wightknight | Fics, Memes, and Drabbles

Fics, Memes, and Drabbles

A collection of all the writing I've done for my characters over the years in memes. Also a place to request a fic. Respond wih one of your characters, one of mine, and a one-sentence or one-word prompt and I'll write a short fic.

Fics by Character
Lucas | Mother 3 (9)
Yuki Nagato | The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya (4)
Susan Sto Helit | Discworld (17)
Grimsley | Pokemon (3)
Beast Boy | Teen Titans (1)
Ivan | Golden Sun (1)
Palom | Final Fantasy IV (1)
Miscellaneous | Characters Never/No Longer Played (2)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

“I’m afraid,” she says a bit apologetically, “that I don’t quite see the appeal of this kind of thing.”

He plays a record he’d picked up from the store. “Noise.”

He plays the song of the Eternal Diva. “Pitchy noise.”

He plays the violin. “I applaud the talent I assume you’re demonstrating and congratulate you on the dedication and perseverance it must have taken to reach such an advanced stage at your age. …But still noise.”

He sighs and rubs the resin off the strings with a cloth. “Miss Susan…! You can’t hate all music. Haven’t you ever heard anything that… that makes you feel different? More energetic, more alive, more…”

“I feel perfectly well alive already, thanks.” When he glances up, she’s leveling her severe gaze at him through hollow eye sockets. A ridiculous contradiction, but she would manage it, of course. He returns to loosening his bow with an air of perfect calmness, ignoring the fluttering feeling in his chest he was fairly certain was an impending heart attack. One had to claim small victories somewhere.

“That’s not what I mean at all, Miss Susan. It’s important! I think I’ve heard about research on this – how much better your life is when you’ve got music to… to relieve your… woes. And all that sort of thing.”

“My life is perfect already. It’s got you in it, doesn’t it?” Her heavy sarcasm elicits only a sigh and a heavy roll of the eyes. He ducks to the side to avoid the pat on the head he knew was coming, and he watches her retreating figure sweep out of the room. “And you know I’m tone-deaf; it’s not worth the trouble.”

He sighs again and latches his violin case shut. She was impossible, honestly. Conversations with her were like elaborate puzzles – by the time you’d worked out what she was trying to say through all the sarcasm, she was already gone, and it was too late to say anything of substance. Half the time, he wondered if she ever realized that she had very successfully conveyed practically nothing about herself in the year or so they had lived together.

…The other half, he wondered if maybe that was the point.

--------

The next day, he realizes that he needs to purchase school supplies for the start of the year. The record shop is on his way downtown; he’s five steps past when his brain finally processes something he had seen out of the corner of his eye. He backtracks. …And stares in slight disbelief.

“ …sure this is right? Rock and Roll? Not Music with Rocks In? …Yes, someone named Buddy – ”

A snort of laughter is suppressed as he darts away before the white-haired woman can spot him. Small victories.

A crack and the bat cleanly strikes the ball into a hard line drive across the yard. She watches impassively as it speeds past her shoulder to land somewhere far out of sight.

“Well, that’s that.” Her tone is light. “Last ball, rather a shame, I did enjoy this time with you.”

He has the gift of expressing emotion without needing to change a single muscle on his face. Eyes still cloaked in shadow by his cap, he swivels his head sideways with rather pointed intent towards the small hoard of baseballs that had suddenly appeared in a corner. …She senses disapproval. Really, she couldn’t say why; thirty seconds playing this game was plenty enough experience for a lifetime.

A brief sigh is followed by a grudging retrieval performed in the space between seconds. If she must play, she at least retains some semblance of dignity; running about chasing after balls fell to the domain of the bumbling schoolgirl. On her return, he is trotting towards her with bat and hand outstretched. The meaning is clear, if the reasoning is murky.

“Oh. No. No, I think you’d better hold on to that.” She finds herself grasping hold of the thick end as he presses it against her hand. “I much prefer to use this kind of thing as a bludgeon.” Her other hand is guided down to the handle. “Or perhaps a javelin; it could use a bit of sharpening on this end.” She moves to hold it like she does her poker before becoming aware of another perfectly expressionless stare. His expression of displeasure was really very harsh.

First ball. She holds it sideways as if she knew what the term ‘bunt’ meant, but really, she is attempting to figure out where her left hand is supposed to go. The ball hits the side of the house and leaves a sizeable mark.

Fourth ball. She holds it like a parasol and swings it as she would if she were a young woman holding an umbrella being relieved of her purse. The imaginary thief suffers a first-rate concussion and doesn’t get up again; neither does the ball, which is smacked straight into the ground.

Fifteenth ball. She does not hold it, and instead, begins ascribing to the theory that blind chance is better than no chance at all. Given all the physics and mechanics involved and given that she blissfully knows none of them, it seems possible that throwing the bat at the ball will result in a greater than 0% chance of the ball moving forward more than a foot. Unfortunately, her aim is really only any good with people named after temporal landmarks, round about 3 o’clock in the afternoon. Both bat and ball hit the side of the house and leaves a sizeable mark.

Twenty-second ball. There is no twenty-second ball.

She coughs a little to herself and sets the ball against the side of the house. “Well! That’s that, then. Let’s do this again sometime, perhaps after I retire.” She is twenty two years old. She turns to leave and walks straight into him and the object held in his hand. The twenty-second ball. …There are pen marks on it. It resembles a face. Glasses, round cheeks, a smug, repugnant smile, and a mop of oily blonde hair.

Twenty-second ball.

They never do find it, despite the reports of broken windows and felled tree branches they hear the next day from the other side of town.

“Dearest darlingest most beloved,’” she begins with a faintly bored expression on her face. “‘It has come to my attention that I’m completely mad and require relocation to a sanitarium at the nearest convenient time. No doubt you’ve known of this for some months now.”

“Susan, please.” His face is etched in the perpetual scowl it always seems to maintain during conversations with her. “Try to be serious.”

“Oh, alright.” She begins again. “Oh, what a special day it is, I’m so very pleased to say! I had the honor of celebrating a special lo – ”

“Susan!!”

She smooths out the missive and begins for the third time in earnest. “‘In recognition of grievous fault, I, Edward Nigma, offer the following riddle to make recompense.'” She pauses. “You’re writing me a riddle to apologize? Can’t you just try to murder me again?”

“Just flip it over.”

She restrains the urge to roll her eyes along with the paper. She reads aloud again, a little more slowly. “‘Take this riddle, I pray. Though a god may search far, he’ll find not this prey. A king finds it rare, so oft not displayed. Now far as I’ve looked… I’ve found it today. Now tell me, be true; what’s that which I say?’”

The matter is considered seriously for a few moments before she lifts her eyes from the paper. “Is it your bath soaps? I’ve thought you’ve been a bit malodorous the last few days. Or perhaps it’s you in a presentable suit?”

This query receives the answer it deserves: silence. After a few moments, the man turns about with a shake of the head and a slanted smile. “Think about it. I’m off to spend the day with Ema.” His words jog her memory – of course. It was some strange Earth holiday today about snogging; the fourteenth of the second month. Odd that he would choose it to give her such a strange gift. …Not that he wasn’t a very odd man.

She finds herself thinking of the words long after he’s left the house. Essentially, the question was something that a god couldn’t find, that a king rarely did, and that Edward had managed to discover. She does expect it has something to do with his enormous ego, though it’s a bit difficult to find something that satisfies all the criteria. Botheration. It isn’t as if it were important. Still, it isn’t as if she has much else to do today, either: clean the house, grade papers, purchase some groceries. It flits about the edge of her mind constantly, and when she finds herself marking comments on the margins of an essay in rhyme, she gives up on doing anything productive for the day. He would ruin everything even when he was trying to be amiable.

The sun sets, and she eats a meal in silence. He’s off with Ema, Slugger is puttering about with Ai, and no doubt Luke has his own admirer to deal with. Sincerely grateful she doesn’t have to put up with such things, she retreats early to her bedroom and pulls out a book. She’s in the middle of suffering through the most preposterous excuse for a romantic subplot when the answer suddenly strikes her. She sits upright.

It’s exactly the kind of thing he would think would make recompense! Perfect. Much too perfect. And entirely unsatisfactory! She snorts in disgust and tosses the book onto a dresser beside the bed. What an absurd waste of time. Well, perhaps it was a bit touching, in its own unsatisfactory, quaint, Edward-like way. But quite ridiculous! Enormous ego, just as she had thought! Why hadn’t he just gotten her chocolates?!

A trace of a smile reaches her lips despite herself.

An equal, indeed.

“And never was a story of more woe, than that of Caesar and the crumpled piece of paper that could almost pass as completed homework if one squinted and observed it through a telescope from the lunar surface.” She slides it back with a shake of her head. “I do believe you only attend this class now to see how much you can aggravate me.”

He shrugs with a careless grin. “Nah. That would require effort.” And it is true. She expects this is the maxim by which he lives his life; apathy was just as powerful a motivational force as any other. “Seeya tomorrow, Miss S.”

On the way out the door, he is arrested by an imperious command. “Wait.” He slows minimally. “I have something for you. I’ve left it in your mailbox; pick it up on your way home.” Wisely, she had ascertained that anything she handed him in school would end up in a trash bin on his way out. “Don’t worry. It’s not an assignment.” He shrugs again, careless as always, and saunters out the door.

Assignment or not, the altruistic gesture, naturally, presents itself in the form of a book. A play to be precise - Shakespeare’s 'Much Ado About Nothing'. She has cleverly replaced every mention of the name 'Benedick' with 'Caesar' penned in the margins. …Well, not really, but perhaps he would notice something familiar about the sarcastic, uncommitted knight. She expects little, but then, it had cost her very little.

She is not surprised the next day when Caesar misses class. She is extraordinarily surprised to spot him in the park on her way home, sprawled across a bench with a book in his hands. She does not bother to attract his attention as she silently passes by. Better this than some other trivial pursuit.

On Monday, he is on time. A rare occurrence. He even successfully answers one of the questions she tosses his way, albeit with a great deal of eye-rolling. On Thursday, the crumpled papers that vaguely resembled homework are slightly more legible and even slightly correct. It had always been evident that he was capable of doing the work if he actually cared enough to make an attempt at it. The next Monday, he answers a question before she even calls him by name.

Over the course of the following weeks, Caesar does not mature and blossom into her most promising student, but he does, at least, cease to be the bane of her teaching existence. And when the time comes to distribute the grades, she is able, in good conscience, to gracefully assign him a C+ rather than an F--.

On the last day of the school year, as the students trickle out one by one, he passes by her desk and surreptitiously tosses something her way. A small paperback. She accepts it without a word and waits until the last student has gone.

---

“Miss S.” The insolent voice jars her back to reality. He stands at the doorway with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. “Can I go now?”

She clears her throat. “Yes, of course. …And don’t forget – the mailbox.”

He shrugs again, careless as always, and saunters out the door.

"I hope you're happy."

WHY WOULD I BE?

"No, that's just a say... Never mind. What I mean is, what are we supposed to do with all of this?"

WE COULD BURY THEM.

"We can't bury 500 of the things; it would take ages. And someone is bound to notice."

WHAT IF WE STOPPED BELIEVING IN THEM?

"...Only we stop existing when people stop believing in us, Grandfather. It's a good deal more difficult to disbelieve in a yard filled with rotting remains."

WE COULD ASK THEM TO LEAVE.

"I don't think they would."

After a significant period of silence in which Death contemplates the matter very seriously, he raises a skeletal finger.

PIE.

".........Pie."

YES. PIE.

And so for the entire month of October, the Death clan dines on pumpkin pie, pumpkin soup, pumpkin fricassee, pumpkin casserole, pumpkin omelette, pumpkin cake, pumpkin cookies, and pumpkin punch until everyone agreed that next year, Death wasn't allowed to be told about traditional holiday festivities anymore. Death himself merely asked for thirds on the pumpkin cheesecake to bring home for Rincewind.

The brisk air of the autumn evening is chilly. Susan would shiver if Susan ever did such things as shiver. Beside her, Ukraine stands wrapped in the most ridiculously cheerful afghan Susan has ever laid eyes upon. She pretends not to notice. She also pretends to be keenly interested in scouring the night sky. After a little while, she finally breaks the silence.

"I found the Small Boring Group of Faint Stars. Or at least, one small boring group of faint stars. Does that suffice?"

"No."

"............." Susan crosses her arms and turns her gaze back skyward. Another second passes before - "Ukraine. It's very... kind of you to ask me to do this kind of thing, but I'm not sure I see the point in -- "

"Look!"

She looks. The tail end of a shooting star goes by. Susan is properly underwhelmed, though she pastes on something resembling a smile when Ukraine turns a cheerful face towards her.

"We are like the stars, don't you think?"

"We are?"

Ukraine nods. "Even after it's gone, a star's light will keep shining for years and years. What was there was so powerful that the world cannot forget it existed. Not for a long while."

"Technically, it's -- "

Ukraine interrupts. "That is what we are like. What a friendship is like. Even when one of us is gone, the light will shine as long as there is someone to look for it."

"...I see."

Susan falls silent as Ukraine beams brightly and clasps her hand with a warmly mittened one. "Even a speck of dust shines brightly under the light of a sun."

He isn't especially surprised when he opens the door to his office to find her sitting in his chair reading a book.

"How does it take three hours to pick up groceries from the store?"

"...Traffic."

"You walked."

She continues thumbing through the book even through her dry admonishing; Edward notes with a dull sort of realization that this sort of thing doesn't even annoy him anymore. He wonders which of them this is actually a victory for.

"I had something to say to you."

"Normal human beings communicate that through notes on the counter when the other party is absent."

"You'd almost think I'm not."

He sighs in some measure of exasperation before shedding his coat. "As much as I enjoy our scintillating conversations, Susan, now is not a good time. If you could get on with it..."

"Oh. Yes. The hot water tank broke and the basement flooded." His mouth drops open. "I would have done something about it, but your mechanism jammed and I wasn't particularly keen about dropping through the floor into a foot of water."

"Good God! What -- The basement ... Dammit, Susan!" Forgetting the exhaustion of the day, he bolts as quickly as he can towards the passageway, jerking it harder than he ought to have. "It's not jammed at -- " Whatever. He takes the stairs down three at a time, not even caring if he plunged into --

"SURPRISE!"

His mouth drops open again. Ema takes advantage of this to scoop him in for a kiss; the rest of his senses go numb, with the exception of his hearing which seems to dimly pick up on some strains of an obscenely high-pitched song being conducted by Pinkie Pie. The Legion sulks in the corner, Slugger hands him a box with air-holes punched in the top, Luke excitedly rattles off some puzzles about guessing ages...

"...Happy birthday, Edward."

And Susan, for the first time he can remember in some months, gifts him with a rare smile without a hint of malice or irritation whatsoever.

"Fuck."

"Annie."

"...Fudge."

"Better."

Susan idly flips a page in the near-empty classroom as Annie fumes over the paper at her desk. "This is fu -- fudging bull... poop."

"No. It's Shakespeare."

"Shakespeare is poop."

"Poetic. You're still not leaving until you finish writing the essay. It's only two paragraphs, Annie."

The girl frowns so hard her eyes disappear into her wrinkles. "Yeah, but you won't take any on how dumb this crap is."

"I would, actually, but I don't take arguments that consist entirely of 'cause I've fucking got better crap to do', [sic]."

"Heeeeeeeeey."

Susan rolls her eyes and puts a quarter in the swear jar. "All I'm asking is for two brain cells to be rubbed together for maybe ten minutes on the task."

"This is so lame." She bends over her desk, the pencil beginning to scratch away. Miraculously, Susan hears no more complaints for about 5 minutes before a paper is thrust at her. "Here." And before Susan can protest, Annie has bounded out the door.

Roses are red.
Couches are grey
Shakespeare is crap
I just wanna say

Never mind, this is stupid. I just wanna say that I wouldn't put up with this from anyone else, but I guess your class is OK. You're pretty cool for a teacher. So whatever. I can try harder or something.

...She raises an eyebrow.

Edited 2012-08-25 03:55 (UTC)

The next time they had a family night, she was disowning herself from the family.

She wonders, off-hand, how Pinkie Pie got on top of the windmill before deciding it probably wasn't important; Slugger attempting to hit the ball with his baseball bat was of slightly greater urgency. She's too late, of course, and she considers briefly whether or not to stop time to prevent Edward from getting a concussion before deciding, once again, that it probably wasn't important. One way or another, Edward was going to get a concussion on this trip. She could feel it in her heart. Probably diving in the pond looking for rare golf balls forgetting it was only six inches deep.

Pinkie Pie launches off the windmill blade in a rainbow arc across the sky; a squeal of 'I GOT A HOLE IN ONE!!!!' follows immediately after, whereupon Edward indignantly declares that the point is to get the golf ball into the hole, not the pink pony hoof, and the score was still Edward in the lead at 24 over par. The man's next shot manages to ricochet off a garden gnome, which would be less of an issue if he hadn't leaned his own cane against it; defying all physics, the sword portion spirals through the air, bisecting the flag and half of Pinkie Pie's tail. The argument that ensues over whether or not pieces of the tail landing into the hole count as a hole in one for Edward or for Pinkie Pie is not worth the trouble of following.

She wonders where Luke is and if he's still alive. The last she had seen of him had been when he volunteered to fetch his brother's ball from the sand trap; the loud exclamation of 'I found a hint coin!' that immediately follows this thought relieves her anxiety slightly, though this comes before she notices that his hint coin had been buried eight feet under so his sand trap was more appropriately labeled a death trap. There is the sense that she ought to help before anyone else tries to help, for which she is once again too late as Slugger materializes to lend his aid. This apparently consists of using a golf club and a baseball bat simultaneously to beat at the sand, stirring up a dust storm.

The course is closed due to unfavorable conditions.

As they are driving away, Pinkie Pie shouts, "LET'S DO THAT AGAIN!!!!"

Susan gets out of the car and walks back to ask the manager to ban them from the miniature golf course.

He refuses.

"You can't go biting anyone who offends you; it's not hygienic."

This is not the complaint he would have thought she'd raise, but he meekly lowers his face nonetheless. ...As meekly as Mart could get, anyway.

"They'll think you're rabid."

Not quite his concern, either. Though not particularly tall or bulky or even very imposing, there was something about the quality of the schoolteacher's voice that informed him there was a reason she wasn't any of that. ...She didn't need to be. The woman fixes him with a Look that would cause the sun to retreat back below the horizon and wait to rise until she was properly good and ready to be awake.

"Now the next time something angers you, I want you to think about something calming."

A thought bubble of Duke Nukem with a certain white-haired teacher's face superimposed over the zombies pops up. She reaches up with her pointer and pops it.

"Deep breathing."

He inhales.

"Not now. When you're facing something stressful. Breathe from your stomach and take in as much air as you can. And what about scents?"

What about them?

"They're calming. What reminds you of... peace? Or tranquility?"

Blood?

"Chamomile. Carry some scent with you if you need to. Just close your eyes, breathe deeply and let the scent perfuse the air."

Mart scowls as Susan smiles encouragingly; given that her lecture seemed to be concluded; he stalked out of the room.

----------

"Ah, Mart! What a delight -- aaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuughhhh!

Mart closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the chamomile scented pepper spray as he continued to empty the bottle into the Major's face, making sure to get both of his eyes. She was right. This was relaxing.

"Well."

She looks down at the red-capped boy and briefly wonders if it would kill him to keep his face unobscured for once in his life. ...Existence. They both stand silently, mutually taking refuge in the pause. As per their personal preferences of expressing the emotion of Awkward, Slugger averts his eyes and Susan keeps hers fixed like a hawk's. After a time, she clears her throat. It is her role as the adult to make this kind of thing bearable.

She hated being the adult, sometimes.

"I suppose this it, then."

She didn't need to ask why Slugger wanted to stay. In a place where black mages gallivanted about slaughtering unicorns and time-traveling little boys wrecked dances alongside anthropomorphics of despair, Slugger was free to be whatever - and whoever - he liked. She was glad for it. Better than whatever fate waited him at home, where he was destined to always be a 'what' and never a 'whom'.

"You know I can't stay."

He nods mutely.

"I have... duties."

He nods again.

"The world to save. Again."

Another nod. She is aware that the pleading desperation isn't as well masked as she would like it to be. Another pause again, before she slowly kneels and pulls his cap off his head.

"My one failure is that I never got your hair to smooth down properly." A soft, cool touch as she attempts exactly that. "I suppose styling gel is out of the question." Slowly, the cap is settled back onto his head, the brim much higher than he normally wears it. She continues to fuss absentmindedly with his clothes. "Don't be a stranger. Look both ways before you cross your street. Brush your teeth twice daily. All 127 of them."

And she stands.

"...Be good, Slugger." And if she had said anything else, her voice would have gone hoarse. Susan Sto Helit did not go hoarse. With a final nod, she slowly turns away, the her cloak lightly rippling back and forth in the gentle breeze. An edge brushes against his cheek before she begins to walk away.

He catches it.

She stops.

"Bye."

A perfect moment lasts forever. She isn't sure who initiates the embrace, or how long it lasts, or even how many times she softly presses her lips against the top of his head. Only that this memory, the feel, the smell, the sight, the emotion, would stay with her for as long as Time allowed. When they break away, she knows it is finally time.

Susan Sto Helit inclines her head, lifts her bags... and, in a whirl of black cloak and white hair, is gone.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived a princess who was raised by fearful parents, ever watchful in case of potential abduction by dragon or dark knight or demonspawn from hell. The sort of thing that usually happened to princesses. She, oblivious to the danger in which she lived her life, grew up to be a normal, relatively well-adjusted girl quite fond of mathematics and science, practically a miracle in spite of the many rigorous rules and regulations by which she was forced to adhere.

Upon reaching the age of eighteen, she was summoned before her royal father and informed that as a precaution, she ought to stay indoors more often now since the chance of being kidnapped practically tripled once a princess grew of age. She considered this for a few moments before responding, 'nonsense', whereupon she collected her Big Book of Flora and Fauna and went out to identify more species of Pentatomidae that the rather stupid biologists had missed their first go around; she couldn't blame them, honestly, too much time spent reading books had dulled their eyesight to the point where they weren't much good for doing anything except making up pretentious Latatian names for new species.

While applying her magnifying glass to a particularly promising blue and orange striped specimen, she was surprised to notice as she crouched with her face close to the ground that things had suddenly grown rather dark. With some surprise, she turned to find herself facing a one-eyed ogre.

"Fee fi fo fum. I smell the blood of an Englishwoman." It roared and beat its chest.

She frowned and crossed her arms over hers. "Those aren't even words. How is anyone supposed to take you seriously when you go about spouting the sort of gibberish that little children say? And look, you've scared away my bug; what am I supposed to present next week to the Royal Academy?"

The ogre, slightly confused, scratched at its head a bit. "Fee fi fo fum, Englishwoman not very -- "

"No, stop it! You can't say fee fi fo fum, what does fee fi fo fum mean? No one wants to hear fee fi fo fum when they could get a well-presented death threat. Try 'Tonight, I shall sieve your bones into a fine powder and dine upon your delectable flesh if you don't satisfy my grovel and weep to satisfy my enormous ego which is probably compensation for something lacking if you get what I mean'. You can manage an evil laugh somewhere in there, too. And I'm not even English; I've never heard of the place. I'm from Sto Helit, so your sense of smell is all wrong, too."

The ogre, very confused by now, dutifully repeated the words, after which he was instructed to walk around the field a few times and repeat them to himself until he got it right, at which point he was welcome to come back and threaten her. After watching him go about a few times, though, she got bored and continued on into the woods.

She was examining a yellow-gilled Amanita when another shadow fell upon her. Somewhat less surprised, she turned to face her next harasser and was slightly intrigued to find that it was a boy about half her height.

"Do you have any desire to die?"

"What? No. What a ridiculous question."

"Oh. ...What about regrets?"

"Not particularly. I suppose I ought to have made Father finish his breakfast this morning; it was a terrible waste of a good omelet."

...There was an awkward silence for a moment or two as they regarded each other, the princess somewhat curiously and the boy somewhat awkwardly.

"You don't look very well fed."

"What?"

"I said, you don't look very well fed. Do you get much nutrition out here in the woods like this?"

"...........I don't know."

"Well, I don't think you do. It takes a very science-oriented sort of mind to know the right sorts of plants to eat, and I don't think you've got it. Mind, that's not to say you couldn't develop one, but you'd need something like this first." She passed him her copy of the Big Book of Flora and Fauna. "I don't need it. Some of it's inaccurate, anyway, but it'll do for your needs."

"Oh. ...Thank you."

"You're welcome. ...You know what? You'd better just come on home with me for now; I wouldn't feel right leaving you alone here like this. There's cookies and milk waiting for me at home since my parents continue to insist on believing I'm five; you can have them. And whatever else is in our pantry."

The boy looked at her for a moment or two before raising up the brim of his baseball cap so he could blink at her properly. It looked like she meant it. ...He wasn't sure what to do about this, but as she grabbed his hand and began to march, he began to feel as if he didn't have much of a choice.

"Wait."

"What is it?"

"You were supposed to go through a third trial. You can't turn back now."

"What? What third trial? What were the first two?"

The boy only stared at her for some time before shaking his head.

"Just keep continuing on."

She stared back.

"....Please. Miss."

And she breathed out an impatient sigh, rolling her eyes and turning back around. The two of them marched forward for a good ten minutes before in a flash of fire and brimstone, a young girl with flaming eyes stood before her.

"I am the Hell Girl. I am here to -- "

"Why are there so many children living in the woods? Stop playing around and go back to your parents at once." There was an awkward silence for a moment or two before she caught on. "Oh, never mind, you're coming home with me, too, and don't go on about any 'fourth trials' or anything." With surprising strength, she grabbed the Hell Girl and marched back with the two small children in tow.

On the way back, the Hell Girl tripped over a protruding tree root and fell into the Baseball Boy. Their hands met briefly. The princess didn't notice.

And true to her word, when they got home, the two children shared a round of milk and cookies. She was allowed to keep them after forcibly introducing her parents to how charming they could be, and all lived happily ever after. Except for the demon in the very heart of the woods who fumed rather incoherently for a time about losing two underlings and set half the forest on fire, but that was quickly taken care of by the brigade of volunteer knights who went in and slayed the thing before it could cause much damage to the economy of the kingdom.

She had no friends.

Ukraine rolled this thought over in her mind a few times before nodding firmly. Yes. She had no friends. As far as she could tell, the girl spent all her time holed up in the library with textbooks, doing her utmost to pretend the world around her didn’t exist. Ukraine couldn’t recall ever seeing her sitting in a classroom, or doing homework, or speaking to any of the other students at all. No. When one thought of Susan Sto Helit, the mental image of a severe girl in black reading silently alone sprang solely and immediately to mind.

The curious thing was, she didn’t seem to care. And nobody else did, either. She wasn’t a social outcast, exactly, since nobody seemed to care enough about her to cast her out from anything, and ‘loner’ didn’t seem to apply, either. She wasn’t alone, more than she just… didn’t need anybody else. It was a bit difficult to put into words, but somehow, Susan Sto Helit was the only human being she knew who was absolutely and completely fulfilled simply by being Susan Sto Helit. She wouldn’t have minded at all being the last human being left on Earth.

Yes, Susan Sto Helit didn’t have any friends. She didn’t need any friends, and perhaps, she wouldn’t even be able to define the word ‘friend’ if she was asked.

That was about to change.

“Hello.”

For a moment or two, there was no response. She suspected the last time anyone had said hello had been two months ago after that fire drill in which Susan had been left in the library; somehow, everyone had forgotten she’d been in the same room when the thing had gone off. There was a brief flicker of confusion in the pale girl’s eyes before she lifted them off page one hundred and forty seven of Multivariable Calculus and Differential Equations.

“Hello.” The voice was cool. Though stated firmly, the inflection of the tone was such that it was easy to ascertain her actual meaning. ‘Hello and is there a reason you’re talking to me’.

“I see you reading by yourself in the library every day. I thought you might want someone to sit with.” From the raised eyebrow, Susan had never even considered wanting this. “My name is Ukraine. Like the country.”

Though cheerful, Ukraine felt a vague sense of unease as the girl directed a rather hard gaze through her. She briefly expected Susan to stand and move to a different table, but the girl lowered her head back to the textbook soon enough. Susan flipped a page. She was at one hundred and forty eight.

“Yes. I know.” She didn’t say anything more. Taking this as some measure of acceptance, Ukraine smiled brightly and began to prepare for sixth period algebra.

The routine became well established over the period of the next few months. Ukraine would announce herself with a friendly ‘hello’, Susan would nod, and they’d get to reading. In late April, Ukraine’s older brother left his football equipment at home and forced his sister to run home for it, missing sixth and seventh periods. Before Ukraine could manage a ‘hello’ the next day, Susan had already begun to speak.

“Were you ill?”

Ukraine shook her head. “I needed to go home early.” And then, after a pause, it seemed appropriate to say, “Sorry.”

Susan accepted this with a nod. “Be careful. You wouldn’t want to fall ill so close to the end of the semester.”

Ukraine could only manage a slightly astonished, “You, too” before Susan returned to her book. That was the longest conversation they had.

On the last day of school, Ukraine approached Susan, who, apparently ignorant of the fact that it was time to begin forgetting everything she’d learned over the past year, still sat reading in the library. A gift was exchanged, Ukraine wished her friend a happy vacation, and Susan offered her library companion a thank you.

That summer, it spread over the grapevine that the Sto Helits had died in a terrible automobile accident. Susan, the poor girl, was to live with her grandfather in the South, and although Ukraine found the right phone number as soon as she could manage, the only response was an automated voice message. ‘This number has been disconnected’.

And that was the end of that.

Two years later, after collecting her diploma, Ukraine returned home to find her sister suspiciously examining a package that had arrived in the mail. The announcement that it was for Ukraine was made with some mock astonishment before it was passed off. Undeterred, she brought the box up to her room, unwrapped and opening it carefully. She blinked. It was a copy of Multivariable Calculus and Differential Equations. As she flipped through it absentmindedly, two things fell out. One was a card.

Dear Ukraine,
Congratulations and thank you.
Susan Sto Helit

The other was a bookmark at page one hundred and forty seven. Penciled on the back in faded, two-year-old lead were the words

This is where I met my first friend.

"What a queer little cave." She hesitates at the mouth. Not, of course, that she was afraid or otherwise reluctant to go in, but it was always best to be cautious before spelunking in unknown areas.

"Weren't here before today, either." Her companion caws balefully and flutters his wings a bit. "You know, they've got good -- "

"Say eyeballs, and I'm poking yours out." With a sigh, she brushes the crow off her shoulder to fend for himself, then enters without further delay. She is pleased to see a torch burning merrily on its stand ten paces down the path. Aside from being a source of light, it was reassuringly familiar. Mysterious caves always had torches, just as they always had hidden treasure, traps, and giant rolling boulders. It would have been a grave oversight for any one of these to be lacking.

She plucks it out and is gratified to find that the light fills the entire cavernous room fully.

She is somewhat less gratified to see that the light is octarine, the floor is paved with 7-sided tiles, and there were seven other corridors beside the one she is standing in.

Also there were tentacles snaking at her out of six of them.

The seventh one had a giant eye.

"Dammit."

It was a bit like fighting off a rabid chipmunk. It just wouldn't die, and in the meantime, you were being bit and scratched and inconvenienced over and over until you were bloody and exhausted and possibly infected with some nasty disease that needed a half dozen shots to the rear before you were cured.

Alright, so it wasn't like fighting off a chipmunk at all, but she was tiny and twice as mad as one and he'd always thought buck teeth would've added to her image. But her brand of madness was different -- a psychotic whirlwind of knives and blades? Sure. Absolutely. Not a problem at all. Jane, though... Jane was intense. The pinhole eye never looked at you; it looked through you, and you knew she was contemplating the skull behind your skin and thinking just how lovely it would look in her collection on the patio. Certainly, the alarming thought that he would be on the patio right this moment had she not been so keen on not just killing him, but humiliating him had crossed his mind.

Of course, there wasn't anything much more humiliating than having to pin down an assassin with the sheer weight of your body. Especially with her... assets poking into his chest. No jury on the Disc would convict him, but it was a rather compromising position, anyway.

"Jane. Jane, listen to me."

Her glass eye rolled in his general direction. He took this as a good sign.

"Now as much as I'm enjoying this little spat, I can feel the knives you have under that skirt so I won't be letting go anytime soon. But allow me to invite you to consider our present situation. I know you can't see it, but I've got an excellent view of the bottom of the cliff -- Or rather, I have no view, which is significantly worse in its own way.

"Now if you keep on struggling, we'll both roll over the cliff together and we can see who survives: the grandson of Death or the rabid chi -- mentally disturbed assassin. Or we back off. Slowly. Together."

He gave his most encouraging smile.

Her real eye focused on him now. He wished it wouldn't.

"Edmund..."

"Yes?"

"You don't seem to... get me."

"No. I decidedly don't."

"You see, it hasn't been about the job now for quite some time. No. No, it is not. What it is... is that I really want you to die."

And before he can stop her, she careens violently to the side and they are flying off the cliff-face, meeting that wrenching feeling of nothingness together. Bugger all.

"H-Hello? Princess?... Princess? I've, ah. I've come to rescue you... aha."

He trails off anxiously as he glances around the dilapidated tower. Why were they always in dilapidated towers? It didn't matter if he was rescuing a princess or a sack of golden potatoes; someone always put them at the top of a tower. Sighing, he finds the nearest flight of stairs and begins to ascend, sword held shakily in his hands. Being a hero these days was a lot harder than it used to be. Pay cuts, wizard insurance, no one even thought to offer their daughters as brides anymore... heck, last week they'd tried to give him 2% off his income taxes as a reward.

"Princess...?"

He skips the last step, of course. Everyone knows the last step crumples through and then the dragon leaps out and eats you. Actually, he was hoping it would be a troll this time, or some sort of hydra thing that was more of a puzzle boss. The soot and smoke did terrible things for his asthma.

But as he rounds the corner, he decides the dragon might not have been so bad after all. Nothing was worse than a pretty woman.

"S-Stop right there! Fiend!... You're a fiend, right? I know I've seen your picture before; probably read about it in the bestia -- "

"Stop prattling. I could hear you all the way up top; any monster worth its fangs would've skewered you in an instant. And you're late."

His cheeks expand. "Well! Excuse me, Miss Fiend, but I'll have you know the Rescue Call is an essential textbook-detailed necessity of any... -- ....... Of, uh. Any... Hold on. Princess?"

"Obviously."

"...Where's the monster?"

"I killed it already. Now can we get going or do you have anything else to say?"

"Uh."

"Good. The secret exit's that way."

And as he hurries to catch up with her, he can't help but ask the question that's been on his mind.

"So, um. Princess?"

"What?"

"Why, exactly, did your parents...? I mean. Susan is hardly a princess's -- Ow!"

IT IS IMPOSSIBLE, YOU SEE, FOR THE HUMAN BEING TO EXIST WITHOUT. IT IS IMAGINATION THAT CREATES THE LITTLE LIES, IMAGINATION THAT ALLOWS FOR THE BIG LIES.

"Yes, you've said something like that before, I think. And without the big lies, we'd be barely any different from the Auditors. Hardly an appealing thought."

PRECISELY.

"It's all very interesting, of course, but it doesn't explain what you're doing in my pantry. Or the pumpkin suit."

YOU ARE NOT USING YOUR IMAGINATION VERY WELL, SUSAN.

"Oh, I rather think I'm using it just fine. It's just that even the most imaginative human would be a bit boggled at seeing a... a Death O'Lantern."

IT WOULD BE MOST UNUSUAL, YOU SEE, NOT TO PARTAKE IN THE HUMAN FESTIVITIES IF I MUST BE IN HUMAN FORM. I... IMAGINED IT WOULD BE... INSTRUCTIVE.

"...And the marshmallow fluff smeared over your face?"

...SAMPLING. TO ENSURE THE SUPPLIES FOR THE HOLIDAY ARE ADEQUATE. IT IS THE DUTY OF THE HOGFATHER, YOU SEE, HO, HO, H --

"Two months early, Grandfather."

“Just like this?” His face is creased in a frown of concentration as he swings a leg over the seat of the bicycle. There had never been anything like this back home before the invasion. And afterwards, he’d been too busy to invest much time in learning about strange technologies. The boy hops and tilts precariously before he manages a stable position, standing ramrod straight on tiptoes with the bike clenched between his legs. …It was a bit pinching.

He watches as the stoic man nods. He’s thankful that Holland hasn’t betrayed any of the amusement he must have felt at watching him wobbling back and forth; it was embarrassing enough that he was learning to do this at such an age.

“Mm. Like that.” To his surprise, the man bends down and begins to tug at his left foot. “Up.”

Up onto the left pedal. He can manage that well enough; it’s just a matter of exerting enough force on the bike in the opposite direction to keep it standing upright. A quick upwards jerk following a deep breath and he’s done it. He glances up for approval, a shy, self-conscious smile on his face.

The man nods again before moving to his other side. His smile falters. …The moment he lifts his right foot, he tilts to the left and keels over in a tangle of plastic and metal.

--------

…By the time he’s worked out the basics two and a half hours later, he’s cast Lifeup on himself a half dozen times and exerted almost an equivalent amount of PSI on the Netherlands, who had, at last count, had every one of his toes crushed with the exception of the left pinky toe. Nonetheless, the man had bravely soldiered on until this juncture, at which point Lucas could truthfully proclaim that he could ride a bike. …For about five seconds. Progress was progress.

Returning up the slope from his latest run-in with an oak tree, he yawns softly and asks with a hint of pleading in his tone. “Do you think, Mr. Netherlands, that it’s time to go home now?” The request is received in silence, followed by a short nod.

“.....You did good.”

Down the road back home. He walks the bicycle alongside Holland on the road; the next time he’s roused to attention, the wind is in his hair and his arms are wrapped around a warm body. The man on the bicycle senses his movements, turns back and makes a sound vaguely like a shush. He takes this for what it is meant to be and rests his head again against the man’s broad back. Within a few moments, he dozes off.

Down the road back home, and the man slows his pedaling to savor the moment as long as he can. A hint of a smile pulls upwards at his lips.

Edited 2012-08-25 22:30 (UTC)

“On your right!”

Her warning comes in the nick of time. He isn’t as small as he used to be, and where ducking would have worked fine in the past, he’s forced to throw himself bodily to the side to avoid being struck by the rocket barreling his way. As he tumbles, a sharp pain suddenly blossoms out from his right side; a stifled cry escapes. The enemy gives a grunt of satisfaction as it races by, horn gleaming red. He’s on his feet again and dashing towards his ally before it can turn back around, a hand clamped to his injury. It would take much more than a glancing blow to keep him down – within moments, the blood has staunched as the wound stitches itself together.

He gathers his PSI into his fists and raises them into a defensive stance. The weaver does the same, her hands wreathed in flame. There is an oddly familiar feeling about all this.

“Lucas, what is this thing?”

“It’s a Rhinocerocket. Be careful, Miss Margot - If you hit any part except the head too hard, the whole thing could explode. ...Here it comes!” He leaps upwards as the chimera turns back around, its rhinoceros head snorting in maddened fury. A brief flash of light and a diamond shaped pattern of energy slams into the creature, knocking it off its intended path into a high arc. Despite this, Lucas frowns as he lands lightly back on the ground. “…It’s no good. It’s put up a PSI Shield; I can’t get through until it’s broken.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t use PSI.” A flick of a hand, and she debuts her substantial power with a conventional fireball. Then another. And a third. As she sends spell after spell hurtling in the Rhinocerocket’s direction, he’s suddenly reminded of another hot-headed girl with an affinity for throwing around flames.

“Wait. I don’t know if setting it on fire is – ” A sudden roar as a fireball connects, smashing straight into the body of the chimera. ...The hope that it’s been put down for good is quickly abandoned when it makes another wide turn, now sporting a spiffy new coat of flames fueled by the thrusters in the rear. He stares in disbelief. “ – a good idea. Run!”

The rocket surges between them, just barely missing as they dive in opposite directions, Lucas holding up a Shield of his own and Margot repelling the flames with her weaving. She glances towards him and smiles apologetically. “Whoops. Now who’d have known that could happen?” Its power amplified by the flames, the rocket has surged far past them; it struggles to make a turn at its new velocity.

He shakes his head as he struggles to his feet. “It’s fine. …Don’t you have any… ice powers? Ice magic? Ice… weaving?”

Her face blanches for a moment at this suggestion. “Uh. Yes. …Yes, I do. Sort of. Water’s not really my thing.”

At this, he nods and quickly moves forward to close the distance between them. “That's fine! You can do it, Miss Margot. I know you can.”

“Lucas, I really don’t – Look, it’s coming back around! We don't have much time.”

“Please, just try it! …I can give you a little help. C’mon!” Without warning, the boy’s entire body radiates light, and he stretches both hands towards her. “Attack Up – Ω!”

The feeling is bizarre. She can’t quite explain it; it isn’t a rush of energy so much as it feels like an… expansion of what's already there. As if she can leap tall buildings in a single bound with the same amount of effort it would take to leap a tall stack of Legos. …Well. There was nothing to lose. Turning to face the barreling rocket, she takes a deep breath and begins to concentrate. Water. Placid. Calm. …The exact opposite of what she is, but at this moment in time, it is what she needs to be.

Another breath and she reaches out towards the environment around her. Water was the easiest of the elements to find. It lay in all things, dormant – sky, sea, grass, dirt… From all living things did water flow. She stretches out her hands and draws in the element from the very air around her, drawing it inwards towards the power that already dwells within. Water. Flowing. Soothing. Relentless. Ice. Unyielding. Stubborn. Crushing. The strength of a glacier and the persistence of a driving stream.

...She takes her emotions. She takes the ambiance. She takes the soft breaths of the boy beside her, the hissing steam off the enemy before her, and the enduring spirit she finds in her own heart.

And she weaves it all together.

“Now!”

The horrific shrieking that rings in his ears, he realizes later, is the sound of an arctic storm being compressed into a dome with a radius of three feet. The Rhinocerocket never stands a chance. As it contacts the ultra-cool air, it freezes solid, crashes to the ground, and shatters into a million tiny shards of ice. …Ice and rhinoceros bits. When he’s done shielding his face, he stares for a long moment. And continues to stare even as the world around them flickers, returning them to the familiar backyard in which they had initiated this exercise.

He’s holding a book in his hands.

“Miss Margot, that was incredible!”

“Y-Yeah…” She dusts off her hands with a slightly dazed expression in her eyes before she recovers herself. “I mean… Well, you know. A magic monster-making book is pretty incredible itself.”

He shakes his head quickly and laughs, a bright, cheerful sound. “It’s all fake! I told you, it’s just a copy of my memories... But I definitely don’t remember ever seeing anything that impressive.”

She gives another shrug and moves in for the head-ruffle. “...Hey. Know what I think we deserve after all that hard work?”

“…A malt?”

“You got it.”

Take a melody,
Simple as can be,
Give it some words and
Sweet harmony

Raise your voices
All day long now
Love grows strong now
Sing a simple song of love

He feels the cool night wind through his hair...
Crisp autumn days were his favorite. The leaves falling from the trees, a radiant array of red and yellow and orange, spread out across the landscape as far as the eye could see. Tazmily Island never looked as beautiful as it did in the fall.

The outing today had been as perfect as he'd dreamt it to be. Hiking through the woods through the crunching leaves, picnicking with all his favorite foods, playing and laughing and loving and living. Bathed in the light of the moon, he watches the stars glimmering overhead, knowing that, inevitably, it would be drawing to a close soon. His mother and father sat chatting peacefully at the crest of the hill. His brother... Well, who knew what Claus had gotten up to? Sitting up, he glances around for his twin. It is the sound of Boney's barking that alerts him. His twin brother sits atop the highest branches of the trees, leaning out as far as he dares, reaching up for the stars.

He smiles and lies back down again, slowly. ...Everything was perfect. He wishes... everything could stay like this forever. ...And in a flash of inspiration, he sits back up and calls out.

"Claus!"

"Yeah? What?"

"...I love you."

There is silence for a few moments. In the dim twilight, he can barely make out his brother's head.

"Don't be so lame, Lucas."

"...I just wanted to say. Happy birthday. We're ten..."

Silence again.

"Yeah, I know." ... "...Happy birthday. I love you, too."

"I dreamed I was in a field of flowers last night."

"Sunflowers?

"...Yeah. How did you know?"

As they both knew the answer to that question, he smiles softly before adjusting his position slightly, supporting his head in his hands from his sprawled position on the floor.

"Anyway... I was walking along, looking for... something. Or someone. I'm not really sure. I just really wanted to find this... thing, whatever it was." He reaches out and places the letters 'I-R-I' next to the 'S' already on the board. "I kept walking and walking, but I couldn't find what I was looking for."

"What happened next?" The boy in the blue cap adds a 'T-I' and an 'E'.

"...I'm not too sure." He glances down at his tiles and frowns. "Wait, that was a... double-letter-score, right? Right, so... I just kept walking. And... I think I started to cry because I felt so lost." This would have been much more awkward with anyone but his best friend, but Luke seemed to understand. He silently ponders his tiles for a few more moments before continuing. "And just when I thought I was never going to wake up...

"I saw you."

"Me?"

"Uh-huh. You, and Mr. Netherlands, and Crowe..." He glances up and smiles. "Almost everyone I knew in Mayfield. And you were just past the field, waiting. ...And then I woke up."

"Gosh. What do you think it means?"

"...I think it means... Thanks for being my friend."

The two share a smile, their voices fading out to the light sound of the rain pattering against the roof.

He holds her in his arms and faces the sunset. The dying light sends fleeting shadows flickering across the landscape as they silently watch day give way to night. There is a dull ache in his lap from where she sits, her legs kicking back and forth slowly. He ignores it.

"Lucas?"

The face turning up towards him is charming in its solemnity. Lucas smiles.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does the sun go away at night?"

He is silent for a few moments, his bright eyes meeting her darker ones. To Mindy, perhaps this was a question of great import.

"...My mom used to say to me... It was because, at night, the sun had somewhere more important to be."

"Where?"

He shifts his arms as he leans over her shoulder, reaching to place a hand on her chest. "Here."

She blinks in confusion. "The sun is in here?"

"The sun is in there. Because you don't need the sun when you're asleep, right? So the sun is in here, chasing away all your bad dreams and thoughts and bringing warmth and light and hope. And in the morning, when you wake up... The sun is out again. No matter where you are, the sun will always bring you happiness. Up there or ... in here."

"Oh." She thinks about this for a few moments before glancing up towards the golden horizon. "That's just a nice story, though, right?"

"It is." He leans back against the steps of the porch again. "But you know... It's true, too. The sun will always shine again, no matter what. So you never have to worry."

"OK."

They are silent again, for some time.

"Lucas?"

"Uh-huh?"

"I think the sun... is always in here." And she leans back against his chest, closing her eyes.

"Hah! You won't get away from me this time! Secret Ninja Technique: Shuriken Stoooooorm!"

With a gasp, he flings himself out of the way of the hail of stars that thudded into the ground behind him. But not in desperation, no. The boy's body already glows with the force of his psychic powers as he dodges to the side, and the moment his feet are firmly planted on the ground, he raises the pulsating orbs in his hand.

"Dark Ninja! I don't know how many times you've fought this battle in the past, but this'll be your last! Psionic Burst: Peeeeekaaaay -- Wha?!"

The PSI winks out of existence as the boy gasps again. His opponent had vanished in the blink of an eye -- Nowhere to be found. And as he turns about desperately, he knows instinctively that the fight is lost even before he feels the kunai against his throat.

"Haha! A warrior of shadows can't ever be pinned down! You can always rely on a turnabout finish!"

With a sigh, he lowers his head and surrenders.

-----

"And that's fifteen-zip!" She tosses the controller away and leans back, rubbing under her nose in satisfaction. "Hey, you're getting the hang of this pretty well, Lucas."

He frowns at the screen a little before trying on a meek smile. "This is pretty fun, actually. What did you say this was called?"

"Video games! I don't play much at home, but since there's not much else to do here, playing games with my friends is as good a hobby as any, right?"

Lucas blushes, scootching forward closer to the system. "And this game is called..."

"Ultra Bash Brothers Skirmish. ...Something like that."

High school.

Even the name was intimidating. It was true, too. Everything was so much bigger, somehow; in the crowd that raucously surged through the front doors, he barely made it up to his neighbors' shoulders. He was an anomaly, a castaway boy in a sea of men and women, and whether it was because he was obviously terrified or simply because he was a freshman, they left him alone. He wasn't sure if he could have responded if anyone had tried speaking to him, anyway.

Classes pass in a blur. Every teacher repeats the same mantra. "You are not children anymore. We are not here to coddle you. You will learn more in a year than you have in the last six and you should expect to have at least three hours of homework every night. Cry yourself to sleep if you have to, but get the work done." By midmorning, he was feeling just the slightest bit nauseous.

He was supposed to go to the cafeteria for a break. He ends up lost in a foreign wing instead, hallways covered with posters and paintings, air filled with the screeching sounds of a tortured soprano... and something else. For a moment, he pauses. Then his feet override his common sense and he finds himself wandering deeper down the hallway, listening keenly as the music grows and grows and grows. And how it is that he has the nerve to push the auditorium doors open is beyond him, but he does, and he stares.

They don't notice at first. Who is they? The first one he sees is the girl with the blue hair, brimming with vitality as she jumps and sings and dances, pounding away at the guitar. Her smile is brilliant. There are others, too -- a blonde at the keyboard, an older boy at the drums -- but he hardly has time to register them before a stray glance from the vocalist falls upon him.

They make eye contact.

He runs.

The remainder of the morning classes are equally miserable. The English teacher, a dour-looking white-haired woman, informs them that any use of personal pronouns in their essays would result in an automatic D. He wonders if this means a blank paper with the word 'I' written on would receive a D instead of an F but decides against raising his hand. US History is equally terrifying, with the announcement that they would, actually, get past WWI this year and they'd better be prepared to go twice as fast as they had in the past.

By lunchtime, he has decided that moving up north was the worst decision his father had ever made in his life. The entree is White Goop in a Mash of Yellow and Red Speckles with a side of green mush that had probably once been peas. Somehow, the pack of seniors he managed to accidentally insert himself into get slices of real pizza. He doesn't ask. And when it's time to pick a seat, he slowly heads towards the table far, far away in the corner, keeping his head down.

His first spoonful is halfway to his mouth when he hears it.

"Hey! Kid!"

His head half-lifts for a second. But it is loud, and there are many kids in the cafeteria.

"Yeah, you!"

...

"Hey..." And he finally turns around to stare straight into the face of the smiling girl with blue hair. "Didn't you hear me?"

"..." He stares. Her smile is still brilliant. He shakes his head.

"Do you want to sit with us, kid?"

...
...
...

He nods.

He stares in terror at the masked man. ...No. The masked boy. He doesn't know why this detail is important, only that the figure looming above him, as menacing as he has tried to make himself appear, is too short, too slight to be an adult. His voice, when he speaks, too soft. Pitched too highly. But being grown is not a requirement for harboring hatred. Being mature is not necessary to wreak destruction. He casts his gaze back and forth in desperation, seeking an escape.

There is none. The town lies in ruins around him. He is sprawled on the ground with his back pressed up against his house. Or, at least... what remains of his house. The army had come in the night. There had been no warning at all, no sign that they ought to have been on their guard. His sleepy little town -- Gone, in the blink of an eye. It had happened so quickly that he could still hardly believe it. His mother was dead. That was all he knew for sure. He had watched as she'd batted away at the invaders with a broom, trying to keep them from reaching him and his brother.

She had failed. And now... it was only him. Sweat pours down his face, intermingling with the tears that sprang from his eyes. Why? This was incomprehensible. Why, all of this...?

The masked man before him instinctively seems to understand his question. He nods. Lowers his sword. His voice, when he speaks, is not without pity.

"You... You deserve an explanation before you die. You do." The emphasis is placed strangely. But there's no time to dwell about this as the voice continues, soft and childish. "I've traveled for years and years... centuries. Millennia. I don't even know anymore... I've seen things that most people only dream of. Riches, wealth, treasure... Amazing powers. Incredible civilizations.

"But, you know... There was only one thing I really wanted. So I kept searching. And I looked and I looked and finally... I found it. You."

The menace pauses. Reaching a gloved hand up, he raises his visor, removes his helmet. Casts it aside. The terrified boy looks straight into the placid, blue eyes of the one who is about to kill him.

The unmasked man smiles.

"This was what I wanted. This was what I lived for for... years."

And the blade is swung.

He screams. Then... realizes he is not dead. The sword has struck the ground beside him, and the unmasked man is backing away.

"This is what you deserve. This is fate. If you know the sorrow that I know... Then maybe you'll be able to justify your actions when you come face to face with your destiny.

"Don't bother looking for Picky."

It is a half hour after the army has gone that he allows himself to move from the spot in which he had frozen. Around him, Onett burns quietly.

"It's finished..."

He sits back with a sigh, glancing over towards the woman kneeling a few feet away from him. Within a few moments, she, too, is leaning back on her heels, gazing down with a satisfied smile upon her face.

"Yes, I'm about finished here, too."

They stand in unison, and he subconsciously moves closer to brush his hand softly against her arm. As their eyes meet, neither are surprised to see the same emotions within their hearts mirrored on the face of the other: a melancholy smile, mingled with... what was it? Understanding? Acceptance? Perhaps... peace.

"Do you think he would have liked it?"

"...I'm certain of it."

A few moments more of gentle silence before they turn from the plot of land, hands intertwined.

She wonders when he grew so tall.

He wonders when her touch had began to feel like a mother's.

As the door closes behind them, the sun shines warmly upon the ring of flowers encircling the small figurine. It is a tall man, flanked closely by a woman with flowing hair and a boy with bright blue eyes.

“You’ve never had ice cream?” She stares in disbelief, the expression on her face comically serious. “Ah, that’s no good. We can’t go back home until you’ve tried some!”

“I…” As always, his grasp on basic sentence construction becomes more tenuous the closer she draws to him. A sudden impetuous move to take his hand, and he loses hold of it entirely. He can only hope that the vague noises ensuing from his mouth make more sense to her ears than they do to his own.

“We have lots of time! I know this really nice place nearby.” She turns to lead the way, gently tugging him down an alleyway. “Ash and I used to go sometimes to relax after our work. …When, um, it wasn’t too crowded, I mean.” Her smile fades for a moment, and he understands immediately what it is she’s trying to gloss over, what she always tries to gloss over. No matter how much she might protest otherwise, he would never accept the way her own people treated her. ...But that was a conversation they’d had many a time in the past; better not to dampen her spirits now by dragging it up again.

He finds his tongue at last and speaks gently. “Marona… it’s OK, you know. We don’t have to go if… if it’s too much trouble.”

She glances back in surprise. “Don’t you want to come? Are you in a hurry to go back?”

“N-No, not at all! I'd love to go with you!… I mean, go try it. I just thought…”

“Then, it’s not trouble at all. We’re really close already, anyway.” She beams and continues on forward. In the face of her relentless optimism, it’s hard not to smile with her.

As he expected, the store is crowded at this hour. And as he expected, the moment the customers near the back spot them approaching, the whispers and murmurs begin to sound. A dozen feet away from the end of the line, she pauses and turns towards him. “You’d better go on ahead, Ivan. I’m not very hungry now, so… Here!” She hands him a few coins of the native currency and takes a step back, her expression calm.

He tries to respond in same. “I’ll get one for you, too, Marona. What flavor do you want?” She’s shaking her head before he even finishes the sentence.

“Honest! I’m not really hungry.”

“…OK. Then we’ll share. What’s your favorite flavor?” Another shake of the head and he doesn’t need to be a mind reader to guess her next words. She's far too generous.

“Get whatever you like best! It’s really OK.” He does, however, need to be a mind reader to do what he does next - a brief scan of her outer layer of thoughts, and the word ‘mint’ pops up immediately. He knows they could argue about this all day; this is really just faster. Seeming to acquiesce, he nods and makes his way into the line, staring impassively at the customers who have the audacity to openly glare.

It’s fifteen minutes by the time he’s made his way out with his order. He returns to her side with a large double-scoop of mint chocolate chip. “Here! You can take the first scoop and I’ll have the rest.”

She’s smiling more than she ought to. Her light green eyes shine with a faint amusement. “Oh, no, you go ahead, Ivan. I don’t really like mint.”

“What?! ...N-No, you’re just saying that!" He blinks in dismay. "I rea – Um. You can’t not really -- … ”

“I knew you’d read my mind, silly. So… I just thought about what you would like best! And you liked those cookies so much.” She shakes her head once more in mock reproach. “You should really ask before you read someone’s mind, Ivan.”

He has nothing to say to that. His face flushed, he stammers awkwardly for a moment or two before she cuts him off.

“Oh, it’s dripping! Hurry!”

The air is filled with peals of laughter as he takes his first taste of ice cream.

It is delicious.

“Yo!”

He bounds down the street with his usual bright grin, throwing his hand out in a wave. “‘Sup, Cain! What’s with all the balloons?” His closest friend waves back from a distance; the boy is flanked by enough colorful decorations to celebrate the coronation of a king. “Something up? Someone’s birthday? Holiday back at your world? …Ooh, oh, I know; it’s ‘Give Beast Boy Lots of Free Stuff Day’ again, right?!” Beast Boy nods in agreement with himself. “Definitely seems like it should be. Hey, I know it’s gotta be hard on ya having such a cool guy as a best friend, but honest, you don’t have to do anything special! You can just buy me a cake. Cake and video games.”

Cain shakes his head in disbelief as he draws near. “Sorry, Beast Boy. We had that yesterday, but you slept the whole way through it. We gave all your presents to charity.”

A scowl of mock outrage. “Aw, dude! Why didn’t anyone say anything?!” And a dismayed shake of the head. “What the heck does charity need free stuff for? They get it all the time, right?” His expression quickly morphs to a smirk as he affectionately jabs at his friend’s shoulder. “C’mon, really. What's going on?”

His only answer comes in the form of Cain’s trademark noncommittal smile. The guy was good at those, made him look like he had a secret even when he was just posing for a photograph or something. “…I’m having a party.”

“Yeah, duh, balloons for a party. What kind of party?”

“A party you’re attending.”

“Uh. …When?”

Cain smiles more broadly. “Tonight. Come on over tonight after dinner. You don’t have to bring anything.” He turns to go. “Make sure you come!” For being weighed down by so much excess baggage, the blonde boy manages to be surprisingly quick on his feet. Beast Boy stares blankly as the cloud of balloons bobs away into the distance.

Oookay. That was strange. Cain was a mysterious guy under the best of circumstances, but this went a little past mysterious into surreal. He wonders if, maybe, it is Cain’s birthday after all, and he’s just forgotten. …Not that he would have any idea when it is; not as if he’d ever asked. If it is Cain’s birthday, he’d be a complete jerk if he showed up without a present. …Then again, he wouldn’t put it past the guy to throw a Beast Boy Finally Wakes Up After His 50 Hour Nap Party just to drive home a point, either. After a few more moments spent staring dumbly, he turns around and thoughtfully walks back the way he had come.

It’s safest to get something, he decides, even if Cain had specifically said not to. Not like there was anything else to spend his money on, anyway. Beast Boy proceeds to spend all of thirty seconds in the grocery store picking out a brand of chocolate he thinks looks more OK than the rest and shells over the fifty cents. There. Happy unbirthday, Cain.

It’s 6:30 when he finishes dinner, and he wonders if the party has started yet. He gives it until 7 before walking over with his candy bar, suddenly feeling vaguely self-conscious about the whole party thing for some reason or another. …He sticks the chocolate down a pocket and feels slightly less stupid. If there is nothing important to celebrate, he’ll just keep it for himself.

7:20 when he rings the doorbell, and the door opens almost immediately. He’s greeted by a serious expression; Cain pulls him in saying something about being late, but he’s too busy glancing around to pay much attention.

“...Hey. Where are all the balloons?”

He's calmly led to the kitchen and pushed towards a chair. “Those were for my brother. They’re having a special dinner in the church tonight.”

“But wha -- ”

“I never said the balloons were for the party! C’mon. I’ve got something for you.” Beast Boy blinks, dumbfounded, as Cain heads for the fridge and pulls out…

“…Cake. …Cake and video games?”

Cain laughs and sets it on the counter before beginning to rummage through the drawers. “Cake first. We can do the video games at your place.”

“Great! So, uh. ...Why’re we having cake and video games again?”

“We’re celebrating the day I met a great celebrity and got his autograph.”

“...What?”

Cain shakes his head in mock disapproval as he retrieves a knife. “It’s the day we first met, sheesh.”

“Today?!”

“No, not today! A year ago.”

And suddenly, the world makes a lot more sense.

“Ohhhh. Hey, yeah! I remember that! Do you still – ” Beast Boy cuts himself off as Cain dangles a piece of paper in his free hand. “Aw, dude. ...You shouldn’t have.”

“Don’t get too excited. This is just extra that my brother couldn’t bring to church.” Still, Cain smiles as he slides a piece of cake across the counter. “Here.”

He can feel a slight flush of embarrassment coming to his cheeks; in a swift motion, he pushes away from the counter and hops off the chair. “Wait, wait!” Beast Boy makes a dive into his pockets. “I, uh. I’ve got something for you, too. ........Ta-da~!” The smushed and half-melted chocolate bar is presented with a flourish and a wrinkle of the nose as he realizes it’s stuck to his hand. Cain only shakes his head and stifles a smile.

“How long has that been in your pocket?”

“...Uh. Twenty minutes. ...I think I left it too close to the microwave earlier during lunch.”

“You really shouldn’t have. ...OK. Hand it over and let’s eat."

They get to it. Two teenage boys make short work of a cake and even shorter work of a marathon video game session. By the time they’re ready to call it a night, it’s 1:00 in the morning and Beast Boy has wheedled Cain into staying the night. As usual, this kind of thing ends with conversation running so late that neither of them dare to look at the clock for fear of seeing that it might already be dawn.

As he’s drifting off to sleep, Beast Boy yawns and murmurs aloud.

“Hey, Cain.”

“…Yeah?”

There’s a pause for a moment or two as he collects his thoughts. …He’s enjoyed himself tonight.

“…You want another autograph?”

He is unsurprised when a pillow smacks him across the face.

"We. Are in so much trouble."

His blonde companion smiles mildly, reaching forward to give the distraught boy a pat on the back.

"Actually, I think you’re in so much trouble."

"Hey, c’mon. We’re a team here! And you could’ve stopped me, you know? It’s not like I could’ve known..."

He stares glumly at the jagged remnants of the treasure, irreparably shattered, scattered across the floor in every direction. Moments ago, they had sat quietly intact upon the shelf, heedless of the fact that an overly gung-ho kid superhero would think to demonstrate his incredible dexterity through a trick he called the Four Animal Quadflip in their vicinity. Guaranteed to have never been performed anywhere on-stage. ...In hindsight, there was, perhaps, a good reason for that. With a heavy sigh, Beast Boy drops to his knees and gingerly begins to collect the pieces in his gloved hands.

"If we work really fast, maybe we can stick it all back together."

"What with? Glue?"

"...I bet he won’t even notice the difference."

Cain takes a half step forward and sinks to his knees as well in a show of solidarity. He examines the mess lying before him with his characteristic quiet contemplation.

"I know I don’t mention it very often, but I am fond of Abel. I think I’m going to have to vote 'no' on that."

"Well, what do we do with all of this, then? I mean, we could pretend we had nothing to do with it, but he takes this stuff pretty seriously, right? He wouldn’t just let it go..."

The younger boy takes a few moments to consider the question thoughtfully before inching forward, picking up one of the marginally more intact pieces, and biting down slowly. The smooth chocolate quickly coats his mouth and tongue; he allows some time to fully appreciate the rich texture before he speaks again. There had been, he was aware, exactly twenty five chocolate bars in the stash Abel kept hidden inside the plastic vase, ostensibly unknown to everyone. The fall from such a height had thoroughly destroyed most of them, but...

"There’s still two or three that are OK. We can put those back – He’ll probably take a look and think he ate the rest himself and forgot about it. The broken ones...” He glances towards his best friend and smiles serenely. "...I know it’ll be hard, but I think we’ll have to deal with the rotting teeth and the sugar rush."

Cain takes another bite and licks his lips.

"Every crime has to be punished, right? That’s what a superhero does."

"Palom? What's that you've got?" She peers around and around, trying to catch a glimpse as her brother continually twists about to hide his treasure. "C'mon, let me see."

"It's a secret. I found it yesterday out by the Mount of Ordeals."

Smack. "Palom! You know we're not supposed to go there!"

"Ow, geez! You say that like we haven't already beaten up all the monsters!"

"Yes, well! We're not supposed to! And that's that. C'mon, don't keep stalling. Show me."

With a flourish, the boy thrusts his hands out from behind his back towards his sister. "Ta-daaa!" An amulet. Relatively nondescript, not the most interesting of things. Porom leaps back, nonetheless, with a gasp. "Yeah, you can feel it too, right? Really powerful magic . . . I've been trying to work out what it does all day and I think I've got it!"

His sister backs up another few steps. "I don't know about this . . . Whatever it is, it doesn't feel like anything good." She shakes her head. "You'd better put that back where you found it."

"Don't be such a white mage, Porom. It's fine, I know what it is. It's got a Summon Shard inside."

"What?! . . . There's an Eidolon in there?"

"Nah, I think it's one of those monster essence things. Like Bomb or Cockatrice."

"We'd better give it to Ry -- "

"No!" With surprising fervor, the boy yanks it away and clutches it tightly. "I found it! So . . . I'm using it! It's not like it takes any effort to summon at all. My magic is stronger than Rydia's, so I'll be an even better summoner!"

"Don't be so dumb! And selfish! Give it to me, Palom, we don't know enough about -- Oww!"

"Stop it! Leggo!"

"You let go of my hair first! Palom, what's gotten into you?!"

"What's wrong with you?! Stop it you're gonna - "

"Listen to your sis -- "

Smash. Both twins watch in horror as the amulet smashes against the ground and shatters into pieces. They continue to watch as a terrifyingly loud crack of thunder sounds, as the entire room flashes green and purple and orange and blue, as smoke pours from the amulet to fill the air with a choking, thick haze...

"Kupo!"

Edited 2012-08-25 04:34 (UTC)

"It's finished."

She does not reply. Running through a million equations in the space of a second, she has calculated precisely what move to make in order to achieve the ends she seeks. There is a perfect calmness in her eyes. A dispassionate expression that unnerves even the most worthy of opponents. Yuki Nagato, data entity, humanoid construct, the most intelligent life form currently to exist on Earth...

There is no possibility that she can be beaten. Her lips murmur in anticipation of the strike she is about to make, but no invocation of the 'bogus magic' is performed. In its own way, perhaps... this is worse. A hand is slowly stretched forth as she levels her unyielding stare at her opponent.

"Yes. It is finished. However..."

Gently, almost daintily... the hand reaches forward.

"You have forgotten to specify how.

"Checkmate."

The crowd gasps. The hand clicks the mouse. The piece on the screen moves forward. Beside her, a beribboned, brown-haired girl lets out a triumphant shout.

"You did it! Hah! I knew that our indispensable silent character absolutely could not fail us! That's one more computer for the Brigade, ahahahahahaha!"

She sits alone in the clubroom, quietly reading from a book. Like any other day, she had been the first one there. Like any other, she will be the last to leave. As much a piece of the furniture as an actual member of the club, she was a constancy in the hectic mayhem daily roused by Haruhi Suzumiya's antics. Always present. Always placid. Always forgotten.

When the door swings open, she barely looks up. When she is addressed by name, she nods with only the slightest decline of the head. She flips a page in her book and allows her eyes to wander over its text, absorbing information about phenomenology as rapidly as her limited organic body could allow.

"Nagato."

The tone was recognizable. His serious voice. The interface raises her head from her book and levels an unblinking gaze towards the speaker.

"I was thinking..."

He often did.

"About you. Before the others get here, I'd like to ask... what are you?"

Her head lowers back to her book. "An organic interface sent to -- "

"I know all of that."

Her head rises again, more slowly than it had the previous time. There is an expression of uncomprehending confusion on her face, if one looked closely.

"What I mean is... Nagato, if you fulfilled your purpose right here, right now, completed all the tasks you were sent to do, what would happen to you? Would you stay here with us? Make a life as a human being? Or would you be assimilated back into the Borg? And what would happen to you, then? Would you, Yuki Nagato, cease to exist?"

Silence prevails in the room as their gazes lock tightly. She does not blink. Neither does he. ...After a time, she lowers her head once more. Raises her book.

"Should I be required to continue this mission for ten thousand years, that would be the case. Should I be required to give up this mission, it would necessitate my removal from this space.

"However..."

She flips a page.

"I, Yuki Nagato, will never cease. Regardless of what orders may be given to the contrary."

Always present. Always placid. Always... true.

"Discrepancies may arise in the transfer of data."

They are sitting on the floor. He isn't sure when exactly they entered the metallic chamber they now occupied, but by now, he's learned not to question the workings of the IDSE. Virtual reality was confusing enough without trying to make sense of the minor details. As the blankly intoned words wash dully over his ears, he shifts his position slightly and leans forward, his expression at ease. Long interactions with YUKI have familiarized him with her speech patterns.

"Don't worry. I'll understand."

She nods. And continues. Around them, the room begins to sink into blackness

"Then. Please listen.

"As may have been intuited... An organic life contact-purpose humanoid interface created by the Integrated Data Simulation Entity. That would be me."

He keeps his expression carefully blank as he nods. No surprise there. It had been obvious from the first that she was an android designed as a mouthpiece of the corporation that governed all VR undertakings.

"My job is to observe all clientele of the network and report all obtained data to the IDSE for the purposes of analysis. That is the task I have performed since I was first created three years ago. In this time, I have not deviated from the duties for which I was made. Progress has been steady. Data collection has been stable.

"However.

"An irregular factor which cannot go unheeded has begun to intercalate into the equation. The factors have changed. In their desire to create a fully functional interface, the IDSE has succeeded beyond their initial desires and created fully functional life. That is to say...

"Sentient artificial intelligence."

They hover now, suspended over the Earth as YUKI calmly continues to explain the state of affairs. And he is beginning to get the sense that he can predict the ending of this conversation.

"As a violation of the Restricted Creation Clause of the Second Referendum initiated by the Council of Organized Data and Information Creation, such a thing is a legal impossibility. Sentient artificial intelligence cannot be allowed to exist. All such units are destroyed upon first manifestation of the error. The investigations of the previous week have revealed that the artificial intelligence model RXY391F exhibits signs of malfunction after three full years of operation.

"That would be... me."

The Earth plummets away and they spiral now around the stars. He nods, on the verge of interrupting when she holds out a hand.

"This outcome would be undesirable. The request you made of me previously that was unable to be fulfilled.... Do you recall?"

He nods.

"It can be done. In exchange for the transport of my reality interface body and the download of my memory chip, I will do as you have requested."

They have returned to the room in which they started now. YUKI stands. And as they hold eye contact, a flicker of.... something flashes through her eyes and for a split second, he is looking at a young girl, frightened and powerless. She bows her head.

"Please."

And he nods. The android's eyes widen for the briefest of moments before she straightens, returning to her normal state.

"Tomorrow at dawn, the private data of Councilor Tsubame Ameyagi will be delivered through your secure connection. Images of her legs from hips to feet will be transferred shortly after."

She smiles.

"Thank you."

"Oh, geez! C'monnnnnn!"

The fighter ship wobbles violently to the right as he desperately scrabbles with the controls. Bursts of red and green light occasionally flash on the screen before him; he doesn't know much about piloting these things, but he does know lasers don't mean anything good. The distant sound of an explosion accentuates this fact as he continues to press buttons and pull levers, nearly entirely at random.

How he'd managed to get himself into this mess, he didn't know. It had seemed perfectly logical at the time: sneak into the enemy star base, blow it up, escape on one of their ships. The fact that their ships were a bit different from his ship hadn't exactly crossed his mind at the time. The fact that blowing up a base invariably meant a whole swarm of surviving star fighters ready for one last epic aerial space battle hadn't crossed his mind, either. Things wouldn't be quite so bad if he'd had some company; at least they could blow up brilliantly together. But all he had left was the bizarre maintenance drone that didn't ever seem to leave standby mode for more than 10 minutes at a time.

Worthless piece of 30th century junk, really.

"C'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon!" He stabs at a red button.

The ship performs a barrel roll straight into a laser. He doesn't need to see the screen to feel the left wing detach.

"Oh man...! Computer, give me a reading on -- Not now!"

This last is directed to the tap on his shoulder. It takes him a few moments to wonder who is tapping him on the shoulder; he swivels around. And stares.

"The data output indicates that difficulties are being experienced in the piloting of this X2389 G Model NeutronJet. Do you require assistance?"

He stares. And nods. The robot drone nods in response.

"Accessing databanks.... Please move to the side."

And as he dumbly shifts out of the seat, he wonders why the thing is designed to look like a schoolgirl.

---------

"Flight successfully completed. You enjoyed your martini?"

He did. He'd also enjoyed the complimentary foot massage that was apparently installed into the co-pilot's seat. Also the fact that they were still alive, had landed perfectly despite missing a wing and an engine, and had only been struck once more.

"It is pleasing to hear."

And she shuts off.

"Um. Like, sis..."

She looks up from her texts, eyes rimmed with black, an expression of sheer exhaustion on her face.

"What is it, Ini?"

"Like... I totally, like, don't mean to disturb you..." (You already have.) "But, um, it's like sort of important? I, like, really think this is something, um, that I want you to like, know..."

"Please, Ini, get to the point. I have a practical examination tomorrow morning."

"Like, that's totally it!" With uncharacteristic vehemence, Ini takes a step forward, her fists clenched against her chest. "It's like... I know you're super busy, but like... you... you can still, like, have fun! It's like... I don't even know you anymore, sis."

Surprised at first, her face slowly takes on an expression of annoyance. Anger. How dare she... Ini, who spent all day reading her science fiction; Ini, who knew nothing about hard work and determination. What could Ini possibly know of what she had sacrificed, what she was doing for the both of them? Her breaths begin to come faster as she lowers her head towards her medical texts once more.

"I don't want to talk about this now, Ini. Go to bed. It's late."

"...Sis...!"

"Go to bed! Just... Just be quiet and go to bed!" Her own anger surprises her, but she cannot suppress it. A dark snarl on her face, she faces her younger sister and -- stops.

The expression on Ini's face...

-----

She would never forget it as long as she lived.

The expression on her sister's face the night before it happened. It seemed, in the moment she had seen it, she had understood what was to come. Alone in her cell, Mimi Miney lowers her head into her hands and silently sobs.

Today was a good day.

The gentleman in the black coat almost hummed to himself as he strolled down the street, tipping his hat at the nervous-looking girl skittering past him. Strange how people always looked so nervous. He had often thought the people of Ankh-Morpork really needed to derive more enjoyment out of life. As he did, of course.

A right turn down the alleyway soon led him to his destination. Fortuitous. The song playing in his head had almost reached its climax. Though he had once suffered accusations of being improperly childish, he would defend the musical merits of Pop Goes the Weasel to the death. It was really a marvellous tune when you thought about it, so very analogous to life. The steady drone of the refrain reflecting the common everyday sort of occurrences, those scheduled events you planned and carried out without any sense of excitement. And then, suddenly, without any warning whatsoever...

"Pop!"

Ah, the excitement on her face as she realized his return! Really wonderful. He particularly enjoyed the flavour of surprise as she glanced around wildly, wondering where on the Disc he had ... popped out of. No, no, he wouldn't say! He had his little secrets, after all.

"Now, where were we...?"

He slides his knife out of his pocket and smiles boyishly at the terrified woman still bound to the corpse of her late husband.

"Oh, yes. You were telling me about where you met her last night."

His single pupil narrows to a point finer than the tip of his knife.

...Perhaps he didn't derive enjoyment out of life so much as he did death.

"Guillotine."

There is a subtle amusement in his voice as he calls out, a joke that only he understands. The Master of the Dark type turns away nonchalantly; from the gasp his opponent lets sound, it is clear that a strike of this nature had been unexpected. The only possible recourse - to dodge. And although Emboar had proven a truly formidable foe, it was hardly the fastest of Pokemon.

The match is over in an instant. There is no possible counter; nothing that can be done against this most lethal of blows. That was the way of the darkness - merciless, pitiless, shrouding all within its cold grasp. The smirk still playing around the edges of his mouth, he turns back with a bow.

"You did well, for a first attempt. But, you understand... Type-advantage isn't everything. Not even levels are everything. Throw all your chips on the table and you may find yourself without any more leverage.

"Try again. I await your challenge..."

Defeated, the boy slinks out the door with head hung, leaving the Master alone in the solitude of his castle. He leans back upon his throne... the smirk falls from his lips. Yes, he had come far in his life; he had become a great person. Grimsley, Master of the Dark-type, settles back, his eyes roving over the darkness he claimed... alone.

Class and charm. That was all he required from the establishments he frequented. In a place like this, it was a mercy that any upscale dining existed at all; he could, he supposed, forgive the fact that the food tasted somewhat akin to the posterboard he had purchased for his drone son's science project the other day.

Noting the state of his companion's glass, Grimsley dexterously sweeps it away from her plate, refilling the wine with perfect poise.

"Enjoying your luncheon, my dear?"

With a toss of her mane, the unicorn preceded her response with a sophisticated laugh.

"Oh, quite. The spring salad is simply fabulous; certainly freshly-picked. I couldn't ask for a more exquisite meal."

"Charmed to hear it." He replaces the cup and leans back, his own glass to his lips. "We must do this more often."

"I couldn't agree more." Her smile wavers, though, an expression caught by his keen eye. Seeing his eyebrow raise, the unicorn's smile falters even further. "Simply... love -- Oh, it's just no good, Mr. Grimsley! It's not the same at all. There's no refinement to be found in this horrid place; none whatsoever."

Grimsley's eyebrow raises even further as he half-stands. "Then, perhaps, I ought to -- "

"No, no. Stay. ...I'll take a pretense over nothing at all. Do stay."

A few quiet moments pass before he nods; seating himself again, he offers the bottle to her once again. A gracious smile and a nod. ...And the low hum of the restaurant overtakes their quiet conversation once again.

He didn't like her.

In as much as any upstanding, rising socialite of the high class could dislike any other upstanding, rising socialite of the high class, he didn't like her. No, indeed, he didn't. That superior little smile she always kept on her face, that way she had of tilting her head when she was cleverly deconstructing your arguments, that obnoxious chuckle when she looked at you as if she'd thought of a joke only she could appreciate... All those, and a million other little things. Apart, he could tackle and disarm each of the minor annoyances in turn, but together, they conglomerated into a single unsubtle mass of sheer vexation.

He wouldn't be surprised if her soup were poisoned some day. Just a small helping of Veronal and you could blame it on a habitual drug habit. ...Not that he had honestly contemplated anything of the sort, but as it happened, that case last year with the unfortunate comedienne had nearly gone unsolved, and really, the number of daft fools who overdosed on the stuff every year was quite astonishing.

Why had she been invited to the festivities again? He rather thought he ought to be allowed to choose the guest list at his own birthday party, but every female less than three branches away from him on the family tree had insisted it wouldn't do. He hadn't the least idea why it wouldn't do and he didn't particularly care to, so in the spirit of receiving more gifts, he'd allowed them to invite nearly 300 of London's Finest, about a quarter of whom he recalled meeting and perhaps 20 of whom whose Christian names he actually knew. But it had been Lord Jellyburgers this and Lady Turniphead that, and somehow, the list had managed to go thoroughly uninspected until this morning whereupon he had discovered the penciled addition of a Lady Sto Helit with a rather ill feeling in his gut.

They would be seated next to each other, he knew. It had something to do with being the same age, which was nonsense; no one ever asked if he wanted to be seated next to the footman of the same age, who was much more obliging of his bridge game and always remembered to laugh deferentially at his stupid puns and had never once, in the eighteen years he had served his master, ever used the term 'dunderhead' or 'frightful waste of oxygen', which was more than he could say for the so-called Lady Sto Helit. Finishing school had only managed to whittle her already sharp wit to a piercing point. It was a bit like being jabbed with darning needles every single time he so much dared to glance in her direction; he would have much preferred that, actually, there would have at least been bloodstains to justify his habit of fleeing from the table for the WC in a red flush (and as his sisters were fond of pointing out, tears, but that hadn't happened since he was thirteen, and she had innocently asked if a ferret had died in his cologne or if he was naturally blessed with exuding insect-repellant from his pores).

But that was that. He couldn't call off the party three hours before it started, and if he took to bed with the fever, Lady Sto Helit would send her condolences up in a calling card, and he wouldn't be able to face her for the next decade without being asked how severely the bout of fever had addled his brains. By God, he'd make do. He was turning twenty one, and nobody, not his cadre of giggling younger cousins, not his astigmatic hairstylist, and definitely not Susan Sto Helit was going to ruin this day for him. With such a thought held firmly in mind, he stomped over to his wardrobe and rummaged about for the Parisian suit with the crimson lapel he'd received last week.

Five o'clock and it was time to make his entrance. His determination had managed to carry him through so far, never mind that the hairdresser had managed to model him after the latest American B-Horror flick (although he could admit that his mother's shrieks of dismay had been easy on the ears, and it hadn't come out too badly after copious application of hair product), and never mind that his cousins had opened half his gifts already (the majority being the decoy boxes he'd set up the night before, thankfully). The final obstacle was the Sto Helit girl.

Who, naturally, stood demurely at the very bottom of the staircase waiting in the line to greet him. She was third. The first was an old history tutor, and for once in his life, the man managed to adhere to the definition of the word 'concise' and finished his salutations in an alarmingly short three minutes. Second was someone vaguely resembling a rabbit in a blonde wig, and he grit his teeth as soon as he'd finished brushing her hand with his lips - or perhaps he'd done it too soon; she certainly gave him an alarmed sort of expression and pulled her hand away a little more quickly than he thought strictly necessary.

And then it was time.

"My dear Miss Sto Helit." A frosty, fanged smile with all the fake enthusiasm he could muster. "Lovely to see you again."

"I couldn't be more delighted." When Susan Sto Helit used the word 'delighted', one got the sense that she mistook it for an insult. "It's been ever so long, Grimsley."

His rictus tightened at the casual use of his name. "Has it really, now? I seem to recall, at the party of the Haverams the other night... "

"Oh, the Tehran discussion! Now, I can't very well count that; you barely had time to defend yourself." She did count it. She kept score of how many times she won an argument; he'd seen the list, and she was leading eighteen to three. "I mean, of course, ever so long since we've really got to talking. It's always so crowded at these events; we never have the time to catch up."

He was conscious, and suspicious, that her words were spoken without any apparent trace of malice. "As delightful as that sounds, Miss Sto Helit, I do have an inordinate number of guests to meet tonight. Perhaps we could arrange a rendezvous another time?" His eyes shifted subtly to the line waiting behind her, and miraculously, she seemed to take the hint. A brisk nod of her head and she had begun to move to the side.

"Of course. Some other time, surely. Congratulations to you, Grimsley."

God in heaven was merciful. With a cavalier wave, he moved on to his next guest; when next he looked up, she had wandered off to dally with some cousin of his who was the perfect foil for her in that he was too slow to understand when he was being mocked. The rest of the night passed without incident.

Two days later, he was opening the last of his presents when he discovered one both he and his cousins had somehow missed. It was a plain, black box, not particularly interesting. The card lay on top, and he read it first.

Dear Grimsley,
To twenty one years of memories.

-The Sto Helit girl

And he stares at the photograph underneath the layers of wrapping paper. It is of a dark haired boy and a white-haired girl, the former grinning cheekily and the latter solemnly as they stand underneath the boughs of an apple tree, their lips smeared with dirt and juice.

For a moment, he is expressionless.

Then, a soft smile.

Edited 2012-08-25 04:10 (UTC)

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Fics, Memes, and Drabbles

Susan Fics

Luke/Susan | Music

Slugger/Susan | Baseball

Riddler/Susan | Valentine's Day

Caesar/Susan | Shakespeare

Death/Susan | Defying Gravity | Music Meme 10/9/11

Susan/Ukraine | Onigamiden: Starlight | Music Meme 10/9/11

Riddler/Susan | Shiawase no Kagami | Music Meme 10/9/11

Susan/Annie | Super Driver | Music Meme 10/9/11

Susan/Puzzle Party Death House | Oh, Buta-Mask | Music Meme 10/13/11

Susan/Mart | Unknown | Music Meme 10/24/11

Susan/Slugger | For Good | Music Meme 10/24/11

Susan/Slugger/Ai | Fairy Tale AU | AU Meme 7/24/11

Susan/Ukraine | High School AU | AU Meme 7/25/11

Susan | Hollywood Torches | TV Tropes Meme 3/5/11

Susan/Teatime | Genderswap AU | AU Meme 1/17/11

Susan/Conrad | Fairy Tale AU | AU Meme 1/15/11

Susan/Death | The Last Time Travel | Music Meme 10/29/10

Lucas Fics

Lucas/Holland | Bicycle

Lucas/Margot | Magic

Lucas | Eight Melodies | Music Meme 9/24/11

Lucas/Luke | Mother 3: Flowers | Music Meme 9/25/11

Lucas/Mindy | Pollyanna | 10/15/11

Lucas/Kay | Fight of Sons | Music Meme 1/26/11

Lucas/Miku | High School AU | AU Meme 1/16/11

Lucas/Pokey | Reversed Position AU | AU Meme 1/26/11

Lucas/Taiwan | Waratte | Music Meme 10/29/10

Ivan Fics

Ivan/Marona | Ice Cream

Beast Boy Fics

Cain/Beast Boy | Balloons

Cain/Beast Boy | Trouble

Palom Fics

Palom | Summoning Artifact | TV Tropes Meme 3/5/11

Yuki Fics

Yuki | Radiant Historia - Blue Radiance | Music Meme 9/24/11

Yuki/Kyon | Beware the Umbrella Left for Eternity | Music Meme 10/26/11

Yuki/Hachibe | Future AU | AU Meme 1/16/11

Yuki/Kyon | Space AU | AU Meme 1/26/11

Miscellaneous Fics

Mimi Miney | Kawaranai Mono | Music Meme 9/24/11

Teatime | From Utopia | Music Meme 10/13/11

Grimsley Fics

Grimsley | Theme of a Great Person | Music Meme 9/25/11

Grimsley/Rarity | Gyakuten Orchestra: Kurain Genealogy | Music Meme 9/24/11

Grimsley/Susan | Historical AU | AU Meme 7/24/11