R-16: Twilight, Part 2! [part 2 of 2]
---
“…you’ve got to be shitting me,” Rurn stated.
“We’re a military-run oligarchy,” Marquis stated, not even looking back at the new student as he picked up a small copper key from the bored-looking woman behind the gym’s counter. “Combat training is only logical to be taught to their future leaders.”
“You’re CHILDREN,” Rurn snarled. “What the fuck does Hemos think it’s DOING?”
“From what I’ve seen so far of you, I don’t think it’s your place to tell the government what to do,” Marquis said idly, pausing just to send a disdainful look back at the purple-haired rookie behind him in line. “And I think I heard you were sixteen just like the rest of us, yes? Your hypocrisy seems to increase hourly. What’s next, I should be bitter for being smarter than others and need to coddle them accordingly?”
Rurn snorted behind him, an almost identical copper key clasped in his gloved hand. “I’m idealistic, not an idiot.”
Deciding that was just too easy, he pointed towards several doors on the large wood-floored room’s west wall. “Your key fits a door. Inside’s your equipment. You change, you spar, and then we go to lunch and back to class.”
“Why Fluffy, was that an invitation?” Rurn smirked.
Marquis entertained the idea of punching him in the face.
“Please don’t touch Alon,” he said instead, even though it wasn’t even masquerading as a request. “I’d hate to deal with him having a fit at ten in the morning.”
Rurn frowned. “…huh?”
Marquis just walked away, plugging his key into one of the thin wooden doors, the one he’d been using since he first entered GHS-14. And inside, he blinked at a man sitting on the other side of a wooden table, a comfortable-looking chair waiting for him on the other side.
The man smiled kindly, motioning toward the empty chair with an enthusiastic “please, have a seat, Mr. Noenus!”
Marquis complied, sitting down with a quick “Thank you” and proceeding to catalog and analyze everything he could about the man. Clearly not a vampire yet, but he had the self-assured look of someone who’d been Marked at the very least. Pricey, shiny black suit with one of those hideous ties that nearly gave him migraines they were so bright. And a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes, a briefcase sitting casually on the table.
“How are you today, Mr. Noenus?” the man opened, smoothly opening his briefcase and pulling out some papers. “I heard there’s been a new addition to the class. What do you think of him?”
Marquis just looked at the man. “He’s different.” No definite responses yet. Not until he knew just what the man was here to do.
“Ahhh, just different?” the man sighed, picking a tan folder out of the stack and sliding the other papers back inside his briefcase. “He’s supposed to be a genius, from what the higher-ups have told me. Some kind of special, too.”
“Is he.”
“Yep!” the man grinned, and flipped open the folder to what had to be fifty full-page photos of Rurn Frisco, the top one looking like it could have been taken seven minutes ago. “Now, I’ve also heard that you’re a genius too. And some other interesting things, too. Things you probably don’t want getting around the school, probably.”
Marquis was downright amused. “Blackmail, Mr. Tolles? I hardly think she’ll like that.”
The briefcase slipped to the floor, and the man gaped at him. “How did you…”
“You said you’d heard some things,” Marquis shrugged. “Sometimes fact is stranger than fiction, and other times they’re the same.” His head tilted to the side, the one long thread of hair trailing over his neck. “So, one must wonder, what are you willing to blackmail a psychic for?”
“Ah…Frisco,” the man said uneasily. “Rurn Frisco. We all know there’s something off about him, and to say his arrival on Hemos was suspicious is like saying the sun is warm. We just want some information on him. Like, say, his ideals…his politics…” the man paused. “His name?”
“Blackmail’s never truly worked for me, though,” Marquis said simply. “I couldn’t care less about how the populous views me, or about the populous in general. My secrets are more taboos than actual secrets.” He leaned back, just a bit. “So, the real question is what are you willing to offer for my services.”
The man just smiled, and slid the folder across the table.
---
“You want to talk to him, don’t you.”
“Well, yeah. Doesn’t mean I’m GONNA.”
“…you’re going to.”
“CHRIST, babe, let me at least TRY before I fail, okay?!”
“That wasn’t what I meant-”
“Oh?! Then what the fuck DID you mean? That I was going to fail you, and us, and THEM, and it wouldn’t matter if I tried to avoid him or not?”
“Wrey, you know I trust you. And I’m proposing something because of that trust.”
“Eh?”
“Talk to him. Don’t avoid it.”
“…it’s been thirteen years, babe. He wouldn’t even recognize me, let alo-OOOOWWWWwwhatthefuck are you doing to my hai-mmmmmmmmmhhhh.”
“Better?”
“…I hate it when you do that.”
“Just talk to him. Work it into the plan, and we’ll work around it.”
“And you do know the kid’s going to possibly try and kill us, yeah? That his commanders are going to shoot/slash/stab/strangle us before we can even get CLOSE to the kid if they even know we’re around?”
“No they wouldn’t. They’ll wait for the kid to tell them if we’re friend or foe this time around. After that, they’re ruthless.”
“When AREN’T they? Shit, I’m STILL freaked out by them sometimes.”
“All that means is you’re sane.”
“…why is that not terribly comforting coming from you?”
“…uh. Because?”
“God, you’re way too cute sometimes. It’s freaky.”
“Sorry?”
“Just shut up and kiss me, you freak.”
“Do you promise you’ll talk to him and not let the kid’s commanders kill you to get out of it?”
“I KNEW you’d withhold sex one day.”
“I’m withholding a kiss, Wrey. Yes, or no.”
“…fine.”
“Was that a yes?”
“YES, goddammmmmmmmahshitstopDOINGthat-”
“Hm?”
“That wasn’t LITERAL, you dumbass.”
“…”
“Oh, what now.”
“Sometimes I wonder why you married me.”
“…sap.”
“Um…can I talk to him too?”
“WHAT THE HELL.”
“He’s. Uh. I’d meet your family.”
“…why’s that so important? I’ve met what’s left of yours.”
“Um, that’s kind of why.”
“…oh. Eh. I guess? I mean, I gotta actually, you know, TALK to him first and see if he remembers me and if Mom’s around anymore and stuff but after he says he’d be okay with meeting you then sure that’d be great! And if Mom isn’t around we could maybe see if he’d want to come meet Aubrey or something!”
“Hm. Told you that you want to talk to him.”
“…shut up.”
---
Marquis stepped out of his changing room wearing the same white-on-white outfit as everyone else on the floor, one of the many stragglers still assembling on the smooth wooden floor. Like usual, he took his space next to Alon (who, thankfully, seemed to have regained coherency), the green-clad figure in front of the room sizing them all up.
Today’s instructor, a slender black woman who prowled the floor like a caged cheetah, held two sticks behind her back casually and her chin up arrogantly. He quickly categorized her as just another expert forced into teaching Hemos’ best and brightest how to be even better.
“I’m here to instruct you in…well. Fighting,” she said disdainfully, handing out two sticks to each student as she passed by them. “You don’t need to be fancy, or even know what you’re doing, so long as you can win.” She coughed, and continued on. “The person next to you is your partner for the next match. When your match is over, you move on to whoever the hell you want, understood? Just keep fighting until I tell you to stop.”
The whistle blew, and with a mutual raise of eyebrow Alon and Marquis turned toward each other.
Marquis wasn’t in the mood to fight, so he resolved to lose admirably. When Alon, giving a half-hearted smile, rushed forward to thwack one of his stick things into his head, he deflected it easily. When Alon frowned but lunged to take him down, Marquis fended it off just enough to look like he was in trouble, and then Alon (who was no idiot, by any means) took advantage of the fumble and kicked, sending Marquis to the floor with a blank expression.
“You’re usually the one doing this,” Alon said simply, offering his friend a hand up.
Marquis shrugged, grabbing Alon’s wrist and letting the older boy pull him to his feet. “I’d rather not participate today. And since that’s not an option, I’ll just take a couple beatings and move on.”
Alon sighed. “Promise me you’ll go against our friends then? I don’t want you getting hurt too bad just to avoid training today.”
He could have objected, could have explained quite simply why he didn’t consider Byron and Roxra friends and why he’d rather have a convincing loss than a friendly defeat, but Alon had that sincere look of concern he always got when he thought Marquis was doing something stupid. So, instead he said “fine” and headed over to wait for Byron and Roxra’s little match to finish.
Well, if you could call it that. It looked more like an excuse to get as close as possible to each other and then ruthlessly smash and jab wooden sticks into each other. But eventually, like usual, Byron got a bit too competitive and sent Roxra to the floor, both laughing over the ever-present insecurity about how they both knew this happened every single time.
“Roxra, next match?” Marquis called out, effectively breaking the oncoming guilt before it even had a chance. Roxra’s wide dark eyes blinked up at him, and he nodded, a grin coming to his lips as Byron offered a hand up, and then a quick hug.
“You don’t usually spar with me or Byron,” Roxra commented, and shrugged, smiling. “I’m kind of nervous, actually.”
“Don’t be,” Marquis stated, already taking his ready stance. The sooner he had three losses, the sooner he could get off the floor. “You’ll win.”
Roxra frowned. “Why? You’re no good with these…um, stick things?”
“DOWELS,” the cheetah-woman called out from where she prowled on the opposite side of the room.
“No, you’re just going to win,” Marquis said, ignoring the instructor completely.
He moved forward easily, both stick-things rising up to meet Roxra’s stick with a resounding hollow clacking noise. Roxra’s other stick quickly smacked into his side, something that would probably hurt later but not bruise. This was why he didn’t want to fight friends to lose, Marquis thought to himself as he obviously favored his ribs and idly swiped at the redhead’s torso. Because they’d always do the nice thing and go easy on him.
Idly, Marquis swung at Roxra’s head, and his friend’s instincts took over. The redhead swerved down and to the right, crouching on the floor and kicking Marquis’ feet out from under him.
As calculated, Marquis Noenus fell to the floor with an overplayed “oof”, a horrified Roxra standing over him.
“Oh god I am SO SORRY, Marquis, are you okay?” he asked, watching concernedly as Byron hoisted Marquis up from the floor and moved away again. “Normally you can catch things like that easily. I don’t think I’ve ever even hit you before!”
“Now you have,” Marquis shrugged, turning to watch Alon and Byron’s match continue. It was almost even, with Alon using only one stick-thing and Byron a bit winded and subdued from his match with Roxra and who the hell had hoisted him up then if Byron was STILL fighting?
Marquis turned, glare icy as a blizzard as he spotted a head of purple hair lounging against the wall, watching matches come and go with amusement.
“You…YOU-” Marquis growled, before he got a hold of himself and exhaled a quick breath, settling back to his glare.
“Me?” Rurn called back, idly entertained. “Or are you just that amazed I’m here?”
“You’re a bastard.”
Rurn shrugged. “Eh.”
He was actually gritting his teeth now. Marquis couldn’t remember a time he’d been more furious with anyone, EVER. “…you…”
The purple-haired boy smirked at him. “Just say it. I know you’ve got it in you, Fluffy.”
“--YOU--”
He grinned like the impudent bastard he was. “I have FAITH.”
“I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU,” Marquis roared, and lunged, dowels immediately cracking against Rurn’s own.
“Are you now,” Rurn grinned, pulling one of his rods back and twisting so that they were parallel to the wall, the crack and thump of their dowels against each other crashing through the room as they fought. “Seems like you’re losing to me, Fluffy.”
Rage boiling over, Marquis pulled back his arm and aimed a punch straight in the face of one Rurn Frisco, executed with a nice clean hook.
Instead, he found himself punching the wall as Rurn kicked his knees out from under him, a dowel centimeters from his throat when he hit the ground.
“…you’re better than this,” Rurn said simply, and the rod was gone, replaced with a gloved hand carefully pulling Marquis up against his will. Fierce, mismatched gray eyes looked straight at him. “Stop acting like a fucking martyr and try to hit me already.”
Marquis looked right back at him. “As ever, your hypocrisy knows no bounds it seems.”
And then Rurn smiled and it was something strange and rare and altogether new. Rurn Frisco was a bastard and a smart-ass and an incredibly unpleasant person that made Marquis want to pull his own hair out and grit his teeth until the purple-haired enigma was long gone. It was downright confusing.
Marquis didn’t like being confused.
Therefore, he wanted to smash Rurn’s pretty head against a wall.
“Still getting to that whole martyr thing, actually,” Rurn said, backing away enough to give Marquis some personal space but still close enough to attack easily.
Marquis complied, taking the other boy by surprise when he swiped his feet from under him. Rurn surprised him right back by rolling out of it, making Marquis’ headshots end up swinging through empty air.
“Not bad, not bad,” Rurn conceded, casually moving away from the wall, spinning a rod in his hand like a baton. “You don’t fight dirty, but it’s at least a little tarnished, you know?” He lunged, and Marquis deflected easily, forcing Rurn back a step as he twisted to face his opponent sideways, kicking Frisco in the side and continuing the attack. He stepped, dropped onto the balls of his feet, and attacked.
Again, he only met air when Rurn decided to jump over Marquis and kick him in the jaw, sending the brunet into a handspring he only managed through instinct alone, landing with his hands already twisting back to smack Rurn in the shoulder.
Although the “owww-FUCK!” he earned was rather rewarding, Marquis still had yet to get his chance to smash Rurn’s scull into the hardwood flooring, so he attacked again. This time, his rods did meet skin, but it was hands, grabbing his hands and twisting him into an easy fall onto the floor.
With the wind knocked out of him, Marquis looked up into the very satisfied-looking face of Rurn Frisco, who had him pinned to the floor and was effectively straddling his hips in the middle of the classroom, hands clenched together and spread out in a way that left Rurn very, very close to his face.
“Now that was good,” Rurn grinned, and Marquis could actually smell him, a mix of metal and air and a fading orchid that tingled as it brushed against his skin with every syllable he spoke. “You gonna attack me if I let you up?”
Marquis swallowed, then looked up at him blandly. “Would you believe me if I said no?”
“Decisions, decisions,” Rurn sighed, and easily moved away from him, their fingers separating like a concrete dam crumbling apart. “Good fight, Mary. We’ll have to do it again some time.”
Marquis blinked. “…Mary?”
Rurn snorted. “What, you think I’m really gonna call you ‘Marquis’? That’s almost as bad as…well.” He shrugged, grinning. “Your name sucks, so I’m giving you a better one.”
And Marquis wanted to punch his head through the wall again.
So, he decided that everything would be back to normal as soon as he could figure out why he was still shaking from something he knew he couldn’t blame adrenaline for.
---
There’s not much to midnight when you don’t know there should be. Colors are just colors. Sounds are simply there or not. When you don’t know to be afraid, midnight is nothing but a darker shade of day, the sunlight shattered and strewn across the sky until dawn comes around again.
She crouched on a wall, feeling the cool breeze toss her earrings in the air and brush against her skin. But it was just a feeling. What was important was what she watched from her perch. Her head, cocked just a bit out of curiosity, added a self-satisfied air to the thin line of her mouth as she watched the young man, categorizing every movement she thought herself able to.
The way he shrunk in on himself when one of his four little adopted companions weren’t around, like those around him were plotting and staring and genuinely frightening. Like he didn’t know what exactly he was supposed to do. Like an outcast suddenly flung into the center of society. Like a sheep flung to lions.
The way he lit up darkly whenever that first one of his little group was around. Like finally a challenge had appeared and he was wary, but a cunning, clever wary instead of the previous hunched-in terror. Like a preying mantis eyeing a spider, cool and calculating and downright thrilled. Like a young man both horrified and thrilled at something new and shiny.
The way he seemed to genuinely try with the others in the little group. Like he was doing his best for them and knew it didn’t cut it, but he kept trying, kept striving forward. Like a bird flying straight into a gale because he had heard it could be done. Like a snowball careening down a hill at gravity’s beck and call.
The way he looked near any topics that were delicate for him. Like a criminal daring to be caught but enjoying the chase to make it too easy. Like a caged tiger taunting the zookeeper. Like Icarus, daring the sun.
Vain’s head tilted a bit further to the side as she appraised the newest look.
It was cautious, yet self-assured, and almost mocking as he leaned against his room’s empty balcony, a thin smirk on his lips.
It was also directed straight at her current position.
With a small smile to her mark, SU Vain fell from the wall, deciding that sometimes surveillance wasn’t nearly as useful as just good old-fashioned stealth.
---
He’s standing on the train platform again, with Alon at his side and a book in his hand. It’s overcast today, but the weather has never really affected his disposition. The hovertrain isn’t any less or more late than usual, so that can’t be it. He’d almost think he was sick, with how his stomach is churning, but no, he knows what sick feels like and this isn’t it.
“Ahh, isn’t the breeze lovely today, Noenus?” Alon smiled, and for some reason Marquis found himself wishing it were some other name said, some annoying deviation from his official name that made him bristle and bite and be a horrible bastard who couldn’t think before he spoke and threw haphazard punches into smirking faces.
But no, Alon was smiling at him in a wholly natural, friendly way, the picture of polite, caring friendship. Everything Marquis had asked for. Everything he’d expected to receive. Everything he’d thought he could possibly want.
“…Noenus?”
He blinked, and there was Alon’s concerned purple eyes and that genetically horrifying green hair peering down at him. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been out of it since your fight yesterday.” Alon frowned. “And we didn’t even see Rurn afterwards…”
“Yes, how horrifying to not see him,” Marquis said blandly, turning a page in his book.
Alon sighed at his side. “Look, I get that you don’t like him and that you’ve got this rival thing going on with him, but please, just try to be nice?”
Marquis frowned at his best friend. “What do you mean?”
“Marquis, you tried to kill him yesterday,” Alon laughed good-naturedly. “I hadn’t heard you shout in six months, and you have NEVER screamed profanity at anyone. Well, that I’ve seen, at least.”
He tilted his head to the side, considering. “That’s true, I suppose…”
“…Noenus, I have ALWAYS known that you aren’t a normal sort of guy, but homicidal rage against someone you’ve known for about nine hours is pushing it,” Alon emphasized. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Five hours, actually, since you’re keeping track,” Marquis stated, and turned back to his book, hoping Alon would drop it. “And I’m fairly certain this isn’t the first time someone has become homicidal in less than a day. Take the vampires, for example--”
“MARQUIS,” Alon snapped, grabbing the book from his best friend’s grasp. Marquis grabbed his hand and twisted, sending his green-haired classmate to the cement, a knee against his back with two degrees of twisting remaining for what would break his wrist. “…ow.”
Blinking, Marquis stepped away, grabbing his bag and watching from a few feet away as Alon picked himself up from the ground, rubbing his wrist and looking genuinely hurt.
“…Alon, I’m--”
“THIS is what I mean, Marquis,” Alon cut him off, purple eyes tearing holes in his best friend. “This isn’t like you. It’s like you’re wound and ready to spring at anything that even touches you.”
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Marquis said quietly, looking down at his sensible blue tennis shoes.
“Listen, that doesn’t matter,” Alon waved it off, smiling reassuringly as he rubbed his wrist casually. “You were forgiven the second you got off me, okay? I’m more worried about you than getting pinned in public.”
The chime of an arriving train went off, but neither of them paid it much mind. Alon grabbed Marquis’ book and held it out. With a minute of hesitation, Marquis took it back, earning a yay-Marquis-is-my-friend grin. It was secretly Marquis’ favorite type.
“I’m just feeling a bit off is all,” Marquis said, hopefully reassuring his friend. “Don’t worry about me.”
“Hah,” Alon smiled, the gust of wind that heralded a new hovertrain throwing his green hair through the air haphazardly. “Sorry, Noenus. It’s my right as your friend to worry, and I’m not going to give that up for anything.”
Marquis was a smart guy. Some might even have called him a genius. This was why he just gave back a feeble, fledgling smile and quickly turned back to his book as the black-line train with just one passenger arrived for the second time.
The passenger looked almost fully different today, vibrant purple hair almost fully covering a tired face. Dusk-colored rings hung beneath his reddening eyes, and he walked like the devil towards the nearest empty bench. Upon arrival, he promptly sat down and slouched so low that his head was almost between his knees.
Marquis, of course, refused to notice anything about this. It wasn’t his problem, of course, so really he was only walking over because Alon probably wanted to, truly. He couldn’t care less, but friends were friends and poor Alon was most likely worried sick and too abashed to come over and ask the bastard what was wrong.
“What’s wrong.”
Marquis thought he was being quite decorous, really, with all things considered. He’d closed his book and everything.
“Why Mary, I never knew you cared,” Rurn’s voice ground out, both bitter and amused. It was so unpleasant a candor that Marquis decided to spare the whole of Hemos from the torture by handing over his water bottle. “…thanks.”
“I don’t care,” Marquis said simply, taking the water bottle back when Rurn offered it up. “Sleep. I’ll get Alon to wake you when the train comes.”
Now the bastard was just plain amused. “Not you? Aww, I’m heartbroken.”
Marquis’ hands clenched into fists. He was a smart boy, though, so instead of punching a few teeth out of Rurn’s pretty face he went back to stand by Alon, who was gawking again. Except this time it was at the both of them.
Well, Alon had never really made much sense. It would have been even more confusing if Marquis could fully understand what he was thinking at any given moment.
“Uh…” Alon said.
“Wake him up when the train comes, please,” Marquis said. Before Alon could stutter anything else out, he snapped his book open and started to read again.
---
“-ease tell me you’re shitting me.”
“What? I don’t see a problem.”
“RE—uh, READ my lips. They’re ORANGE. Orange is HIDEOUS.”
“…Aptsan, you’re a Ndhaz.”
“So?”
“You’re colorblind.”
“That’s just with yellow and red. We’re not dogs.”
“…huh. That explains a lot, actually.”
“You better shut up fucking FAST, Re—remember last time?”
“No. I think this is the first time you’ve insulted my socks.”
“…I fucking hate this.”
“Easy, kitty. You’re doing great. Really.”
“You’re a horrible liar, you know that?”
“Yes. And we’re both horrible parents.”
“…don’t you DARE start that, Tyler. Don’t you fucking dare. I’m already pissed enough—”
Raising an eyebrow, Quinn Helldirge-Johnson knocked on the Frisco couple’s door.
Before he could even get out the second knock, a very, very angry Ndhaz who was about 5’4”, a sunshine blond, and glaring golden daggers into Quinn’s neck wrenched the door open. He was wearing blue leather pants and…uh, that was about it.
“WHAT?” Aptsan Frisco bit out.
If Quinn hadn’t been a four thousand year old vampire and quite literally the best shot in the universe, he actually might have run away.
“Uh. Hello, Aptsan,” he said as politely as possible. “Could I possibly speak with you and Tyler for a bit? It’s important and I’ll be sure to be quick about it, I promise.”
“Define quick,” Aptsan said dryly, crossing his arms across his chest and somehow managing to look down on Quinn, even when Quinn was in fact about 3 inches taller.
“Down, kitty,” another voice sighed out, pulling the shorter creature away from the doorway.
Tyler Frisco nodded politely at Quinn. He had long black hair, most of which was caught up in a tall ponytail held together with a red ribbon while the rest hung down like a curtain around his face, boxing in fierce green eyes dulled by glass lenses. “Sensei,” said the fifth best shot in the universe, closing the door behind his old teacher.
“Hello, Tyler,” Quinn greeted with a smile. “Now, I said I’d make this fast, so I will. Long story short, there’s an SU on Hemos. Possibly two. And I’m fairly certain they’re after you, Tyler.”
Neither of them looked surprised. In fact, Aptsan even snorted at some inside joke, Tyler smiling faintly.
“How shocking,” Tyler said, purely straight-faced.
“Simply MINDBOGGLING, isn’t it.” Aptsan grinned ferally. “So, you’ve got some flies you want swatted, is that it? Avoiding all the political shit that goes along with you all taking them out, of course. Not to mention you can guilt us into it for your emergency assistance a couple months ago.”
“It’s a good plan, isn’t it.” Tyler smiled down at his husband.
“Predictable, but good, yes,” Aptsan said, and leaned against his spouse almost possessively, yellow eyes locking with Quinn. “We’ll think about it, and get back to you when Rurn gets back from school, alright? Family decision and all that, you know.”
“Of course,” Quinn smiled politely, trying very hard to not be unnerved by the couple in front of him. “I’ll be around if you know sooner. Thank you again. Aptsan. Tyler.”
With the sour taste of ignorance in his mouth, Quinn Helldirge-Johnson left the room.
---
“Hey,” Alon said, tapping the dozing student on the shoulder with his most dazzling smile on. “Rurn. You have a visitor.”
In a millisecond he calculated threat potential, location, possible visitors, who was tapping, why they were tapping, whether he should break their finger or their neck or their ego and who would back him and who would kill him if he did so.
Two seconds later, he sighed. “Tell them to go the fuck away,” he muttered, nuzzling back into his cloth-covered arms, hunched over his uncomfortable little desk. Yeah, it was probably kind of rude to the teacher that he wasn’t even guilty about sleeping through class, but Reed and the cat always complained about his sleeping habits, so they’d bail him out of any sort of detention.
Either that or they’d be shot down to private before they could even remember none of them were in any sort of organization anymore.
“Ah, Mr. Frisco, I do think you should wake up and talk to the young sir,” Mr. Mittern’s voice, slightly strained, called out from near the door. “He seems rather…insistent about it.”
He groaned, stretching in his chair as his eyes slowly slid open. Marquis had pretty brown hair, and it was less fluffy than usual today. He’d have to taunt him later, or else the guy might actually stop with the fluffy, and that’d just be tragic.
“Tell him to insist when I’m at home then,” Rurn sighed, trying to get a crick out of his neck. Considering it’d been there for almost 4 years, it was unlikely to leave.
“…kid, I did NOT just come all the way to your school JUST to wait and follow you home,” an amused, almost flippant voice drawled out from behind the door that was slowly, oh so slowly, swinging open.
Rurniel was out of his chair before the third syllable, calm and cool and untouchable but PISSED as he slowly smiled at the figure behind the door.
He was probably about twenty now, maybe nineteen, with Kermit-green hair that started as a crazy mass of floppy spikes and dissolved into a braid. Downright wicked bright blue eyes leered back at him (Rurniel doubted they could do anything but leer, really), and he was wearing a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt that read “tinsel yuo tiido” in Ndhazi – it roughly translated to “fever without west”, which was absolute gibberish.
But Rurniel happened to know that, for one, the man in the door, one Wrey Cross, was an ex-Special Unit, and the only SU to ever manage to have that “ex” in front of their title. And that meant he was very, very smart, and knew that Rurniel was very, very smart, so gibberish usually had a hidden meaning in it.
Plus, “tinsel yuo tiido” happened to anagram out to “silent you idiot” so he decided, for once in his life, to actually listen to what one of the bastard’s horrible shirts said.
“Don’t want to talk to anyone else while you’re here?” Rurniel asked, smirking just a bit at how Wrey’s face showed a bit of anxiety for a moment. “I’m sure you have years of things to talk to him about.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Frisco, but could you please come for a bit of a stroll with me? You know how my allergies get in air conditioning,” Wrey beamed.
“Do I.”
“Of course you do!” Wrey laughed out, grabbing Rurniel’s sleeve to pull him out of the room, which he only got away with because it was the sleeve and not his skin and because if he made a fuss about the freak he’d have even more questions to answer later. “Come on you silly.”
It was officially fucked up to hear Wrey Cross talking like that.
“Fine,” Rurniel snapped out, and was led out the door.
----
“I don’t know what the hell you’re trying to do here, Cross, but those kids have nothing to do with it,” Rurniel glared at the infamous green-haired man.
Said infamous green-haired man just grinned back at him, completely unfazed. “It’s amazing that you can be so arrogant but self-depreciating at the same time,” Wrey Cross, the only person to ever survive life as an SU (even if it was by deserting), sighed. “I’m here to warn you of a couple things.”
“Really.” The ex-Grand General was unimpressed.
“Yes, really, you kook,” Wrey snapped good-naturedly, smacking the Wired’s shoulder like they were old friends. Which, in a twisted sort of way, they were.
“So warn me then,” Rurniel grumbled, wishing he had some headphones or something so he wouldn’t be hearing EVERYTHING.
The shuffle of their feet on the cement courtyard. The movement of cotton and chain that was undeniably Wrey Cross. The chirp of avius hemos deflus, a common songbird-
“You’re being relentlessly pursued by an SU named Vain. She was on my tail all the way down here, literally.” To anyone watching, they could have been talking about puppies or the weather or whatever the hell kids did nowadays.
“Me, ‘ME’, or me and mine?” Rurniel asked, cutting straight to the point.
Wrey shrugged. “I dunno. But she’s good. VERY good.”
“Well, it’s a good thing that so am I,” Rurniel growled.
“Here’s hoping you’re best, eh?” Wrey beamed at him, but it was that dangerous type of beaming where he was either about to gut you or buy you lunch. “Now! Second warning.”
“Great,” Rurniel muttered, and true to form, Wrey ignored him completely.
“The Alliance is massing again, and they’re going to hit Hemos,” Wrey said, absolutely chipper.
Rurniel froze, his mind turning on overdrive for analysis. Either they were really, truly PANICKING over him, or they were moving against Hemos itself.
As he thought, his mouth started barking out orders out of habit, eyes searching for his (hah) secretary to snap her into action.
“Get your little pack rounded up and HERE, as soon as possible. Do not, above any circumstances, including my death, inform my commanders. You are to stay in absolute secrecy while here, you will not contact Vain unless you are already in an alliance, and above all else tell nobody else. Is that understood?”
“Yes sir, Grand General sir,” Wrey smirked, that devil-may-care face that had given Rurniel nightmares three years ago, back during Azopon.
“Domestic life hasn’t slowed you down at all, has it, Cross?” Rurniel asked coolly.
“Slowed, maybe. Dulled, though? Fuck no,” Wrey Cross laughed. Without another moment passing between them, he saluted Rurniel. Rurniel returned the favor, and without another glance at each other the two turned back towards their respective new ‘jobs’.
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Part 1 of 2