R-16: Twilight, Part 2! [post 1 of 2]
*is too lazy to do italics and bolding tonight*
Title: Twilight
Timeline: V
(By Shannon again)
Pairings: Reed/Aptsan,Rurniel/Marquis
SUMMARY: (Warning: Time Skip!) After the Alliance's final defeat of R-16, Rurniel and Co. have been running for their lives. The Alliance has finally caught up with them, and Rurniel's in critical condition. Reed takes matters into his own hands and calls in his final debt, an old acquaintance named Quinn Helldirge-Johnson...
II
---
It’s a mild enough day on Hemos to Marquis Noenus. Yes, Lsttabla remained noisy and crowded and on-task to a fault, but he didn’t even notice it anymore. Born and raised inside the massive walled city, he’d managed to test into GHS-14 C (Government High School, Intelligence level 14 of 14, class C with everyone else his age) and wasn’t about to waste this sort of opportunity.
He climbed onto the Green Station at 7:05 AM exactly, just like every other school day. Dressed in the uniform of black slacks and the high-collared black jacket he only bothered to button all the way during the foggy season, his small circular reading glasses slipping down his nose, dark blue eyes scanned the station. No hovertrain, no schoolmates, and no idiots thinking to target him for his glasses.
He pulled a book out of his satchel and set to reading about the recent developments in fully artificial humans, or “armans” as the astoundingly brilliant press had dubbed them. It wasn’t anything terribly difficult – just statistics and theories, really – but it helped pass the time to when the Green-Line Hovertrain would decide to show up this morning.
“I’d always pegged you for the history type,” an amused, cheerfully friendly voice said from behind his shoulder.
“And I’d been under the impression you didn’t like stealth work,” Marquis stated, turning the page and ignoring the blatantly chipper morning person behind him. “You can forgive me by staying silent for however long it takes me to get coffee.”
“Good morning to you too,” he laughed good-naturedly, and one of Marquis’ hands quickly had a gloriously warm mug in its grasp.
“Alon, you are forgiven for the rest of the day,” Marquis sighed thankfully, gulping down the searing-hot caffeine like it was oxygen.
Alon Tehibak smiled dotingly. “Why thank you, Noenus. Imagine, I might go a whole nine hours without getting thwapped with a book.”
THAT earned him a look…and Marquis blinked. “You changed your hair.”
Alon grinned, running a hand through his naturally mint-green hair (A Tehibak family trait, apparently), violet eyes glinting. It was now a well-manicured jaw-length, as opposed to the old cloth-wrapped bun he’d had. “You like it?”
Marquis shrugged, eyes going back to the book. “Can’t really say yet. Looks to new and weird to me right now.”
He laughed – an annoyingly melodic sound, almost like he was practicing his scales as fast as he could. “Where would I be without your tactless honesty?”
“GHS10 C,” Marquis stated, and it was probably true- they’d been taking the same hovertrain to school together since elementary school. Marquis was usually deemed the “brains” of their little outfit, and Alon “everything else”. While Alon usually got insulted and defensive on his friend’s behalf, Marquis couldn’t care less. It was true, after all. He was well aware he had the social skills of a cardboard box.
The gentle binging on the platform cut off his thoughts, and, like the good law-abiding citizens everyone was, the bystanders quickly moved away from the edge of the platform.
“Now-passing-through-Black-Line-Number-1
Alon frowned, eyes catching Marquis’. “What’s a military hovertrain doing on a residential Green line?”
As the hovertrain stabilized, Marquis shut his book, adjusting his reading glasses. “We’re about to find out.”
The doors hissed open, and out stepped a mesmerizing enigma wearing their school uniform.
He had disheveled, violently-purple hair that seemed to hang down wherever it wanted so long as it wasn’t too close to his eyes. And his eyes…well, his left eye was almost silver, while his right was like staring into a prism. Metal glinted below his left eye, and on the right side of his jaw was a rather thick bandage, and his face was caught in a bitter silence as he strode onto the platform like a looming thundercloud, heading straight for Marquis and Alon.
“Shit,” Marquis whispered, and Alon nodded as the Wired boy came to a bland, no-nonsense stop in front of them.
“I’m following you to school,” he stated. Actually, it was more of a command, but for some reason it sounded perfectly logical and there was just something strangely compelling about the creature that Marquis found himself nodding. “Good.”
And with that, the kid walked past them, gloved hands pulling headphones out of his pocket, and turned on some cacophonous music as he leaned against a pillar, eyes scanning the station before shutting, only to reopen half a minute later.
“Well he’s certainly a bowl of sunshine, isn’t he?” Alon grinned at Marquis.
Marquis found himself smiling. “He’s SOMETHING, at least.”
---
“We cannot afford any more of your failures,” the static-filled screen hissed, voice popping and jumbling with the ship’s warp path. “Contrary to popular belief, he is exceedingly dangerous, with or without his Commanders.”
“I know,” the Special Unit nodded. “I’ve memorized his specs.”
“It’s MORE than just his physical attributes, kid,” the screen roared. “He’s smart. He’s Wired. And worst of all he can be CHARISMATIC. Not even I can claim that.”
“Not a surprise,” the Special Unit stated, receiving a jumbled glare from the other side. “What I mean to say, SIR, is that the subject was created to be the perfect High Admiral of the Alliance. It’s to be expected he would hold these traits.” The SU smiled thinly. “And I expected no less of someone who’s managed to avoid being photographed for five years.”
“Yes, very observant,” the screen grumbled. “If you fail again, your career is over before you can even try to go Cross on us.”
“I could only dream of such a fate,” the Special Unit grinned.
“…indeed,” the screen stated, and with a final pop went black.
---
Warp path 2.43.9766 - HEMOS
The planet of Hemos, officially a wildlife preserve planet, is a militaristic oligarchy ruled over by immortal creatures referred to as “Vampires” and those they have chosen to follow through the bloody path of their kind. The rest of the population (approximately 92%) is made up of humans and humanoids, most having relocated to Hemos for either sanctuary from the Alliance or the booming economy and the possibilities it presents.
However, due to the official status as “wildlife preserve”, Hemos was allotted a very minimal amount of land to develop. Due to this, there are only four megalopolis cities on the planet, and the rest is practically untouched (aside from ranching and farming, which were dubbed “environmentally-friendly occupations” by the weak and corrupt Alliance government under Orus, second politician to ever hold the title of “High Leader”).
The most advanced city is that of Lsttabla, predominately due to the fact it is not only the largest militarily (and therefore also political) concentrated area, but also home to the official immigration center and the infamous GHS-14 complex, home to the best and brightest of the planet’s youths.
The GHS (Government High School) system is officially run on a 10-base intelligence test. Those of highest average intelligence attend GHS-10 schools, and those with the lowest scoring of intelligence attend GHS-1, which is predominately physical training for potential military campaigns. For those who score off the GHS Assessment Exam, there is another test, known as the Special Intelligence Exam. Those who score in the top ten percentile are given permission to attend GHS-14, the highest level of school possible, while those ranking below are assigned in schools 13-11 according to score and skills.
There is one fully funded scholarship given out to GHS-14-qualified students every quarter. Competition is fierce, and sometimes even violent.
Special circumstances may bring about a mid-year scholarship or two scholarships allotted instead of one, but this is a very, very rare occurrence.
---
“So you’re the new student?” Alon asked politely as they sat on the hovertrain, smiling as nice and pleasant as possible.
“Yep,” the purple-haired guy said, eyes fixed on the blurring scenery, one of his headphones still attached to his ear, the other unplugged so as to (presumably) hear announcements and listen to Alon and Marquis’ instructions for how to get to GHS-14.
“You must be very special to get a mid-year scholarship,” Alon prompted again.
The new student smirked almost bitterly. “Well someone thinks so, I guess.”
And there was Alon’s “HEEELP MEEE” look, with the big violet puppy eyes and the put-upon pout. Marquis could have just kept on reading (or pretending to, at least), but Alon knew he loved a good puzzle and they didn’t come much better than the new kid. So, he sent a stern “your debt has increased” look to Alon and shut his book, stuffing it into his bag.
“How long have you been Wired?” Marquis asked. Alon looked like he’d just about die from being stomped on by the gigantic white elephant in the train.
Finally, FINALLY, the kid looked at him, and it was not what he’d expected. Instead of looking guilty or angry or something, the new student was smirking.
“How long you been suicidal?”
“It depends on the weather, according to most studies,” Marquis stated, and pulled his book back out, mission already mostly accomplished. “The guy with tact sitting next to you is Alon Tehibak. He wants to be your friend.”
“Hello Alon Tehibak,” the kid said, putting a black-gloved hand out for Alon, who just stared at it. Shrugging, the kid waved with the hand and propped his chin on it again. “You can call me Rurn…Rurn FRISCO.” Rurn looked like he’d gag on his last name.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rurn,” Alon smiled at him. “What brought you to GHS-14?”
“My guardians,” Rurn frowned. “They decided I needed to go to school.”
“…you mean this is your first day at school?” Alon gaped.
“Didn’t I just say that?” Rurn asked.
“We have some Wired in school already, so you won’t get hazed too bad,” Marquis stated over his book, even though he was on his seventeenth reading of the same sentence.
“Good. Fewer bodies to clean up,” Rurn smirked at him.
“Murder is punishable by four months of detention in a row,” Marquis called, the hint of a smile teasing at his lips. “Usually with the janitors.”
“You know this from personal experience, kid, or just memorized Rules and Regulations Section XII in your spare time?” Rurn asked, almost coyly.
“How’d you get naturally purple hair and silver eyes?”
An eyebrow rose. “Do I need to point to the naturally mint green-haired guy hyperventilating next to me?”
Marquis blinked, and looked over at Alon. Sure enough, he was practically seizing at Marquis in his usual “SHUT UP AND TRY TO BE POLITE” motions. Since having his friend die of indignation seemed like a bad idea, Marquis shrugged and turned back to his book, hearing Alon’s progression back into normalcy as his breathing slowed down and his stuttering cut off, finally becoming deep breathing as Alon calmed down.
“Hey, kid,” Rurn’s voice cut across the hovertrain.
“Yes?” he answered, not even looking up.
“What’s your name.”
This time Marquis did look up, blue eyes cold over his reading glasses. The corners of his mouth turned upwards.
“What’s yours?”
The train slowed to a stop, and with a whisper the doors slid open.
---
The school’s front entrance was an impressive sight, to say the least.
Shaped in a U around an immense tree that towered over the four-story building, GHS-14 was a light beige color as most of the buildings on Hemos, blue-black windows glinting in the morning light between panes of stained glass. The tree stood in a courtyard of sculpture and cobblestone, benches and trashcans arranged between the stonework and smaller plant beds.
Many students sat in the courtyard, doing everything from catching a few extra minutes of sleep to trying to climb the huge tree, friends beneath them so they fell into a safe, giggling mound of human bodies. The din of laughter and conversation warbled through the sky right along with the five-minute bell.
Marquis kept walking towards the building, only to stop when he realized Alon was missing. Frowning, he turned around to see what the hold-up was, only to blink.
Rurn was staring at the entrance like it was a three-headed squirrel, hands clenched into fists, a firm frown on his lips.
“You can’t fight it until you go inside, you know,” Marquis said as the students filed away into their respective classrooms, grouping into gender and age as they called and waved to others. He paused. “Then again, you could just run home.”
THAT earned him a glare- just from a different person than he’d been expecting. Alon was giving him that ‘do you learn NOTHING in those books?!’ look, standing at a politely close distance to Rurn in what would probably be taken as reassuring.
Rurn, on the other hand, smirked at him. “You really should get that brain of yours looked at. Suicide never solves anything.”
“Neither does tact,” Marquis stated.
“Hah,” Rurn said, and with a small, bitter smile sent a head tilt to Alon along with a barely audible “see you” that sent Alon beaming and off the happy charts altogether.
Well, that’s great, Marquis thought. Alon has a new crush.
“The office is straight to the right after you get inside,” Marquis said, since Alon was clearly too busy swooning to do his job of being helpful and friendly. “You can’t miss it.”
“You’d be amazed at what you can miss,” Rurn said almost absently, and walked toward the entrance, only to pause right next to Marquis. Head tilted at an angle that sent his purple hair trailing over his skin, he looked straight into his eyes. “Tell me your name.”
“This again?” Marquis’ lips twitched upwards against his will. “You first.”
“You’ve heard it already,” Rurn smiled devilishly. “It’s only fair, wouldn’t you say?”
“The world is rarely fair,” Marquis said, turning to go fetch Alon from whatever fuzzy happy-land he was in now. “And even less often is it honest.”
“…bye, then,” Rurn said behind him, seconds before the bell rang again.
Marquis sighed, tugging Alon into movement. “Goodbye,” he replied, only to see that the courtyard was abandoned.
It was strange. He was almost disappointed.
“Come on, lover boy,” Marquis sighed, and dragged his best friend inside GHS-14.
---
2.43.9766 - Dock request : 5422.641.78 confirm y/n
On the deck of The Loyalty, the young man known only as J frowned at his view screen.
“Lieutenant, bring it up on screen,” he said, and immediately the screen in front of him crackled into a clear picture of stars and a single bright-red ship.
“Great,” J sighed, trying to not roll his eyes at the situation as he opened a channel to the ship. “5422.641, please explain your urgent dock request when you’re not even scuffed.”
“It’s not for me, actually,” a wry male voice came across the line. “I’m not in trouble, but I have an urgent classified message for someone on your planet.”
“We aren’t affiliated with the Alliance, as I’m sure you know,” J said dryly.
“Heh,” the voice laughed out. “That makes two of us, doesn’t it?” A sigh warbled over the channel. “Listen, I swear I’ll be in and out before you can even need the docking space, okay? It’s one measly message and I’m gone.”
J frowned. “Addressed to who, if I may ask?”
“You may not,” the voice chuckled, obviously not peeved.
“Hmm,” J hummed to himself, looking back at the message still sitting in the corner of his screen.
“If you make me regret this, you’ll be very, very dead,” J stated, typing a Y into the console.
“Thank you,” the voice called, as if J hadn’t just threatened to kill him, and the little red ship coded as 5422.641 started its fiery descent into the Lsttabla Spaceport.
“Well, that was interesting,” an amused voice like dark velvet called from the bridge hallway. J didn’t even turn towards the man.
“It’s usually much quieter around he-”
J’s words cut off as he stared at his viewscreen’s newest message.
2.43.9766 - Dock request : 5422.641.43 confirm y/n
“…Curious, wouldn’t you say, J?” Damian Helldirge called as he walked over to stand at J’s shoulder, face caught in that infernal smile. “Less than two seconds later, the same exact ship wants in to the same exact spot.”
“But with a different request,” J murmured to himself. “This is-”
“Emergency channel request, sir,” the lieutenant called out, and J snapped the button with a speed humans only dreamed of.
“Explain yourself,” J stated, cool and composed to a fault.
“Hemos, you are in DANGER,” a frantic voice called out from the other side of the channel, and with another flick of a button the image of a ship popped up.
The exact same ship.
Bright red and not even scuffed from a re-entry, the small ship was flawlessly identical to the other 5422.641 they had let pass through.
“From what, if you would be so kind as to explain?”
“I am in pursuit of a wanted criminal. He is armed and dangerous and RUTHLESS, and he is on your planet,” the voice said. “It is my duty to hunt him down and execute justice accordingly.”
J raised an eyebrow. “And you are the only one qualified to do this?”
“YES.” The vehemence of the answer burned down the line.
For a minute, J was eerily silent, the gears in his mind clearly working overtime. Finally, his hand went back to his console.
With a sigh, he typed in Y.
The second 5422.641 blasted off again, tearing into the Hemos atmosphere.
“Damian,” J stated, eyes not leaving the screen as they watched the second ship make its way down to Lsttabla.
“Yes, sir,” Damian said simply, every part of him tensed in preparation.
“Get your Johnson boys and tell them it’s time to saddle up,” he commanded. “Possibly even the other Djarvik.” He glared at the fading image. “There is something very, very wrong going on here, and I want it righted as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir!” Damian saluted, and with a swift little bow was off the bridge before most of the humans even noticed.
---
Per usual, Marquis Noenus walked into the classroom belonging to GHS-14 class C looking bored and distant.
Also per usual, he caught the balled-up piece of paper flung expertly at his hand with his hand, not even looking at the thing as he tossed it into the corner trashcan.
Everything was the same- the all-male class milling about as they waited for the teacher to enter the room, their rigorous chatter tearing up the interior side of the room as two figures sat next to a window. The two figures, a taller blond boy with his hair in a loose ponytail and a near-demonic smirk and a shorter boy with shorter red hair that was practically sitting on the blond, had their eyes latched on Marquis and Alon. Just like usual, the blond was making a point of leering at them.
The most unusual thing about the scene was that class was starting in three minutes and the teacher wasn’t there. Well, that and that Alon was still walking in his own hazy love struck world, forcing Marquis to drag him back to his seat.
“Heeey, Fluffy!” the blond called as Marquis plunked his best friend down in the seat he’d been assigned at the beginning of the semester.
“I’d thought we had been over my name before,” Marquis said, shaking Alon a bit so he noticed they were in the classroom. “It’s not Fluffy, and I don’t even see how you got that out of Marquis.”
“Your hair, of course!” Byron said, as if it was common sense. “It gets all fluffy and wavy, and that one little…THING just makes it all that more fluffy-looking!”
“…that thing.” Marquis gave him a blank stare.
“The longer bit with the bead in it,” Roxra said from Byron’s lap, pointing helpfully as if Marquis didn’t know what his own hair looked like. “What would you call it?”
Marquis just blinked at them, unamused, and sat down in his seat.
“He’s so rude sometimes, isn’t he?” Byron sighed, wrapping an arm around Roxra’s waist.
“HURTFUL,” Roxra agreed, pouting as he leaned into his boyfriend. “Next thing you know he’ll say he doesn’t think we’re pretty.”
“I don’t,” Marquis said blandly, tugging his book back out of his satchel.
The two were quiet for a bit, clearly expecting Alon’s usual polite tirade against his best friend’s utter lack of social skills. When it didn’t come, they stared at the boy with pastel green hair’s back.
“What’s wrong with Alon?” Roxra asked.
“What’d he do to his hair?” Byron asked. “It got shorter!”
Roxra tilted his head to the side, and smiled. “Huh. Would you look at that!” His head tilted back to Byron. “You’re so observant.”
“I try-”
“He cut his hair,” Marquis interrupted, trying to cut off the sap before it could get started. “And he…met someone.”
Marquis could almost hear their jaws drop.
“No way! I thought he was still head-over-heels for Torbin in class D!”
“No no no, it was Felicia in E, wasn’t it?”
“That was the time before. But he was SERIOUS about Torbin-”
“But look at the state of him! This is like Marquis-grade swooning!”
Marquis winced at the painful reminder of the three months Alon had a crush on him last year. It had been downright painful to see his best friend replaced by a blushing, stammering idiot. Although he still felt a bit guilty about it, sticking Felicia in front of him had saved them both plenty of trouble in the long run.
“No, with Fluffy he wouldn’t daydream, he just turned into a twittering sap. This may, in fact, be WORSE than Fluffy-grade swooning.” Byron paused for dramatic effect. “This is level oh-fuck swooning.”
“You have too much time on your hands if you can come up with things like that,” Marquis stated, propping his chin on a fist as he read.
“Or maybe you have, uh, too LITTLE,” Roxra attempted, and got a peck on the neck for his attempt.
“So who’s the lucky crush, then?” Byron asked, resting his head on Roxra’s shoulder casually.
And then, as if fate had finally turned towards Marquis’ favor, the door opened again, letting in their teacher, a brown-haired, tired looking man in a blue suit, and another student. One with bright purple hair and a scowl that could easily smite any random passerby.
Marquis found himself smiling just a bit as his finger pointed straight at the newcomer like a compass to its origin. “Him.”
“…holy shit,” Byron breathed out. “I can see why.”
“Alon always does have good taste,” Roxra muttered, and Marquis could practically hear the blush starting on his cheeks.
“Oh wow,” Alon whispered, finally conscious enough to note that the object of his affections was in the same room.
“Oh, fun,” Marquis sighed almost silently.
As if the world was on his shoulders, their teacher shuffled to the front of the room, messing with his shirt’s collar as he stood in front of the board. “Class, settle down please,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. When the din barely lost any of its volume, he cleared his throat. “CLASS! Settle down and SHUT UP.”
Almost grudgingly, the room complied.
“Thank you,” their teacher, Mittern, breathed out. “Now, I’d like to introduce our newest student and the winner of the mid-year scholarship, Rurn Frisco.” A hand was set on Rurn’s shoulder. Said hand was quickly off said shoulder when Rurn glared a rather unsightly demise towards Mittern. “Ah, yes. Would you care to introduce yourself to the class?”
Rurn just looked at the man. “It’s required, isn’t it.”
“Ah, yes, it is,” Mittern laughed softly.
For a moment, Rurn was completely still, looking about as comfortable as a cat in a dog kennel. And then, something CHANGED. His face straightened, his feet firmly planted themselves, and it felt like his eyes were staring straight into every person in the room’s, all at the same time.
“You can call me Rurn Frisco,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You…haven’t heard of me, but we’re all here for the same purpose, with the same goal in mind. And that goal would be, uh, learning, to the best of…our…abilities…” He paused, and somehow it almost looked like the purple-haired kid shrunk in on himself. “Shit. I’m just gonna sit down, okay?”
“Ah…certainly, Mr. Frisco,” Mittern said, looking a bit confused and clearly trying to get a handle on the situation. “If you’d sit next to Mr. Tehibak? He’s the chap with mint green hair staring into space.”
Instead of complying, Rurn smirked straight at Marquis. “And who am I sitting behind.”
“Mr. Noenus, you mean?” Mittern blinked.
“Thank you, Mr. Mittern,” Rurn said, clearly pleased with himself.
“Of course!” Mittern said, looking rather proud from the small appreciation.
Marquis was making a point of ignoring the purple-haired newcomer, so nobody was particularly surprised when said newcomer apparently decided to make a point of annoying the shit out of him.
“So. Noenus.” Rurn paused, a frown coming to his lips. “Doesn’t seem to fit you, really.”
“Well then, we have something in common,” Marquis indulged himself, eyes still carefully fixed to his book.
“You’re being horrid to the nice young man, Fluffy,” Byron called out, pouting. Not that either of them were really paying attention to his face, of course, but just in case they turned around, he was prepared. You could never be too careful when trying to get into someone’s pants. “Aren’t you supposed to be polite and cordial to new students?”
“Are you.” Marquis didn’t even bother to try and sound polite.
“…Fluffy, on the other hand, matches pretty damn well,” Rurn smirked.
Marquis smiled dryly. “Well. Then at least one of us has something they like about the other.”
---
Two pairs of boots clunked against the heavy concrete of the landing pad, the jingle of metal and chains following their footsteps like a loyal dog as they approached the dock in question. The dimming sunlight cast a slash of black against the white flooring, sculpting two faces in sharp shadows that sent a fierceness missing from their bland, almost bored expressions.
One wore dark red leather pants and a tight black shirt, three belts crisscrossing his waist like tilted halos that had collapsed onto his hips. An ancient black trench coat fell over it, the fabric faded and torn and ratty, even shot through at some points. In place of his fallen halos sat a contrastingly well-kempt brown cowboy hat accented with a nonchalant smirk and two pistols held in his hands like they were born there.
The other wore pressed brown slacks and a humble pair of suspenders that looked like parallel burns in his simple sky-blue shirt. The shirt, however, was untucked and mussed, a couple buttons in the wrong holes when they were and the fabric bunched in the shoulders from where he had clearly shoved himself into a thigh-length brown coat the color of dusty chocolate. A set of small sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose, looking more a formality of red-tinted glass than actually useful, and an ancient but well-oiled pump-action rifle hung from his right hand expertly, and a secretive yet bland smile sat on his lips from what was probably habit.
The first had darker blond hair, bright sunshine to the other’s butter yellow, and lighter blue eyes, Arctic Ocean to Caribbean, and a bit of a sharper face, and about half an inch more in height, but those were the only truly obvious differences in them physically.
They had the same pair of old, broken-in brown boots on.
They had the same gait as they strode across the concrete.
They wore matching silver rings on their left ring fingers.
And neither of them looked particularly friendly at the moment.
Their quarry, a small red spacecraft clearly suited to peace and swift circuits around the galaxy, stood plainly in the center of the platform, clearly nonplussed about the whole affair. Bursts of steam gushed out of the firm hydraulic docking clamps, hissing into the dimming sky.
A curtain of steam billowed out of the front, and with a whirring noise the entrance was lowered slowly yet efficiently down to the paddock.
“Hey there,” a friendly, downright chipper voice called from inside as the two blondes continued on their collision course with the ship. “What can I do for you?”
Out stepped a man who couldn’t be more than twenty-two, grinning rakishly in the gray and red uniform of the official Alliance Delivery Corps, dusty-looking cap and all, an official diamond-studded silver case held naturally in his left grip, the other raised politely to the two men that had stopped rather quickly in their approach. His grin slowly drooped down to a confused frown as he took in their firearms. “…There a problem here, gentlemen?”
“…uh,” said the second blond, blinking a bit flabbergasted at the young man.
“He sure doesn’t look like a threat,” the first said, glaring at the intruder as he holstered one of his guns. “Looks like a fucking POSTMAN.”
“He does indeed,” the second sighed, smiling slightly before shouldering his rifle and striding back up to the young man who was clearly very, very confused. “Hello there, young man. I’m Quinn, and this is my brother Lucas.” He held out a hand, which the other shook, relieved.
“Simon. Simon Gin, officer in the ADC, lovely to meet you, Mr. Quinn, Mr. Lucas,” the man rambled on, looking like he’d had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders as he withdrew his hand. “Had trouble in these parts, I assume from the reception?”
“You just came at a strange time, I think,” Quinn reassured, smiling benignly. “It’s rare for Hemos to be visited by the ADC, what with being mostly a wildlife preserve.”
Simon’s laugh was almost self-effacing. “I just go where I’m told, really.” He held up the case in his hand. “Do you need some paperwork or something, or should I just go ahead and deliver this?”
“Who’s it going to?” Lucas asked simply.
And Simon looked like he’d explode if he didn’t let himself fidget. “…I would say, but, uh, I’d probably get fired. And killed. And I really don’t like either of those, ahahaha.” He shrugged at then, helpless and bitter about it. “It’s in my contract, you know?”
Quinn smiled politely. “Of course. As any true ADC officer would know.”
Simon practically lost twenty pounds from the realization he’d proven his innocence. “Oh, thank god. When I saw you two walking over here I thought you’d massacre me.”
“It’d be murder,” Lucas said simply, already looking bored and appearing far more interested in leering at the mismatched buttons on Quinn’s shirt. “Massacre implies a larger population.”
“…uh,” Simon said.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Gin,” Quinn said kindly, grabbing a fistful of Lucas’ ratty old coat in a firm grip. “You have, oh, twelve hours to deliver your package without escort. After that your ship is commandeered, and you’re under constant surveillance, understood?”
“Yes sir,” Simon said a bit hectically, hand twitching towards what would obviously have resulted in a salute. “I’ll probably be gone in just a few hours anyway, though, so no worries.”
“I should hope so,” Quinn said, tugging Lucas back a step. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Gin.” And with that the two were striding back across the concrete landing pad, their hands twisting from a firm grab to locked fingers.
“Thank YOU,” the young man smirked, tucking a stray lock of green hair back under his cap before jumping back down and heading in the opposite direction, towards Lsttabla proper, and hopefully the only person they saw slinking across the dock.
---
Part 2 of 2
Title: Twilight
Timeline: V
(By Shannon again)
Pairings: Reed/Aptsan,
SUMMARY: (Warning: Time Skip!) After the Alliance's final defeat of R-16, Rurniel and Co. have been running for their lives. The Alliance has finally caught up with them, and Rurniel's in critical condition. Reed takes matters into his own hands and calls in his final debt, an old acquaintance named Quinn Helldirge-Johnson...
II
---
It’s a mild enough day on Hemos to Marquis Noenus. Yes, Lsttabla remained noisy and crowded and on-task to a fault, but he didn’t even notice it anymore. Born and raised inside the massive walled city, he’d managed to test into GHS-14 C (Government High School, Intelligence level 14 of 14, class C with everyone else his age) and wasn’t about to waste this sort of opportunity.
He climbed onto the Green Station at 7:05 AM exactly, just like every other school day. Dressed in the uniform of black slacks and the high-collared black jacket he only bothered to button all the way during the foggy season, his small circular reading glasses slipping down his nose, dark blue eyes scanned the station. No hovertrain, no schoolmates, and no idiots thinking to target him for his glasses.
He pulled a book out of his satchel and set to reading about the recent developments in fully artificial humans, or “armans” as the astoundingly brilliant press had dubbed them. It wasn’t anything terribly difficult – just statistics and theories, really – but it helped pass the time to when the Green-Line Hovertrain would decide to show up this morning.
“I’d always pegged you for the history type,” an amused, cheerfully friendly voice said from behind his shoulder.
“And I’d been under the impression you didn’t like stealth work,” Marquis stated, turning the page and ignoring the blatantly chipper morning person behind him. “You can forgive me by staying silent for however long it takes me to get coffee.”
“Good morning to you too,” he laughed good-naturedly, and one of Marquis’ hands quickly had a gloriously warm mug in its grasp.
“Alon, you are forgiven for the rest of the day,” Marquis sighed thankfully, gulping down the searing-hot caffeine like it was oxygen.
Alon Tehibak smiled dotingly. “Why thank you, Noenus. Imagine, I might go a whole nine hours without getting thwapped with a book.”
THAT earned him a look…and Marquis blinked. “You changed your hair.”
Alon grinned, running a hand through his naturally mint-green hair (A Tehibak family trait, apparently), violet eyes glinting. It was now a well-manicured jaw-length, as opposed to the old cloth-wrapped bun he’d had. “You like it?”
Marquis shrugged, eyes going back to the book. “Can’t really say yet. Looks to new and weird to me right now.”
He laughed – an annoyingly melodic sound, almost like he was practicing his scales as fast as he could. “Where would I be without your tactless honesty?”
“GHS10 C,” Marquis stated, and it was probably true- they’d been taking the same hovertrain to school together since elementary school. Marquis was usually deemed the “brains” of their little outfit, and Alon “everything else”. While Alon usually got insulted and defensive on his friend’s behalf, Marquis couldn’t care less. It was true, after all. He was well aware he had the social skills of a cardboard box.
The gentle binging on the platform cut off his thoughts, and, like the good law-abiding citizens everyone was, the bystanders quickly moved away from the edge of the platform.
“Now-passing-through-Black-Line-Number-1
Alon frowned, eyes catching Marquis’. “What’s a military hovertrain doing on a residential Green line?”
As the hovertrain stabilized, Marquis shut his book, adjusting his reading glasses. “We’re about to find out.”
The doors hissed open, and out stepped a mesmerizing enigma wearing their school uniform.
He had disheveled, violently-purple hair that seemed to hang down wherever it wanted so long as it wasn’t too close to his eyes. And his eyes…well, his left eye was almost silver, while his right was like staring into a prism. Metal glinted below his left eye, and on the right side of his jaw was a rather thick bandage, and his face was caught in a bitter silence as he strode onto the platform like a looming thundercloud, heading straight for Marquis and Alon.
“Shit,” Marquis whispered, and Alon nodded as the Wired boy came to a bland, no-nonsense stop in front of them.
“I’m following you to school,” he stated. Actually, it was more of a command, but for some reason it sounded perfectly logical and there was just something strangely compelling about the creature that Marquis found himself nodding. “Good.”
And with that, the kid walked past them, gloved hands pulling headphones out of his pocket, and turned on some cacophonous music as he leaned against a pillar, eyes scanning the station before shutting, only to reopen half a minute later.
“Well he’s certainly a bowl of sunshine, isn’t he?” Alon grinned at Marquis.
Marquis found himself smiling. “He’s SOMETHING, at least.”
---
“We cannot afford any more of your failures,” the static-filled screen hissed, voice popping and jumbling with the ship’s warp path. “Contrary to popular belief, he is exceedingly dangerous, with or without his Commanders.”
“I know,” the Special Unit nodded. “I’ve memorized his specs.”
“It’s MORE than just his physical attributes, kid,” the screen roared. “He’s smart. He’s Wired. And worst of all he can be CHARISMATIC. Not even I can claim that.”
“Not a surprise,” the Special Unit stated, receiving a jumbled glare from the other side. “What I mean to say, SIR, is that the subject was created to be the perfect High Admiral of the Alliance. It’s to be expected he would hold these traits.” The SU smiled thinly. “And I expected no less of someone who’s managed to avoid being photographed for five years.”
“Yes, very observant,” the screen grumbled. “If you fail again, your career is over before you can even try to go Cross on us.”
“I could only dream of such a fate,” the Special Unit grinned.
“…indeed,” the screen stated, and with a final pop went black.
---
Warp path 2.43.9766 - HEMOS
The planet of Hemos, officially a wildlife preserve planet, is a militaristic oligarchy ruled over by immortal creatures referred to as “Vampires” and those they have chosen to follow through the bloody path of their kind. The rest of the population (approximately 92%) is made up of humans and humanoids, most having relocated to Hemos for either sanctuary from the Alliance or the booming economy and the possibilities it presents.
However, due to the official status as “wildlife preserve”, Hemos was allotted a very minimal amount of land to develop. Due to this, there are only four megalopolis cities on the planet, and the rest is practically untouched (aside from ranching and farming, which were dubbed “environmentally-friendly occupations” by the weak and corrupt Alliance government under Orus, second politician to ever hold the title of “High Leader”).
The most advanced city is that of Lsttabla, predominately due to the fact it is not only the largest militarily (and therefore also political) concentrated area, but also home to the official immigration center and the infamous GHS-14 complex, home to the best and brightest of the planet’s youths.
The GHS (Government High School) system is officially run on a 10-base intelligence test. Those of highest average intelligence attend GHS-10 schools, and those with the lowest scoring of intelligence attend GHS-1, which is predominately physical training for potential military campaigns. For those who score off the GHS Assessment Exam, there is another test, known as the Special Intelligence Exam. Those who score in the top ten percentile are given permission to attend GHS-14, the highest level of school possible, while those ranking below are assigned in schools 13-11 according to score and skills.
There is one fully funded scholarship given out to GHS-14-qualified students every quarter. Competition is fierce, and sometimes even violent.
Special circumstances may bring about a mid-year scholarship or two scholarships allotted instead of one, but this is a very, very rare occurrence.
---
“So you’re the new student?” Alon asked politely as they sat on the hovertrain, smiling as nice and pleasant as possible.
“Yep,” the purple-haired guy said, eyes fixed on the blurring scenery, one of his headphones still attached to his ear, the other unplugged so as to (presumably) hear announcements and listen to Alon and Marquis’ instructions for how to get to GHS-14.
“You must be very special to get a mid-year scholarship,” Alon prompted again.
The new student smirked almost bitterly. “Well someone thinks so, I guess.”
And there was Alon’s “HEEELP MEEE” look, with the big violet puppy eyes and the put-upon pout. Marquis could have just kept on reading (or pretending to, at least), but Alon knew he loved a good puzzle and they didn’t come much better than the new kid. So, he sent a stern “your debt has increased” look to Alon and shut his book, stuffing it into his bag.
“How long have you been Wired?” Marquis asked. Alon looked like he’d just about die from being stomped on by the gigantic white elephant in the train.
Finally, FINALLY, the kid looked at him, and it was not what he’d expected. Instead of looking guilty or angry or something, the new student was smirking.
“How long you been suicidal?”
“It depends on the weather, according to most studies,” Marquis stated, and pulled his book back out, mission already mostly accomplished. “The guy with tact sitting next to you is Alon Tehibak. He wants to be your friend.”
“Hello Alon Tehibak,” the kid said, putting a black-gloved hand out for Alon, who just stared at it. Shrugging, the kid waved with the hand and propped his chin on it again. “You can call me Rurn…Rurn FRISCO.” Rurn looked like he’d gag on his last name.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rurn,” Alon smiled at him. “What brought you to GHS-14?”
“My guardians,” Rurn frowned. “They decided I needed to go to school.”
“…you mean this is your first day at school?” Alon gaped.
“Didn’t I just say that?” Rurn asked.
“We have some Wired in school already, so you won’t get hazed too bad,” Marquis stated over his book, even though he was on his seventeenth reading of the same sentence.
“Good. Fewer bodies to clean up,” Rurn smirked at him.
“Murder is punishable by four months of detention in a row,” Marquis called, the hint of a smile teasing at his lips. “Usually with the janitors.”
“You know this from personal experience, kid, or just memorized Rules and Regulations Section XII in your spare time?” Rurn asked, almost coyly.
“How’d you get naturally purple hair and silver eyes?”
An eyebrow rose. “Do I need to point to the naturally mint green-haired guy hyperventilating next to me?”
Marquis blinked, and looked over at Alon. Sure enough, he was practically seizing at Marquis in his usual “SHUT UP AND TRY TO BE POLITE” motions. Since having his friend die of indignation seemed like a bad idea, Marquis shrugged and turned back to his book, hearing Alon’s progression back into normalcy as his breathing slowed down and his stuttering cut off, finally becoming deep breathing as Alon calmed down.
“Hey, kid,” Rurn’s voice cut across the hovertrain.
“Yes?” he answered, not even looking up.
“What’s your name.”
This time Marquis did look up, blue eyes cold over his reading glasses. The corners of his mouth turned upwards.
“What’s yours?”
The train slowed to a stop, and with a whisper the doors slid open.
---
The school’s front entrance was an impressive sight, to say the least.
Shaped in a U around an immense tree that towered over the four-story building, GHS-14 was a light beige color as most of the buildings on Hemos, blue-black windows glinting in the morning light between panes of stained glass. The tree stood in a courtyard of sculpture and cobblestone, benches and trashcans arranged between the stonework and smaller plant beds.
Many students sat in the courtyard, doing everything from catching a few extra minutes of sleep to trying to climb the huge tree, friends beneath them so they fell into a safe, giggling mound of human bodies. The din of laughter and conversation warbled through the sky right along with the five-minute bell.
Marquis kept walking towards the building, only to stop when he realized Alon was missing. Frowning, he turned around to see what the hold-up was, only to blink.
Rurn was staring at the entrance like it was a three-headed squirrel, hands clenched into fists, a firm frown on his lips.
“You can’t fight it until you go inside, you know,” Marquis said as the students filed away into their respective classrooms, grouping into gender and age as they called and waved to others. He paused. “Then again, you could just run home.”
THAT earned him a glare- just from a different person than he’d been expecting. Alon was giving him that ‘do you learn NOTHING in those books?!’ look, standing at a politely close distance to Rurn in what would probably be taken as reassuring.
Rurn, on the other hand, smirked at him. “You really should get that brain of yours looked at. Suicide never solves anything.”
“Neither does tact,” Marquis stated.
“Hah,” Rurn said, and with a small, bitter smile sent a head tilt to Alon along with a barely audible “see you” that sent Alon beaming and off the happy charts altogether.
Well, that’s great, Marquis thought. Alon has a new crush.
“The office is straight to the right after you get inside,” Marquis said, since Alon was clearly too busy swooning to do his job of being helpful and friendly. “You can’t miss it.”
“You’d be amazed at what you can miss,” Rurn said almost absently, and walked toward the entrance, only to pause right next to Marquis. Head tilted at an angle that sent his purple hair trailing over his skin, he looked straight into his eyes. “Tell me your name.”
“This again?” Marquis’ lips twitched upwards against his will. “You first.”
“You’ve heard it already,” Rurn smiled devilishly. “It’s only fair, wouldn’t you say?”
“The world is rarely fair,” Marquis said, turning to go fetch Alon from whatever fuzzy happy-land he was in now. “And even less often is it honest.”
“…bye, then,” Rurn said behind him, seconds before the bell rang again.
Marquis sighed, tugging Alon into movement. “Goodbye,” he replied, only to see that the courtyard was abandoned.
It was strange. He was almost disappointed.
“Come on, lover boy,” Marquis sighed, and dragged his best friend inside GHS-14.
---
2.43.9766 - Dock request : 5422.641.78 confirm y/n
On the deck of The Loyalty, the young man known only as J frowned at his view screen.
“Lieutenant, bring it up on screen,” he said, and immediately the screen in front of him crackled into a clear picture of stars and a single bright-red ship.
“Great,” J sighed, trying to not roll his eyes at the situation as he opened a channel to the ship. “5422.641, please explain your urgent dock request when you’re not even scuffed.”
“It’s not for me, actually,” a wry male voice came across the line. “I’m not in trouble, but I have an urgent classified message for someone on your planet.”
“We aren’t affiliated with the Alliance, as I’m sure you know,” J said dryly.
“Heh,” the voice laughed out. “That makes two of us, doesn’t it?” A sigh warbled over the channel. “Listen, I swear I’ll be in and out before you can even need the docking space, okay? It’s one measly message and I’m gone.”
J frowned. “Addressed to who, if I may ask?”
“You may not,” the voice chuckled, obviously not peeved.
“Hmm,” J hummed to himself, looking back at the message still sitting in the corner of his screen.
“If you make me regret this, you’ll be very, very dead,” J stated, typing a Y into the console.
“Thank you,” the voice called, as if J hadn’t just threatened to kill him, and the little red ship coded as 5422.641 started its fiery descent into the Lsttabla Spaceport.
“Well, that was interesting,” an amused voice like dark velvet called from the bridge hallway. J didn’t even turn towards the man.
“It’s usually much quieter around he-”
J’s words cut off as he stared at his viewscreen’s newest message.
2.43.9766 - Dock request : 5422.641.43 confirm y/n
“…Curious, wouldn’t you say, J?” Damian Helldirge called as he walked over to stand at J’s shoulder, face caught in that infernal smile. “Less than two seconds later, the same exact ship wants in to the same exact spot.”
“But with a different request,” J murmured to himself. “This is-”
“Emergency channel request, sir,” the lieutenant called out, and J snapped the button with a speed humans only dreamed of.
“Explain yourself,” J stated, cool and composed to a fault.
“Hemos, you are in DANGER,” a frantic voice called out from the other side of the channel, and with another flick of a button the image of a ship popped up.
The exact same ship.
Bright red and not even scuffed from a re-entry, the small ship was flawlessly identical to the other 5422.641 they had let pass through.
“From what, if you would be so kind as to explain?”
“I am in pursuit of a wanted criminal. He is armed and dangerous and RUTHLESS, and he is on your planet,” the voice said. “It is my duty to hunt him down and execute justice accordingly.”
J raised an eyebrow. “And you are the only one qualified to do this?”
“YES.” The vehemence of the answer burned down the line.
For a minute, J was eerily silent, the gears in his mind clearly working overtime. Finally, his hand went back to his console.
With a sigh, he typed in Y.
The second 5422.641 blasted off again, tearing into the Hemos atmosphere.
“Damian,” J stated, eyes not leaving the screen as they watched the second ship make its way down to Lsttabla.
“Yes, sir,” Damian said simply, every part of him tensed in preparation.
“Get your Johnson boys and tell them it’s time to saddle up,” he commanded. “Possibly even the other Djarvik.” He glared at the fading image. “There is something very, very wrong going on here, and I want it righted as soon as possible.”
“Yes sir!” Damian saluted, and with a swift little bow was off the bridge before most of the humans even noticed.
---
Per usual, Marquis Noenus walked into the classroom belonging to GHS-14 class C looking bored and distant.
Also per usual, he caught the balled-up piece of paper flung expertly at his hand with his hand, not even looking at the thing as he tossed it into the corner trashcan.
Everything was the same- the all-male class milling about as they waited for the teacher to enter the room, their rigorous chatter tearing up the interior side of the room as two figures sat next to a window. The two figures, a taller blond boy with his hair in a loose ponytail and a near-demonic smirk and a shorter boy with shorter red hair that was practically sitting on the blond, had their eyes latched on Marquis and Alon. Just like usual, the blond was making a point of leering at them.
The most unusual thing about the scene was that class was starting in three minutes and the teacher wasn’t there. Well, that and that Alon was still walking in his own hazy love struck world, forcing Marquis to drag him back to his seat.
“Heeey, Fluffy!” the blond called as Marquis plunked his best friend down in the seat he’d been assigned at the beginning of the semester.
“I’d thought we had been over my name before,” Marquis said, shaking Alon a bit so he noticed they were in the classroom. “It’s not Fluffy, and I don’t even see how you got that out of Marquis.”
“Your hair, of course!” Byron said, as if it was common sense. “It gets all fluffy and wavy, and that one little…THING just makes it all that more fluffy-looking!”
“…that thing.” Marquis gave him a blank stare.
“The longer bit with the bead in it,” Roxra said from Byron’s lap, pointing helpfully as if Marquis didn’t know what his own hair looked like. “What would you call it?”
Marquis just blinked at them, unamused, and sat down in his seat.
“He’s so rude sometimes, isn’t he?” Byron sighed, wrapping an arm around Roxra’s waist.
“HURTFUL,” Roxra agreed, pouting as he leaned into his boyfriend. “Next thing you know he’ll say he doesn’t think we’re pretty.”
“I don’t,” Marquis said blandly, tugging his book back out of his satchel.
The two were quiet for a bit, clearly expecting Alon’s usual polite tirade against his best friend’s utter lack of social skills. When it didn’t come, they stared at the boy with pastel green hair’s back.
“What’s wrong with Alon?” Roxra asked.
“What’d he do to his hair?” Byron asked. “It got shorter!”
Roxra tilted his head to the side, and smiled. “Huh. Would you look at that!” His head tilted back to Byron. “You’re so observant.”
“I try-”
“He cut his hair,” Marquis interrupted, trying to cut off the sap before it could get started. “And he…met someone.”
Marquis could almost hear their jaws drop.
“No way! I thought he was still head-over-heels for Torbin in class D!”
“No no no, it was Felicia in E, wasn’t it?”
“That was the time before. But he was SERIOUS about Torbin-”
“But look at the state of him! This is like Marquis-grade swooning!”
Marquis winced at the painful reminder of the three months Alon had a crush on him last year. It had been downright painful to see his best friend replaced by a blushing, stammering idiot. Although he still felt a bit guilty about it, sticking Felicia in front of him had saved them both plenty of trouble in the long run.
“No, with Fluffy he wouldn’t daydream, he just turned into a twittering sap. This may, in fact, be WORSE than Fluffy-grade swooning.” Byron paused for dramatic effect. “This is level oh-fuck swooning.”
“You have too much time on your hands if you can come up with things like that,” Marquis stated, propping his chin on a fist as he read.
“Or maybe you have, uh, too LITTLE,” Roxra attempted, and got a peck on the neck for his attempt.
“So who’s the lucky crush, then?” Byron asked, resting his head on Roxra’s shoulder casually.
And then, as if fate had finally turned towards Marquis’ favor, the door opened again, letting in their teacher, a brown-haired, tired looking man in a blue suit, and another student. One with bright purple hair and a scowl that could easily smite any random passerby.
Marquis found himself smiling just a bit as his finger pointed straight at the newcomer like a compass to its origin. “Him.”
“…holy shit,” Byron breathed out. “I can see why.”
“Alon always does have good taste,” Roxra muttered, and Marquis could practically hear the blush starting on his cheeks.
“Oh wow,” Alon whispered, finally conscious enough to note that the object of his affections was in the same room.
“Oh, fun,” Marquis sighed almost silently.
As if the world was on his shoulders, their teacher shuffled to the front of the room, messing with his shirt’s collar as he stood in front of the board. “Class, settle down please,” he said, clearly uncomfortable. When the din barely lost any of its volume, he cleared his throat. “CLASS! Settle down and SHUT UP.”
Almost grudgingly, the room complied.
“Thank you,” their teacher, Mittern, breathed out. “Now, I’d like to introduce our newest student and the winner of the mid-year scholarship, Rurn Frisco.” A hand was set on Rurn’s shoulder. Said hand was quickly off said shoulder when Rurn glared a rather unsightly demise towards Mittern. “Ah, yes. Would you care to introduce yourself to the class?”
Rurn just looked at the man. “It’s required, isn’t it.”
“Ah, yes, it is,” Mittern laughed softly.
For a moment, Rurn was completely still, looking about as comfortable as a cat in a dog kennel. And then, something CHANGED. His face straightened, his feet firmly planted themselves, and it felt like his eyes were staring straight into every person in the room’s, all at the same time.
“You can call me Rurn Frisco,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You…haven’t heard of me, but we’re all here for the same purpose, with the same goal in mind. And that goal would be, uh, learning, to the best of…our…abilities…” He paused, and somehow it almost looked like the purple-haired kid shrunk in on himself. “Shit. I’m just gonna sit down, okay?”
“Ah…certainly, Mr. Frisco,” Mittern said, looking a bit confused and clearly trying to get a handle on the situation. “If you’d sit next to Mr. Tehibak? He’s the chap with mint green hair staring into space.”
Instead of complying, Rurn smirked straight at Marquis. “And who am I sitting behind.”
“Mr. Noenus, you mean?” Mittern blinked.
“Thank you, Mr. Mittern,” Rurn said, clearly pleased with himself.
“Of course!” Mittern said, looking rather proud from the small appreciation.
Marquis was making a point of ignoring the purple-haired newcomer, so nobody was particularly surprised when said newcomer apparently decided to make a point of annoying the shit out of him.
“So. Noenus.” Rurn paused, a frown coming to his lips. “Doesn’t seem to fit you, really.”
“Well then, we have something in common,” Marquis indulged himself, eyes still carefully fixed to his book.
“You’re being horrid to the nice young man, Fluffy,” Byron called out, pouting. Not that either of them were really paying attention to his face, of course, but just in case they turned around, he was prepared. You could never be too careful when trying to get into someone’s pants. “Aren’t you supposed to be polite and cordial to new students?”
“Are you.” Marquis didn’t even bother to try and sound polite.
“…Fluffy, on the other hand, matches pretty damn well,” Rurn smirked.
Marquis smiled dryly. “Well. Then at least one of us has something they like about the other.”
---
Two pairs of boots clunked against the heavy concrete of the landing pad, the jingle of metal and chains following their footsteps like a loyal dog as they approached the dock in question. The dimming sunlight cast a slash of black against the white flooring, sculpting two faces in sharp shadows that sent a fierceness missing from their bland, almost bored expressions.
One wore dark red leather pants and a tight black shirt, three belts crisscrossing his waist like tilted halos that had collapsed onto his hips. An ancient black trench coat fell over it, the fabric faded and torn and ratty, even shot through at some points. In place of his fallen halos sat a contrastingly well-kempt brown cowboy hat accented with a nonchalant smirk and two pistols held in his hands like they were born there.
The other wore pressed brown slacks and a humble pair of suspenders that looked like parallel burns in his simple sky-blue shirt. The shirt, however, was untucked and mussed, a couple buttons in the wrong holes when they were and the fabric bunched in the shoulders from where he had clearly shoved himself into a thigh-length brown coat the color of dusty chocolate. A set of small sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose, looking more a formality of red-tinted glass than actually useful, and an ancient but well-oiled pump-action rifle hung from his right hand expertly, and a secretive yet bland smile sat on his lips from what was probably habit.
The first had darker blond hair, bright sunshine to the other’s butter yellow, and lighter blue eyes, Arctic Ocean to Caribbean, and a bit of a sharper face, and about half an inch more in height, but those were the only truly obvious differences in them physically.
They had the same pair of old, broken-in brown boots on.
They had the same gait as they strode across the concrete.
They wore matching silver rings on their left ring fingers.
And neither of them looked particularly friendly at the moment.
Their quarry, a small red spacecraft clearly suited to peace and swift circuits around the galaxy, stood plainly in the center of the platform, clearly nonplussed about the whole affair. Bursts of steam gushed out of the firm hydraulic docking clamps, hissing into the dimming sky.
A curtain of steam billowed out of the front, and with a whirring noise the entrance was lowered slowly yet efficiently down to the paddock.
“Hey there,” a friendly, downright chipper voice called from inside as the two blondes continued on their collision course with the ship. “What can I do for you?”
Out stepped a man who couldn’t be more than twenty-two, grinning rakishly in the gray and red uniform of the official Alliance Delivery Corps, dusty-looking cap and all, an official diamond-studded silver case held naturally in his left grip, the other raised politely to the two men that had stopped rather quickly in their approach. His grin slowly drooped down to a confused frown as he took in their firearms. “…There a problem here, gentlemen?”
“…uh,” said the second blond, blinking a bit flabbergasted at the young man.
“He sure doesn’t look like a threat,” the first said, glaring at the intruder as he holstered one of his guns. “Looks like a fucking POSTMAN.”
“He does indeed,” the second sighed, smiling slightly before shouldering his rifle and striding back up to the young man who was clearly very, very confused. “Hello there, young man. I’m Quinn, and this is my brother Lucas.” He held out a hand, which the other shook, relieved.
“Simon. Simon Gin, officer in the ADC, lovely to meet you, Mr. Quinn, Mr. Lucas,” the man rambled on, looking like he’d had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders as he withdrew his hand. “Had trouble in these parts, I assume from the reception?”
“You just came at a strange time, I think,” Quinn reassured, smiling benignly. “It’s rare for Hemos to be visited by the ADC, what with being mostly a wildlife preserve.”
Simon’s laugh was almost self-effacing. “I just go where I’m told, really.” He held up the case in his hand. “Do you need some paperwork or something, or should I just go ahead and deliver this?”
“Who’s it going to?” Lucas asked simply.
And Simon looked like he’d explode if he didn’t let himself fidget. “…I would say, but, uh, I’d probably get fired. And killed. And I really don’t like either of those, ahahaha.” He shrugged at then, helpless and bitter about it. “It’s in my contract, you know?”
Quinn smiled politely. “Of course. As any true ADC officer would know.”
Simon practically lost twenty pounds from the realization he’d proven his innocence. “Oh, thank god. When I saw you two walking over here I thought you’d massacre me.”
“It’d be murder,” Lucas said simply, already looking bored and appearing far more interested in leering at the mismatched buttons on Quinn’s shirt. “Massacre implies a larger population.”
“…uh,” Simon said.
“Thank you for your time, Mr. Gin,” Quinn said kindly, grabbing a fistful of Lucas’ ratty old coat in a firm grip. “You have, oh, twelve hours to deliver your package without escort. After that your ship is commandeered, and you’re under constant surveillance, understood?”
“Yes sir,” Simon said a bit hectically, hand twitching towards what would obviously have resulted in a salute. “I’ll probably be gone in just a few hours anyway, though, so no worries.”
“I should hope so,” Quinn said, tugging Lucas back a step. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Gin.” And with that the two were striding back across the concrete landing pad, their hands twisting from a firm grab to locked fingers.
“Thank YOU,” the young man smirked, tucking a stray lock of green hair back under his cap before jumping back down and heading in the opposite direction, towards Lsttabla proper, and hopefully the only person they saw slinking across the dock.
---
Part 2 of 2