Erskine guy was definitely unhinged. "But you didn't leave your bed in the night?"
"Once or twice, for water or a bathroom break..."
"And that's it?"
"That's it. No blood or bodies or ghosts or murderers down there when I went either. It was clear. I think Lamdon was still alive."
"Langston."
"London."
Again, Phoenix found himself regarding the tan Irishman with a strange expression. "Riiiiight...Listen, Erskine, was it? Erskine, I need you to think seriously for a moment. Did you see anyone else out in the halls? At all?"
"Just the old bag with pink hair. Started yelling to me about how man shall not lie with another man or some stupid shit like that..."
"Well, after a few more questions, you can come ask her to talk to me."
Erskine nodded. "Well, she's a bit of a bitch, fair warning."
"Did Mario leave your side at all during the night?"
A light appeared in the Irishman's bright green eyes as he found himself a perfect opportunity to talk shit about his husband, and Phoenix quickly regretted allowing him to speak.
Petunia was an interesting woman. Full of sympathy for the poor boy. "He reminds me of my son, you see. He was small and cute, and he wanted to be a dancer when he was young..."
"And this young boy dreamed of being an actor." Phoenix mused, noting something down. He didn't believe at this point that Petunia could have murdered Langston. Langston had been bludgeoned to death, and Petunia was elderly, with arms barely strong enough to hold her puppy, Poopsy.
"I'm surprised it was him who was murdered." Petunia stated suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"I'd expect it to be one of those Irish boys. The two men who are married to each other. Probably the smaller one. People are less likely to attack a bodybuilder, even if they do have huge problems with blood pressure."
"Why them?"
"Because they're two men who are married to each other. That's the exact reason my Morris was..." She trailed off, looking away with a pained expression.
"Is Morris your son?"
"He was."
"I see. Sorry for your loss."
"It was many years ago."
"Was he...your only child?"
"Yes..."
"I see." Phoenix straightened. "Was he talking especially to anyone?"
"That Prosperity man, of course, they're brothers. To you a little, as well. That maid girl, I think she's pregnant, and the blonde lady who's obviously pregnant. She's very boyish and completely unladylike. It's silly."
Phoenix considered saying something, but decided against it. Petunia's prejudices were none of his business. "I see. Were you up at all in the night?"
"No. Well, yes, I had to let Poopsy out to use the bathroom, but otherwise no. That blonde woman with the muscles was up waiting for the bathroom."
"I see. Did you see anything or anyone else?"
"No. I think I saw you at one point, actually, looking out at the rain."
"I tend to have trouble sleeping in rain."
"Would you like me to get the blonde woman?"
"I have a few more questions."
She gave a sigh of disgust. "And I have places to be and things to do!"
"You seem very stressed out, but please, Lady Petunia, if you answer my questions and help me out, I can bring the murderer to justice and assure the safety of the rest of the guests here."
Petunia hesitated before nodding. "I'll tell you anything you need to know. You know that. I can't stand the idea that my baby and I will be in danger."
"I understand."
And yet, there was still so little to learn.
Hannah Kelly was the strangest interview he had ever conducted. He got the same base information from her. Marley had been seen leaving the bar late, and was a good friend of Prince from what she had seen. Randy was with her during the night, trying to help her sleep, and so that was his alibi. She had seen Erskine go into the toilet, Prosperity being sick and Phoenix go downstairs but she had not seen Langston at all. Nobody else, other than Randy, confirmed her story.
Then things turned strange. "And that is all I noticed."
"I see. Are you sure there's nothing more you can tell me?"
"Oh, I can tell you many, many things." Hannah began. "I can tell you I like wearing high heels normally, mental health runs in my family, I'm pretty sure Prosperity wears a colostomy bag, your cochlear implant is fairly recent, I like bunnies and sais and I brush my hair only every other day."
"Okay, okay, I get it, nothing more to say on the murder." Phoenix snapped suddenly. "At least you aren't stressed, I suppose."
"That's always a good thing."
"You're heavily pregnant, after all."
"About halfway."
"You look further than-"
"Twins. We're gonna call them Gene and Aspasia. And we've decorated the bedroom with bunnies!"
"Of course..."
"I've been thinking a lot though..."
"About what?"
"About questions that are difficult to answer..."
"What sort of questions?"
"Like...if pegasi were real, would we have to worry about them dropping poops on us too?"
"Um..."
He ended the interview pretty quick after that.
-----
Phoenix looked at each of the gathered people before him. Prince and Erskine were discussing the supernatural, ghosts and spirits and other things Phoenix wouldn't understand. Petunia was glaring homophobic venom at the tan Irishman. Prosperity looked as though he might vomit. So did Hannah, actually. Everyone else just looked tense and frightened. "Now, ladies and gentlemen of the Happy Trails Holiday House, I have looked over the facts, and I think I have found our murderer." He clapped his hands together, a wide smile on his face, seemingly very happy that he had come to the conclusion he had come to. "I bet you're all wondering who it could be, why they haven't killed anyone since their first victim, why they'd kill the first victim anyway. Or even how I came to this conclusion." With that, he whirled around, pointing his finger at the first person. "Shivani!"
She froze, horrified. "N-no, I...what?"
"A jilted ex lover, no family to fall back on when your relationship fell apart, forced to take jobs anywhere that would take you. You have skills and intelligence that could get you work anywhere, but without qualifications, you're resigned to picking up litter left behind by countless rude foreigners. It can't be a pleasant life. For all we know, during the night, when you finished your rounds, you could have taken an umbrella from the umbrella stand, cornered Langston in the bar when everyone else had gone to bed and beaten him to death. You're a strong girl, and he's small and surprisingly weak for a man even of his size, and then you could have gone up to bed. But, Alka was with you before the last man left the bar, and most of the night. Alka, who did you say was last to bed?"
"Mr Greenway, sir."
He turned to Marley with a smirk. "A young runaway with nothing to lose. Abusive parents, They can cause a bit of violence in their offspring, can they not?"
"N-No..." Marley stammered. "W-well, I suppose so...but I'm not violent."
Prince stood in front of Marley protectively. "Yeah, he'd never do anything to hurt anyone! He's a marshmallow! In fact, he's too shy to even look at someone!"
"But, is he shy or malicious?"
"He's shy!"
"Very well." Phoenix muttered with a sigh. "I'll come back to you. My next suspect, however, is a young man several professed to have seen or heard out of bed that night." He turned to the other side of the room. "Prosperity Dennis."
"What the hell, Phoenix?!" Prosperity snapped. "Are you completely insane?"
"You've always been jealous of Langston. Jealous of his good fortune, his talent and his health."
"This is ridiculous."
"Langston is the one who finished drama school, who wasn't forced to drop out."
"I dropped out by choice!"
"You dropped out because Petronellia begged you to!"
There was a tense silence before Phoenix smirked. Prosperity looked ready to punch his lights out. The detective opened his mouth again. "Everyone always loved Langston. He was shy and sweet and always friendly and always the attractive one and never sick. You only ever got preferential treatment because you developed Cancer when you were, what, fifteen? Then you finally recovered and thought you were about to do what you'd always wanted in life. You went to drama school, made some new friends, got a girlfriend and dropped out to have a child with her. Your brother went to drama school, made some new friends, got a girlfriend and then got offered two roles in stage shows and a major film role. Last year, you were rediagnosed with cancer, this time more aggressive, isn't it? You haven't had a good life, and your little bother, heh, I mean brother, has it so much better than you. I know you're jealous of him."
"I'm jealous of most people who aren't dying." Prosperity muttered. "But I'm close to Stan, I'd never..."
"While wandering during the night, at any point, you could have gone downstairs, seen your brother still in the bar, and snapped. Grabbed the umbrella used to kill the poor victim, had a moment of seeing red, and had beaten the poor dear to death before you even realised what you were doing. You come to your senses and your dear baby brother lies dead at your feet, and you hide the murder weapon away and run back to bed."
Prosperity stared wide-eyed at the detective. "You're crazy."
"My umbrella's gone missing. It's blood covered and hidden somewhere. Any idea where?"
"An umbrella? Hey, if I was going to beat someone to death, I'd do it with a leg of lamb, then I'd cook and eat it."
Everyone stared at Prosperity for a moment before Hannah laughed.
"I've read that story!" She announced loudly, laughing more. Phoenix rounded on her.
"Hannah Kelly, experienced at most forms of combat and can easily kill a man if they threaten her charge. Yet, you're very immature. I don't think you're totally sane."
She stopped laughing, and flashed a dangerous smile. "I'm sane. I just like to play games with weak fools like you."
Erskine smiled. "I like her, she seems dangerous, she knows how to fuck with people."
"Thanks." Hannah answered cheerfully.
Phoenix shook his head. "You're not totally sane either, Mr Allwood."
"No, I've been tortured in the past, it tends to fuck with your brain badly." He smiled as he spoke.
Petunia muttered something about homosexuality and disgusting. Mario stood.
"Ma'am, I understand you are homophobic. Care to discuss why you hate us so much?"
Petunia looked away. "You're just going to get beaten up. It happens to all of your kind. It'll keep going on until all of you are dead."
"And who's going to do that?"
"I don't know, but they are strong, and they won't stop."
"And you agree with them to stay safe?"
Petunia looked up with shock, and Mario gave a kind smile. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about us."
Phoenix, meanwhile, had turned to his next suspect. "You are Aidan Jenkins?"
Jenkins nodded stiffly.
"Aidan Jenkins...you've had a stint in prison, have you not?"
"For a time..."
"For murder."
"No!" Aidan looked offended. "It was manslaughter...an accident. And arson..."
"So I suppose bludgeoning isn't your preferred way to kill."
"No way is my preferred way to kill, I don't want to kill!"
"And yet a body lies here in this building! A body of a selfish brat of a man with no respect! A man any man would be happy to kill!"
Silence fell as Phoenix yelled.
"Go on, tell me, tell me where I might find the weapon!"
"I don't know...under the kitchen sink?"
"No!" Phoenix shrieked, a vein standing out on his forehead. "Are you stupid? I hid the weapon outside, in the pond! It would wash away the blood and look like a broken, abandoned piece of trash!"
The room turned cold. Randy spoke next.
"You hid the weapon? You thought it through and hid it yourself?"
Prince stood, approaching the detective cautiously. "You mean you've been accusing all of us, innocent and frightened men and women, when you killed the guy?"
"He..." Phoenix shuddered. "He ruins everything! He deserved to die!"
"He's my brother." Prosperity stated darkly, standing, hands forming fists.
"He's my boyfriend!" Shivani snapped, also standing. "He's my baby's father and you've killed him!"
Angry faces began to press in around the terrified detective, as finally the suspicion and fear faded into anger and the guests of the small guest house worked together to defeat this corrupted killer.
-----
Characters:
Erskine Allwood, a worker at an aquarium, Irish by birth. He has tan skin, green eyes and brown hair, as well as a faded scar on his forehead. His surname is a compression of his name, Allen, and his husband's, Norwood. Due to an old head injury causing minor brain damage, he speaks with a slight slur to his speech. He stands at 5'9 and is muscular.
Mario Allwood, Erskine's husband of two months. He is a personal trainer at a gym, and a bodybuilder by interest. He has dark skin, dark brown eyes and his black hair is shaved off. He too is Irish by birth and stands at 6'3. Has a bit of a bad temper and can be quite cold towards others.
Petunia Baudelaire, an heiress in her late 50's who looks older than she is. She is described by Erskine in the story, and has a dog named Poopsy. She is homophobic, but primarily attributes this to fear of attack following a fatal homophobic attack on her only son. Country of birth unknown, up to you I suppose.
Hannah Kelly, a bodyguard. Hannah has shoulder-length ash-blonde hair, tan skin and hazel eyes, and is trained to fight and defend others at all cost. At this point, Hannah is on maternity leave. She is the adult version of an old and popular character of mine, Hannah Hart. She is very tall for a woman at almost 6'0. She is American.
Randy Kelly, Hannah's husband and a critically acclaimed author. He stands at 5'8, is overweight and has curly black hair and a matching short beard. He has blue eyes and wears square glasses, and generally wears black and band shirts. He is American and writes violent murder mysteries.
Phoenix Burrira, a detective. Phoenix has long, black hair in a ponytail, is of Japanese descent. He has a cochlear implant hearing aid. He is an old friend of Prosperity's. He is 5'11 and slim. Has some violent tendencies.
Marley Greenway, a young runaway. He is about 15, has dark skin and curly black hair. He is small, about 5'5, and comes from an abusive home. He is friends with Prince, who is very protective over him.
Aidan Jenkins, an ex-convict. Stands at 5'11 and overweight. He has dark brown hair and blue eyes, and his skin is a pasty, pale colour. Convicted of arson and manslaughter, but now he is a rather amicable man.
Alka Papst, the owner of the holiday getaway. She is German by birth and has a distinct accent. She is overweight with auburn hair and blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She is very friendly and protective over her staff. 5'3.
Prince Day, a make-up artist/student with a strong interest in the supernatural. He has mousy brown hair, long enough to hide one side of his face, and dark brown eyes. His skin is slightly tan. He is very protective over Marley.
Langston Dennis, a drama student and murder victim. Small at only 5'1, pale skin, green eyes and red hair. He was close to his elder brother and often a babysitter of his niece. Based off someone I know irl.
Prosperity Dennis, a former classmate of Phoenix's and Langston's older brother. He is somewhat athletic, as much as he can be while ill. He is a dancer patient with messy, dark brown hair, green eyes and pale skin. He is very close to his younger brother and rather protective. Can be bad-tempered. Former drama student who dropped out to have a child. (The mother of the child is no longer alive.) Based off someone I knew irl. 6'2.
Shivani Smith-Duffy, a domestic maid and ex lover of the victim. She has waist-length blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin, and is pregnant. She is average weight and height at 5'5 and can be a bit bratty at times. Based of someone I know irl.
You see, no less than half an hour ago, a murder had taken place. And once again, Erskine Allwood wondered why he found himself in the middle of this sort of thing all the time. Really, it was ridiculous! He was always the centre of that god awful attention. To his right, arms crossed when he wished above all else they were there for comfort, stood Erskine's husband, Mario. The bodybuilder likely felt guilty, which was why he would not meet Erskine's eyes or touch him. They had not too long ago returned from their honeymoon, during which the bodybuilder had been possessed, and had subsequently cheated on his husband, though it was almost certainly against his will. So far, he had yet to forgive himself for his misdeeds.
To his left stood a wealthy-looking old bag of a woman, with her hair dyed platinum blonde, a heavy coat made of real fur, lots of pink and white make-up over her wrinkles (giving the effect of a powdered and sprinkled doughnut) and a small dog with dyed pink fur in her arms. Every so often, she gave the two men a vile glare. Erskine didn't like her. Opposite the three of them, a muscular blonde woman hung tight onto a bearded man's arm. Judging by the weight around her waistline, the woman was pregnant. She didn't seem scared or even disturbed by the presence of a corpse. Her husband, however, had his eyes covered with his free hand.
Crouched over the body, examining it closely, was the detective. A man with long, black hair and pale skin, and a hearing aid. A deaf detective, just what everyone needed. And there he crouched over the body. It had been a man, small and redheaded, and the cause of death was some kind of brutal traumatic injury. Not something you wanted to see when on holiday.
And that's what everyone there was doing. They were on holiday. The building was a sort of getaway retreat in the countryside, where people of all walks of life went to spend a week or two in peace. Well, some peace! Peace would be a nice book on the terrace. Peace would be your favourite song while you daydream. Peace is watching TV with friends or family. Drifting around a lovely or interesting area and taking in every breathtaking sight. Not here, though. Here, people had come with the intention of doing exactly that, only for the guests to find that one of their number had been mowed down in the night. The detective straightened, took in the faces of the other ten people gathered there before asking, loud and clear, "Does anyone know the identity of this man?"
There was a cold silence before one man spoke up. He was the tallest there, apart from Mario. He hadn't woken up that long ago judging by his tired, rumpled and sickly look. "Yeah...his name's Stan..."
"Stan...and his full name? Stanley...?"
"Langston Dennis."
"I see." The detective muttered, writing something down before doing a - somewhat comedic - double take. "What did you say?"
"Langston Dennis. The guy on the floor. He's twenty, from London, doesn't work. Studies performing arts at Mountview."
"Oh...oh, I recognise him now..." He wrote something else down before stepping back. "How do you know the, uh, the deceased?"
"I'm his brother."
The air grew colder. You could hear the bitter bite of sorrow in the sickly man's voice as he said these words, and nobody dared contradict them. They were close, as siblings went, and it was a shocking revelation. And now, tiny Langston Dennis was nothing more than a cooling corpse on the carpet. There was something else there though. The detective turned to the sickly elder brother once more.
"It's good to see you again, old friend." And with that, he swept his arm to direct us to a nearby recreational room. "I shall speak to you first, actually, since you're furthest from the door. Everyone else, this way, please. Wait to be called."
With that, the other ten suspects went to the newly dubbed waiting room to await their fates. For all they knew, as they looked at one another, one of the people in there with them was a murderer. A woman Erskine was sure worked there spoke first.
"I think I'm going to be sick..."
The lodge's owner placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "There there, Shivani, darlink. The awful man who did this will be brought to justice, and I know you're innocent."
The girl, Shivani, gave a weak smile, but the lodge owner continued.
"Obviously the poor boy was killed with a lot of force, though, so I doubt it was a woman. It must have been one of the strong men over there. Not the flabby mess in spectacles or the weedy black boy."
A few cries of indignation flew out, followed by "Not all women are weak and pathetic like you, you know."
The speaker was a woman. American. The athletic girl who was obviously pregnant. "I can take down men the size of Mr Muscle here." She continued, gesturing to Mario carelessly.
"Young ladies like you shouldn't be lifting weights and fighting boys." The woman with the pink dog scolded under her breath. "Women are delicate flowers who should be keeping clean and pure and not dirtying themselves to the level of filthy men."
"Ah, a sexist." The American mused, crossing her arms with a smirk. "And my husband should go out, work hard and support and protect me at all times? My ambition is to be a business woman. A successful one. You think I shouldn't do that because I'm a woman?"
"Absolutely not! You're about to become a mother! What kind of mother would you be, running businesses, lifting weights, making your poor children so embarrassed?"
The American stood, and in an effort to stop a fight breaking out, Erskine moved to the middle of the room. "Right!" He yelled at the top of his voice. "It's nice to meet you all! I haven't had the pleasure of really getting to know most of you, as it is. My name is Erskine, I'm from Ireland, I'm on holiday to recover from traumatic experience, and this really isn't helping! This is my husband, Ma-"
"I knew there was something wrong about you!" The pink dog woman yelled.
"Mario!" Erskine continued as though she had said nothing. "He's here for the same reason. What's your name?" He gestured to the dog woman, who sneered at his hand.
"I am the honourable Lady Petunia Magnolia Prudence Octavia Baudelaire."
"Petunia. Pleasure. I'm sure we all know our landlady, Elka."
"Alka." Alka corrected dully.
"And evidently the maid with us today is named Shivani."
Shivani gave a shy wave and the room fell silent, waiting for the next introduction. Finally, the overweight man with spectacles spoke up.
"My name's Randy, and this is my wife, Hannah..." Hannah inclined her head politely. Like her, her husband was American. "I'm here on, um, business travel."
"Aren't you that author?" A boy with green lipstick asked.
"I'm an author, yes..."
"You're the guy that wrote 'Pigs Without Ears' and 'When The Tower Falls'! Oh man, I have wanted to meet you forever!"
"Thank you, um..."
"Prince! Prince Day!" Prince excitedly bounced up to the rather stunned author and shook his hand vigorously. "I even have one of your books with me! You think you could sign it?"
"Maybe...once all this has blown over...I suppose..."
"I'm Marley." The scrawny dark-skinned boy mumbled beneath this repeatedly before finally raising his voice enough to be heard. Then, all eyes turned to an otherwise silent and solemn man by the window. Marley didn't seem to mind not being greeted. Window man said nothing.
"And you are...?" Hannah asked eventually.
"Aidan." The man answered eventually. He said nothing more, just kept staring out the window at a squirrel or something. Silence fell. Things were a little less tense, a little more comfortable.
Meanwhile, with Detective Burrira, in a cleaning cupboard that they had thrown the supplies out of, the interview of the first suspect had begun.
"Name?" The detective asked, all business.
"You know my name." The suspect replied, scowling, arms crossed.
"I have to at least try to play this by the book, Prosperity." Phoenix pointed out as he noted the man's name regardless. "And I suppose we can skip age and how you know the corpse as well."
"He...don't refer to him as 'the corpse'! He's my brother!"
"Now now, let's remain calm. Prosperity, were you aware of any enemies Langston may have had?"
"None."
"Okay..." He noted something down again. Prosperity was, of course, the best one to grill for information on the deceased by nature. "Do you know anyone else here today? Anyone here who may have known him?"
"His ex..."
"Her name?"
"Shivani Smith-Duffy."
More notes. "I see. How did they break up?"
"It was...I'm not sure. You'll have to ask her."
"When did you last see the deceased alive?"
Prosperity shuddered. "Um...before I went to bed...we were at the bar, having a drink...I turned in early. I normally turn in quite early these days as I just get so tired...took some painkillers, bid he sleep well and left him. I didn't leave my room at any point in the night."
"Have you got an alibi?"
"Well, no-one shared my room with me, so...no...I suppose not." He shrugged, rubbing his eye. "Wait...you don't think I killed him..."
"It's my job. I ought to suspect everyone." Phoenix pointed out, rolling his eyes. "Have you got any previous convictions?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
"Of course."
"And why are you both here today?"
"Holiday...um..."
"That much is obvious, I suppose...why did you want to come on holiday here?"
"I'm not well...Stan's been helping." Prosperity answered uncertainly, trying to draw up the facts in his head. "Helping look after me, and my daughter, and...I guess he needed a break, and our sister won these two tickets...gave them to us, and Stan sort of insisted I come because it was that or leave me at the mercy of the hospitals..."
"And would that be a bad thing?"
"I don't really like hospitals...I've spent enough time in them."
"And you've been getting on well with your brother? No major fights?"
"Not that I've...no reason to go as far as to bloody kill him, certainly!"
"Calm down." Phoenix urged in an annoyingly gentle tone. "If you start shouting this close up, it'll be a nightmare. Everyone has their motives, even you."
"Then what is mine?"
"All in good time. You have quite a temper on you, after all."
"I-! You little-! I don't-!"
The detective noted something down with a smirk before gesturing for Prosperity to leave. "Send in the next suspect please."
One by one, Phoenix called them in to discuss things. Erskine and Mario were each others' alibis. Hannah certainly had the strength for such a brutal murder on a normal day, but heavily pregnant her strength would be more awkward to use. No weapon had yet been found despite the detective's best efforts, but then again, there were professionals around him, such as convicted criminal Aidan Jenkins, who Phoenix remembered vaguely from an old murder case that was all over the news when he was seven. Then again, Phoenix noted his umbrella was missing from the stand and may well have matched the wounds in young Langston's body if he found it.
Shivani had discovered the body first, and was the woman Prosperity sent in after him. She was petite and very nervous when she came in to be questioned, but Phoenix found little from her. She had been up all night, judging by the bags under her eyes, but she claimed she had slept through the night easily, aside from hearing a man get up in the night to go to the bathroom and be sick. Poor man, she had commented.
"Any idea who it was?"
"No, but the footsteps were heavy, definitely a man, and definitely sick, like Prosperity."
Phoenix nodded. "You know his name."
"I know all my guest's names..." She answered shakily.
"Do you know my name?"
She paled and stayed silent. The answer was clear enough. She knew the room numbers, and where to bring everything to, but she never saw the names on the books.
"And how do you know the deceased?" He asked after a moment.
"Mr Dennis is a guest here, I've-"
"Yet, you know him as more than just a guest, Miss Smith."
"Not...not very well...not any more...I haven't seen him for a while now...a couple of months..."
"Were you close?"
"Once." She had at least realised that lying would get her nowhere, and now was hugging herself tightly, shivering slightly, as though the closet was made of ice. "Not any more. He's my ex boyfriend."
"I see. And you broke up?"
"He dumped me for a more feminine model." She spat. Shivani had a somewhat masculine face, he had to admit, and a boyish build, so he could understand what Shivani meant. Langston had found a prettier girl. A girl with more curves and softer features, and at some point along the line he had found he preferred the new skirt. If Phoenix knew Shivani, he might have been able to judge, but for all he knew, the girl stood before him could have been an absolute cow to the deceased. And with those words, that bitter, cold, hateful tone, Shivani had just announced her motive. "And I was living with him at the time as well. Where the hell did he expect me to go?! He's put me through hell lately and...and now he's...oh god!" She covered her face with her hands, the shock getting to her. Phoenix offered no comfort, no words to calm her, just wrote in his notebook. He didn't get much more out of her. Apparently, Langston was a painfully shy person apart from when performing. He didn't have many friends, and didn't talk to many strangers, and mostly preferred to keep to himself. Not the kind of guy who made enemies easily.
Erskine was next into the detective's makeshift office, and he frankly looked bored. Arms crossed, unimpressed scowl, leaning against the wall like he was waiting for a bus. Phoenix didn't like him. Erskine was a light sleeper who had woken at every slight sound during the night in a jumpy manner, only to be comforted that nothing was wrong. It was possible that he had heard the murder, but his husband had told him to turn over and go back to sleep.
"I can tell you one thing." Erskine stated with a smile. "It wasn't supernatural. If it was, it would probably target me."
"Supernatural?" Phoenix asked skeptically.
"You probably think I'm nuts. Maybe I am. Most people think I'm nuts. Anyway, I certainly heard something in the night. Something hitting something meaty. Like someone was beating up a carcass..." He shuddered. "Mario said he'd heard nothing and it might have been a cook...a cook, at three in the morning? I ask you..." He shook his head and kept talking before Phoenix had thought up a reply. "I told him he was stupid, of course. He got really pissy then and told me to go to sleep or he'd make me sleep. Not that that's anything to worry about, we jokingly make little threats all the time, so naturally I laughed in his face and he just hugged me. I really like him, but I swear something awful was going on downstairs. It was kind of frightening, so most of the night I was kind of afraid. I think I woke up a few times in the night for no reason other than fear, y'know? And then waking up and, um, the body...god...I was right and he was wrong though, which is strange. Normally it's the other way around."
Phoenix frowned. This Erskine guy was definitely unhinged. "But you didn't leave your bed in the night?"
"Once or twice, for water or a bathroom break..."
"And that's it?"
"That's it. No blood or bodies or ghosts or murderers down there when I went either. It was clear. I think Lamdon was still alive."
"Langston."
"London."
Again, Phoenix found himself regarding the tan Irishman with a strange expression. "Riiiiight...Listen, Erskine, was it? Erskine, I need you to think seriously for a moment. Did you see anyone else out in the halls? At all?"
"Just the old bag with pink hair. Started yelling to me about how man shall not lie with another man or some stupid shit like that..."
"Well, after a few more questions, you can come ask her to talk to me."
Erskine nodded. "Well, she's a bit of a bitch, fair warning."
"Did Mario leave your side at all during the night?"
A light appeared in the Irishman's bright green eyes as he found himself a perfect opportunity to talk shit about his husband, and Phoenix quickly regretted allowing him to speak.
Petunia was an interesting woman. Full of sympathy for the poor boy. "He reminds me of my son, you see. He was small and cute, and he wanted to be a dancer when he was young..."
"And this young boy dreamed of being an actor." Phoenix mused, noting something down. He didn't believe at this point that Petunia could have murdered Langston. Langston had been bludgeoned to death, and Petunia was elderly, with arms barely strong enough to hold her puppy, Poopsy.
"I'm surprised it was him who was murdered." Petunia stated suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"I'd expect it to be one of those Irish boys. The two men who are married to each other. Probably the smaller one. People are less likely to attack a bodybuilder, even if they do have huge problems with blood pressure."
"Why them?"
"Because they're two men who are married to each other. That's the exact reason my Morris was..." She trailed off, looking away with a pained expression.
"Is Morris your son?"
"He was."
"I see. Sorry for your loss."
"It was many years ago."
"Was he...your only child?"
"Yes..."
"I see." Phoenix straightened. "Was he talking especially to anyone?"
"That Prosperity man, of course, they're brothers. To you a little, as well. That maid girl, I think she's pregnant, and the blonde lady who's obviously pregnant. She's very boyish and completely unladylike. It's silly."
Phoenix considered saying something, but decided against it. Petunia's prejudices were none of his business. "I see. Were you up at all in the night?"
"No. Well, yes, I had to let Poopsy out to use the bathroom, but otherwise no. That blonde woman with the muscles was up waiting for the bathroom."
"I see. Did you see anything or anyone else?"
"No. I think I saw you at one point, actually, looking out at the rain."
"I tend to have trouble sleeping in rain."
"Would you like me to get the blonde woman?"
"I have a few more questions."
She gave a sigh of disgust. "And I have places to be and things to do!"
"You seem very stressed out, but please, Lady Petunia, if you answer my questions and help me out, I can bring the murderer to justice and assure the safety of the rest of the guests here."
Petunia hesitated before nodding. "I'll tell you anything you need to know. You know that. I can't stand the idea that my baby and I will be in danger."
"I understand."
And yet, there was still so little to learn.
Hannah Kelly was the strangest interview he had ever conducted. He got the same base information from her. Marley had been seen leaving the bar late, and was a good friend of Prince from what she had seen. Randy was with her during the night, trying to help her sleep, and so that was his alibi. She had seen Erskine go into the toilet, Prosperity being sick and Phoenix go downstairs but she had not seen Langston at all. Nobody else, other than Randy, confirmed her story.
Then things turned strange. "And that is all I noticed."
"I see. Are you sure there's nothing more you can tell me?"
"Oh, I can tell you many, many things." Hannah began. "I can tell you I like wearing high heels normally, mental health runs in my family, I'm pretty sure Prosperity wears a colostomy bag, your cochlear implant is fairly recent, I like bunnies and sais and I brush my hair only every other day."
"Okay, okay, I get it, nothing more to say on the murder." Phoenix snapped suddenly. "At least you aren't stressed, I suppose."
"That's always a good thing."
"You're heavily pregnant, after all."
"About halfway."
"You look further than-"
"Twins. We're gonna call them Gene and Aspasia. And we've decorated the bedroom with bunnies!"
"Of course..."
"I've been thinking a lot though..."
"About what?"
"About questions that are difficult to answer..."
"What sort of questions?"
"Like...if pegasi were real, would we have to worry about them dropping poops on us too?"
"Um..."
He ended the interview pretty quick after that.
-----
Phoenix looked at each of the gathered people before him. Prince and Erskine were discussing the supernatural, ghosts and spirits and other things Phoenix wouldn't understand. Petunia was glaring homophobic venom at the tan Irishman. Prosperity looked as though he might vomit. So did Hannah, actually. Everyone else just looked tense and frightened. "Now, ladies and gentlemen of the Happy Trails Holiday House, I have looked over the facts, and I think I have found our murderer." He clapped his hands together, a wide smile on his face, seemingly very happy that he had come to the conclusion he had come to. "I bet you're all wondering who it could be, why they haven't killed anyone since their first victim, why they'd kill the first victim anyway. Or even how I came to this conclusion." With that, he whirled around, pointing his finger at the first person. "Shivani!"
She froze, horrified. "N-no, I...what?"
"A jilted ex lover, no family to fall back on when your relationship fell apart, forced to take jobs anywhere that would take you. You have skills and intelligence that could get you work anywhere, but without qualifications, you're resigned to picking up litter left behind by countless rude foreigners. It can't be a pleasant life. For all we know, during the night, when you finished your rounds, you could have taken an umbrella from the umbrella stand, cornered Langston in the bar when everyone else had gone to bed and beaten him to death. You're a strong girl, and he's small and surprisingly weak for a man even of his size, and then you could have gone up to bed. But, Alka was with you before the last man left the bar, and most of the night. Alka, who did you say was last to bed?"
"Mr Greenway, sir."
He turned to Marley with a smirk. "A young runaway with nothing to lose. Abusive parents, They can cause a bit of violence in their offspring, can they not?"
"N-No..." Marley stammered. "W-well, I suppose so...but I'm not violent."
Prince stood in front of Marley protectively. "Yeah, he'd never do anything to hurt anyone! He's a marshmallow! In fact, he's too shy to even look at someone!"
"But, is he shy or malicious?"
"He's shy!"
"Very well." Phoenix muttered with a sigh. "I'll come back to you. My next suspect, however, is a young man several professed to have seen or heard out of bed that night." He turned to the other side of the room. "Prosperity Dennis."
"What the hell, Phoenix?!" Prosperity snapped. "Are you completely insane?"
"You've always been jealous of Langston. Jealous of his good fortune, his talent and his health."
"This is ridiculous."
"Langston is the one who finished drama school, who wasn't forced to drop out."
"I dropped out by choice!"
"You dropped out because Petronellia begged you to!"
There was a tense silence before Phoenix smirked. Prosperity looked ready to punch his lights out. The detective opened his mouth again. "Everyone always loved Langston. He was shy and sweet and always friendly and always the attractive one and never sick. You only ever got preferential treatment because you developed Cancer when you were, what, fifteen? Then you finally recovered and thought you were about to do what you'd always wanted in life. You went to drama school, made some new friends, got a girlfriend and dropped out to have a child with her. Your brother went to drama school, made some new friends, got a girlfriend and then got offered two roles in stage shows and a major film role. Last year, you were rediagnosed with cancer, this time more aggressive, isn't it? You haven't had a good life, and your little bother, heh, I mean brother, has it so much better than you. I know you're jealous of him."
"I'm jealous of most people who aren't dying." Prosperity muttered. "But I'm close to Stan, I'd never..."
"While wandering during the night, at any point, you could have gone downstairs, seen your brother still in the bar, and snapped. Grabbed the umbrella used to kill the poor victim, had a moment of seeing red, and had beaten the poor dear to death before you even realised what you were doing. You come to your senses and your dear baby brother lies dead at your feet, and you hide the murder weapon away and run back to bed."
Prosperity stared wide-eyed at the detective. "You're crazy."
"My umbrella's gone missing. It's blood covered and hidden somewhere. Any idea where?"
"An umbrella? Hey, if I was going to beat someone to death, I'd do it with a leg of lamb, then I'd cook and eat it."
Everyone stared at Prosperity for a moment before Hannah laughed.
"I've read that story!" She announced loudly, laughing more. Phoenix rounded on her.
"Hannah Kelly, experienced at most forms of combat and can easily kill a man if they threaten her charge. Yet, you're very immature. I don't think you're totally sane."
She stopped laughing, and flashed a dangerous smile. "I'm sane. I just like to play games with weak fools like you."
Erskine smiled. "I like her, she seems dangerous, she knows how to fuck with people."
"Thanks." Hannah answered cheerfully.
Phoenix shook his head. "You're not totally sane either, Mr Allwood."
"No, I've been tortured in the past, it tends to fuck with your brain badly." He smiled as he spoke.
Petunia muttered something about homosexuality and disgusting. Mario stood.
"Ma'am, I understand you are homophobic. Care to discuss why you hate us so much?"
Petunia looked away. "You're just going to get beaten up. It happens to all of your kind. It'll keep going on until all of you are dead."
"And who's going to do that?"
"I don't know, but they are strong, and they won't stop."
"And you agree with them to stay safe?"
Petunia looked up with shock, and Mario gave a kind smile. "We'll be fine. Don't worry about us."
Phoenix, meanwhile, had turned to his next suspect. "You are Aidan Jenkins?"
Jenkins nodded stiffly.
"Aidan Jenkins...you've had a stint in prison, have you not?"
"For a time..."
"For murder."
"No!" Aidan looked offended. "It was manslaughter...an accident. And arson..."
"So I suppose bludgeoning isn't your preferred way to kill."
"No way is my preferred way to kill, I don't want to kill!"
"And yet a body lies here in this building! A body of a selfish brat of a man with no respect! A man any man would be happy to kill!"
Silence fell as Phoenix yelled.
"Go on, tell me, tell me where I might find the weapon!"
"I don't know...under the kitchen sink?"
"No!" Phoenix shrieked, a vein standing out on his forehead. "Are you stupid? I hid the weapon outside, in the pond! It would wash away the blood and look like a broken, abandoned piece of trash!"
The room turned cold. Randy spoke next.
"You hid the weapon? You thought it through and hid it yourself?"
Prince stood, approaching the detective cautiously. "You mean you've been accusing all of us, innocent and frightened men and women, when you killed the guy?"
"He..." Phoenix shuddered. "He ruins everything! He deserved to die!"
"He's my brother." Prosperity stated darkly, standing, hands forming fists.
"He's my boyfriend!" Shivani snapped, also standing. "He's my baby's father and you've killed him!"
Angry faces began to press in around the terrified detective, as finally the suspicion and fear faded into anger and the guests of the small guest house worked together to defeat this corrupted killer.
-----
Characters:
Erskine Allwood, a worker at an aquarium, Irish by birth. He has tan skin, green eyes and brown hair, as well as a faded scar on his forehead. His surname is a compression of his name, Allen, and his husband's, Norwood. Due to an old head injury causing minor brain damage, he speaks with a slight slur to his speech. He stands at 5'9 and is muscular.
Mario Allwood, Erskine's husband of two months. He is a personal trainer at a gym, and a bodybuilder by interest. He has dark skin, dark brown eyes and his black hair is shaved off. He too is Irish by birth and stands at 6'3. Has a bit of a bad temper and can be quite cold towards others.
Petunia Baudelaire, an heiress in her late 50's who looks older than she is. She is described by Erskine in the story, and has a dog named Poopsy. She is homophobic, but primarily attributes this to fear of attack following a fatal homophobic attack on her only son. Country of birth unknown, up to you I suppose.
Hannah Kelly, a bodyguard. Hannah has shoulder-length ash-blonde hair, tan skin and hazel eyes, and is trained to fight and defend others at all cost. At this point, Hannah is on maternity leave. She is the adult version of an old and popular character of mine, Hannah Hart. She is very tall for a woman at almost 6'0. She is American.
Randy Kelly, Hannah's husband and a critically acclaimed author. He stands at 5'8, is overweight and has curly black hair and a matching short beard. He has blue eyes and wears square glasses, and generally wears black and band shirts. He is American and writes violent murder mysteries.
Phoenix Burrira, a detective. Phoenix has long, black hair in a ponytail, is of Japanese descent. He has a cochlear implant hearing aid. He is an old friend of Prosperity's. He is 5'11 and slim. Has some violent tendencies.
Marley Greenway, a young runaway. He is about 15, has dark skin and curly black hair. He is small, about 5'5, and comes from an abusive home. He is friends with Prince, who is very protective over him.
Aidan Jenkins, an ex-convict. Stands at 5'11 and overweight. He has dark brown hair and blue eyes, and his skin is a pasty, pale colour. Convicted of arson and manslaughter, but now he is a rather amicable man.
Alka Papst, the owner of the holiday getaway. She is German by birth and has a distinct accent. She is overweight with auburn hair and blue eyes and rosy cheeks. She is very friendly and protective over her staff. 5'3.
Prince Day, a make-up artist/student with a strong interest in the supernatural. He has mousy brown hair, long enough to hide one side of his face, and dark brown eyes. His skin is slightly tan. He is very protective over Marley.
Langston Dennis, a drama student and murder victim. Small at only 5'1, pale skin, green eyes and red hair. He was close to his elder brother and often a babysitter of his niece. Based off someone I know irl.
Prosperity Dennis, a former classmate of Phoenix's and Langston's older brother. He is somewhat athletic, as much as he can be while ill. He is a dancer patient with messy, dark brown hair, green eyes and pale skin. He is very close to his younger brother and rather protective. Can be bad-tempered. Former drama student who dropped out to have a child. (The mother of the child is no longer alive.) Based off someone I knew irl. 6'2.
Shivani Smith-Duffy, a domestic maid and ex lover of the victim. She has waist-length blonde hair, blue eyes and fair skin, and is pregnant. She is average weight and height at 5'5 and can be a bit bratty at times. Based of someone I know irl.
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