♫Sonic Youth - Society is a Hole♫
278Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0EcZEJuoHU
278Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2woPw2tfJH
278Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZgO33ccrD2
Burmecia.
Land of Eternal Rain.
A land of rats.
Some rats fly.
— Hey, I was born there – said Hrist, pointing to an alley beneath her feet. The whole world seemed to, except for the skies above – or, in this case, threw.
— Why do you think it so? – said Sir Fratley, who propelled its knees on the edge of a tall building, to once again find himself on thin air. Same for Hrist – you were only a baby.
— I know. As if they cared – then silence followed these words. Rain poured hard and filled in the silence with the sound of drums. Though provoking for some, its the least detail to be paid attention to, for a kingdom whose stretched alleys leaks poison out their swollen cracks, as if they asked for more – well, not anyone can do cartwheels like me. And guess what? You need a ground to do these, but I don't!
— Impressing, isn't it? – he replied, followed by a spinning somersault to a building to another, ending with a landing of both feet.
Such would have broken its bones, had not been for – Surface Tension... It never gets old – Hrist said, in a nostalgic tone. To watch the clouds above for a while would make her remind the scent and taste of crayons coloring her childhood, but Fratley doesn't know the meaning of pause, neither we have a reason to stand still any longer. Soon as Hrist landed on the other side, water out of a puddle splashed the surroundings, including Fratley. That used to be fun... He said nothing, didn't bothered to look to her face, had eyes for someone else. Or, in this case, something else.
— This way – said Fratley, before he ran away. It was already hard for him to stand on both feet, but even harder to stand still and do nothing. Beyond his position, a huge gap lied between the building he stood and the one he wanted to be in. Rain falling from above where he stood... a flat surface, covered in ripples; that's how Fratley 'sees' there's a safe place to land, but it ain't a safe jump. Once again, Fratley blesses the rain that it helps him to move around.
— I wonder what people say when they see us walking in the air like this – said Hrist, who took a quick view of a faraway below, before taking a leap of faith towards a tower – or walking vertically against gravity...
— Standing, you mean – said the man who stood barefoot in a wall against the stream of water falling down. It is possible to walk against it, he reflected, but it would take a lot of time, which's running out. Then Fratley took something out of its pocket: it was a shining and silver grappling hook, aimed and fired to the top of the tower – a Dragoon can do a lot of things with its body, but sometimes, we need some tools created by mind – he commented, climbing against the concrete waterfall faster than he would with both feet alone
— For someone blind, sure you can aim at the right place – so Hrist watched him for a brief moment, before taking a back flip as she landed on the streets filled of pigeons and scent of cigarettes. If not mistaken, she could have stepped upon a turd, which ain't the case. Thank God, the young Dragoon told to herself, in a very rare moment outside training. Crouched down, and with a blink, the skies grated a creature who had no wings in between a flock of scared birds – (I wonder from where Fratley took that grapnel) – she said, in tiny whispers. Maybe that green dot could hear from this distance...
— Well, this hook fits in this leather pocket found in the left section of my lower limb – yeah, he could, thought Hrist. As if I haven't got the hang of it yet... – or do you still think there's a independent section of time-space in my hat? – Fratley asked, for the apprentice and her jumpy heart on its back.
_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_
— I used to, a long time ago. You do remember when I poured some eggs, thinking they would end somewhere else.
— And they did. This if there's a heaven for birds...
— Or a heaven for rats, just in case.
— Just in case – nothing was right at the moment for Fratley, who opened his eyes, in hope to see something. It takes nothing to try, but he has no time – if that's what you say, pumpkin.
— Hah, pumpkin – he had to say it, didn't he?
At the same time, Hrist wondered if she could walk upon a rainbow. Jump higher than a building, walk upon waterdrops falling like icicles... but with everything so serious, it's hard to enjoy these little things as they used to. Pumpkin... how she hates to be called by that, but also hearing that name come out of someone close is like feeling a shiver and wanting more. Strange sensation. If it brought relief for the weight of that helmet in head, whose eyes resemble the ones of a pumpkin during Halloween, thence the name; summing it up, the helmet in Hrist's head weights a lot, but it's pointy tip helps to move around. Aerodynamics, as Fratley said once, or whatever that means. Same can't be said about the metallic garments above her coat. Sure, the belt holds on the escutcheon in chest, but the rest seems to be there only for decoration.
Ripping the bottom of its purple coat may not have lightened the weight, but it sure caught the headmaster's attention. The one who used to call its child by 'Pumpkin Knight' with enough conviction and life... Uh huh, as if the 'head' would submit himself to that torture, in that close room, slowed down by osteophorosis crumbling bones apart, his lungs suffocated by bureaucracy...
— ...Cut a hydra's head and another grows on its place.
— Huh? What do you mean, Hrist? – asked Fratley, beyond the pit where people at the bottom flowed into. Hrist looks to her mentor for a moment, unable to say anything. A yell, by preference, but there's no joy in falling from a building. The thrill is there, a childish and guilty thrill, but...
/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
— Oh, sorry – she said, with the heart upon the throat. Anyone would feel same while spinning in midair, and once again landing safely. The result of harsh training sessions are showing up – I spoke loud, didn't I?
— In resentment – as well as years without a companion to trust. A heart doesn't lie for Fratley – something bothering you?
— No. Nothing – she said, letting a breath come out. A cold breath – well, it ain't everyday that someone attemps to prove their worthless and pathetic existence by killing themselves in front of others.
— You sound a bit cynical.
— And shouldn't I? — Hrist asked, rhetorically, as she turned her back. He won't notice. It's strange when you talk to someone who doesn't look at your face, she thought. Anyone in my place would be amazed, so her mind flowed into another thought. It seemed as if only herself was there, in high wire. But even if it was that way, he would be down there to hold me.
— I admit that I'm feeling nervous as well, Hrist. Yet, something about death and the laws related to it fascinates me. It's wrong to kill, including yourself.
— On other hand, it ain't wrong to make sacrifices – said Hrist, still facing the other direction. Got bored and decided to look to his face. Wasn't being ignored, after all – it's a sign of maturity.
— As long as you do not rotten from inside, to be mature ain't a bad thing – he said, before feeling the wind hitting the face.
— Or even a thing I am – so Hrist followed him, now that he seemed so distant.
— Well, if isn't that what a mature person would say... – but it was just an impression. Fratley was on her right side.
— Yeah, right – she said, soon as a tower came in front of both, cutting the sky like the edge of a sword – listen to my heart, and you may have enough difference to tell.
— Sorry, but I have no time.
— That's what father says — the lights coming out the poles shone beneath Hrist's coat of arms. She didn't stared at the for too long, in order to not share of same fate as a moth burnt – it used to make sense with him being alone, wandering throught these streets that treated his life like a lemon to be sucked, but now that I grew up, he's just getting lazy for strong arguments.
— I disagree – interrupting thoughts, Fratley said, as he and his apprentice holded their claws against a wall, attached by the water dripping on its surface filled of cracks – Hrist, you know how much Zack thinks about you when signing all those damn papers.
— At least, you agree there's something wicked about them.
— Anyone would. Besides, he's getting older.
— I think he's far older than both of us.
— Hrist – he looked at her with same glare. Must have learned from father, thought Hrist, before conveying something to say, or else that awkward silence would stand. It already stood for long enough.
— Well, enough about my dad. His ear might be burn out already.
— If this bothers you so much...
— Then should I keep it all to myself?
— Of course not – again, Fratley looks at her, but this time, there's something else – like us, Zack is a wielder of the Dragoon, even sitting on that chair. But unlike your reasoning, the source of its power doesn't come from the Dragoon alone, nor is dependant of it entirely. He has friends, people he can trust, and the one he trusts by heart... is you, Hrist. Don't you see? The day Zack found you abandoned on a trash bin and offered the warmth of its chest to yours, his strenght, a name for that fragile creature covered in filth that nobody wanted... that was the worst day of his life, together with the best. He wanted the best of you, now what do you want out of him...
— ...I just want him the way he found me, right – it's strange how a blind's eyes seems devoided of emotion, thought Hrist, while at same time they're full of depth. It's like staring to an ocean full of algae; cold, but filled of life – I mean, I didn't cared when dad pulled me to other people. Said he would do something important, and I believed. Now here I am, thinking I am doing something important, yet all I do is complain.
— Who said that? If all you do is complain, then why I cared to bring you here?
— You didn't brought me here, Sir Fratley. I choose to be there, thinking you might need help. Besides, I like your company.
— Oh, I'm flattered. At this rate, you'll be able to forgive Edea for kicking you in the stomach – oh, yes... butterflies and blood came out my mouth that day, thought Hrist, who prefered to forget that dreadful experience – that was an accident, you know.
— It really was. No wonder she said you were good at words back then.
And now... a bit of rain poured out of Hrist's helmet, who looked below and saw that crowd of people reunited as if something important was about to happen. Nothing happened, neither Fratley did something. The roof seemed empty from this distance, this until he showed up. A silhouette hindered by rain, approaching near the edge. The man seemed to come back and forward, threatening to jump anytime, tainting the gray asphalt in red, or just hold on for the innevitable. Perhaps a pause for bathroom, a side of Hrist thought, the one side of head who made her bring a smirk amidst it all. More people came in, to see a spectacle of fear like never saw before. They were banned a long time ago, which ain't the case of violence, or death. The brief mention of it causes a reaction, not only belonging to her guts. No, it's the fear of the unknown, that people might die all of sudden, anywhere, in a painful or stupid way.
— Heh... heheheheh... heh... hahahah...hahah... – soon Hrist began to laugh, madly. She didn't wanted to laugh, it wasn't fun – hah... sorry. Heh... I am a bit nervous. Oh, what should I do, Fratley?
/\/\_/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_
— Keep calm, Hrist – said Fratley, feeling the vibrations of her whole skin shivering, besides hearing a heart jumping as if it was about to sprout out of her skin like a nasty pimple. Maybe a bit of exaggeration of his part, given there's a lot of hearts he's listening to, focusing on a few – do the diaphragm breathing, like I taught you.
— I am... – then Hrist holds her breathe, and after five seconds, release it all – uh uh, doesn't work.
/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
— It works if you believe – said Fratley, looking at her. Her heart began to beat as it normally does, before accelerating. Adrenaline is all over her body, the throat gulps, or whatever noise does that make. Anyway, these are the sounds of someone either about to punch someone, or fled like a coward. That heart... It ain't as worse as listening the one belonging to the man about to jump. Fratley... That heart is beating a lot. Fratley... like it's going to explode like a balloon, and everyone will hear it.
— ...Fratley... hey, Fratley? – Hrist... left side. A heart may tell a lot about a person, but sometimes words are meant to be listened.
— Yes, Hrist?
— I want to know what should I do – at this rate, the crowd should had been gone, but where there is a meat, flies come in – I... I don't know...
_/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\_/\
— First, you must breathe – holding her hand, Fratley could feel the pressure inside Hrist lowering – I'll go inside, and you take care of the crowd.
— As if those Royal Guards could...
— I believe that you can – despite all that has been said, Fratley didn't noticed any changes, but he tries – I mean, I do not expect everyone to be out, but, if you can tell at least someone to get out here...
— Without a javelin, it's hard to convince someone – so Hrist stated, as she and her mentor landed into same ground as the crowd stood upon, with their heads glazed over skies, or whoever is about to fall from them – but I'll try, anyway,
— You're a Dragoon, Hrist. Of course they will hear you – said Fratley, raising its hand to briefly touch her left shoulder.
— You hear me a lot better than they do.
— And I am glad that I do. Hope that man hears me as much as I can listen to his fears.
Above, he threatens to jump, but a kind of force pulls him apart from the edge. Maybe the people, random faces and familiar ones, are the main reason it prevents him from doing it. Jump... everyone is here to see it. Why are they here? He wonders. There is nothing to see, only a failed civilization in which the existence of those who worked hard are acknowledged near death. Nothing makes sense as it should, he thinks, can't even remember its name, doesn't mean a lot. As he stopped to remember his name, or maybe how life is great if lucky, the two Dragoon Knights below moved into adjacent paths throught the burmecian barricade. Fratley moved in to the main door, where Royal Guards stood, while Hrist stood at the crowd, filled of whispers and noise out of throats chanting swearings against the poor guy, or 'whoever he thinks he's doing'... he ain't no martyr, isn't fighting for anything. Gave up of fighting... she hears a lot from a person nobody knows.
Johnny... then a name comes out. Good person. I can't believe he's doing it, friends and neighboors comment. Some are here to help, while others want to see, even know what's happening, like ants before a pile of sugar. The key of that door had been eaten in an old fashion by Johnny, who wondered if he could poison himself with its rotten metal. Why not break the window? One of them says, but it's hard to know who. Perhaps the one with a brick in hand... good idea, if it weren't for the shards about to mutilate flesh of those passing by. Many ideas are brought by the crowd, to later be received by a Dragoon telling them to go away. Please, Hrist begs. She wants to be out of here more than they do. Her bittersweet voice shares of weakness, and her eyes hidden by brown locks reveal contempt for those who 'want to see it' as a crude way of entertainment their miserable low-lifes.
If someone could open that door... which Fratley instantly does with a kick. Numb, his left feet is useless, makes him limb, but anyway, the Knight won't need its fists, only to hold into the handrail. Two Royal guards stands with the swords at the entrance, while Hrist makes new friends. Hullo, a boy in ragged pants said. Children are so cute, she thinks, including the sniveling ones. With her hands on knees, followed of a smile, she tells them to go away, play somewhere else. They obey. Hrist saw herself in one of those orphans, many walking around, stealing wallets, making phlegm bubbles come out their noses... which ain't a surprise, much least revolting compared to supposedly 'responsibles' standing here with their kids on lap. I could scatter sand on their eyes, if this wasn't qualified as excessive force, but for Hrist, that meant another paper for her father to sign in.
Meanwhile, despite having pulled a man in a puddle, Dan doesn't take the sword out its sheat. The claws are just fine, still useful whenever they're shed. Better be careful, 'cause this ain't a bluff, he thinks at a split-second, when his eye caught spit threw at his shoulder, in the middle of rain. There's nothing to see here, said another soldier, yelling as the crowd agitated like the ocean and its waves in middle of a storm. Don't you have nothing else to do? he begs the question, which improves nothing for better. I could have entered the building, helped the guy, so thought Dan, who is good at words as much as this Sir Fratley Irontail... how long he haven't saw him, here on ground. Been like this since five years ago, the Royal Guard spoke to himself, before he is brought back to work, protecting remains of a door from inquisitive eyes.
It's a mess, all because of an only person, an unknown that's about to enter history. Is that the only way to do it so? Thought Fratley, as he moved upstairs, to finally reach the rooftop and talk to this Johnny, who stood on the edge, by the tip of toes.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
— Johnny? – asked the Dragoon, who couldn't listen to an only heart at the moment. He was feeling a headache, too much people inside... – do you... feel alright?... I... I can help you...
— I wouldn't be pointing the finger, had I been you – said Johnny, looking over the shoulder to a figure on its knees, holding its head tight – you're the one who needs help.
— I... I... – geez, how convenient... hearing everyone was a chore for Fratley. He could stand up, but still, those hearts and voices were causing an ear ache. Must be the injured leg, the blood running out the wounds, it's flow... my senses are going crazy due it. The Dragoon field over my body has been broken, so he attempts to believe into something understandable, for a world that doesn't seem to make sense at all.
— If you are here to convince me to not do what I should, then you're wasting time – something in Johnny's voice disturbed the Dragoon, trying to concentrate. There was no fear, or any hesitation, as if he was being sincere. No, he can't be... May you offer me guidance, Reis.
— I understand you, Johnny – standing up, Fratley said in clear tone, hearing a heart. It belonged to himself, and that bloke – there are many voices in your head as well.
— How? You don't know me.
— I know. I felt this way once. Couldn't see, lost my father, my legs... but I didn't choose death. I learned to walk by myself again. I see people better than they do with their eyes. Please, listen before you-
— Before I jump? It won't hurt – he then turned around, to see that Knight, this if he cared to listen as well – I fell from the stairs once, as a kid. Had to lay on bed for a week until my bones healed, together of mother. May she rest in Peace. Grew up, then I found this girl, by name Kylie. We met, kissed, had a son before marriage, he died on her arms, the earth took his body. I stood at her side, sharing of same pain. Felt it was the right thing, the good to be done in these indecent times. Kylie was like mom. Now she's dead too. So, I thought... why not?
— It ain't an option, Johnny – shaken, Fratley tried to approach – my condolences for your child and Kylie.
— If you knew her... Kylie and I, we married today. The happiest day of our lifes, something happy was happening. We come home, I went inside, she stood out. Kylie liked to stare at clouds. When I buried our son, she looked to the skies. It is Luca's new home. Luca... Cute name, don't you think? For a piece of flesh, sure is. Then a creep killed her. Stabbed her at face. There was nothing wrong in that pretty face, or anything at all with Kylie. She never did anything wrong to deserve this. A pretty face, carved with another hole.
— My... – Fratley tried to convey something out his throat, but couldn't. The only warmth resided on a puke by now – I had no idea...
/\_/\/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\/\/\_/\/\/\_
— Neither I. Someone stalked us the whole way home, but I... I didn't cared. And I... I should had stood at her side – said Johnny, whose words slowed down, unlike that heartbeat. Cold sweat, blew away by a cold air that seems to come from the abyss – the guy... His skin was so thin as if a mere breeze could rip it apart.
— Any details? – Fratley asked. If there was a way to help Johnny, and a deceased.
— It's all I remember – reluctant, Johhny stands up, as he takes something jelly and round out his pocket. Something like – Kylie.. she had the most beautiful eyes I've ever seem. The assassin didn't went after those, but I did.
— You took the eyes out a corpse...
— But that scroundrel took her whole life. And he's free, doing whatever he wants.
— He who? if you can help me identify him better, maybe-
— Maybe who? Are you going to arrest him? – the answer was already at the tip of the Dragoon's tongue.
— If that's the right thing to do, I will – soon as he said it, Johnny looked behind. The last view seemed so close of his eyes.
— So, what will you do if I don't jump? Are you going to arrest me too?
— I do what's right – said Fratley, grabbing Johnny by the shoulder.
— Taking Kylie away wasn't any right, so why this shoudn't be? It's only me.
— You're wrong. There isn't only you here, Johnny. Look below, and see those people... no matter the size of their problems, whenever a bad thing happens to any of them, they'll remember your face. Remember what you did today – and soon as these words were said, both men walked out the edge, the people passing by disappearing in numbers, though a few remained, as if they enjoyed this crude act.
— See, you do not care for me as an individual.
— Sure I do! – Fratley bursted, but he felt no anger, or wanted to taint his words with suck ink – there are millions I care about, and one of them is you. Don't you understand yet?
— I understand, very well – Johnny felt his guts wrapping up inside. Felt cold, still feeled something in skin, and inside. Was alive, after all. But she wasn't. By the tip of his claws, Kylie's eyes stared at him. Or seemed to. Without blinks, or good nights of rest, they had no life, were just objects. Desperately that the killer would take them away... he did it so on its place – you made me understand, showed your point, Knight. But...
— Johnny? – something in that 'but' didn't feel any right to Fratley. After all he did... resulting into nothing. No, don't think like this. Don't think like – Johnny!
— A roof... isn't made of an only edge – standing at the other side of the building, where a filthy alley lied at the bottom, Johnny looked right throught its doom.
— Johnny, please... – Fratley made an appeal, wondering if he could be listened this time. Raises his hand, which should had grabbed that arm instead of letting it get away – you're confused, hurt, want things to end right now... The easy way out ain't the best path to follow. I'll bring the bastard to justice, believe in me!
/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\
— What makes you believe in fair justice, Knight? Why can't I believe that all my problems will be gone if I... I... – trepidation all over his skin, flowing to the ripples below feet, and a heart which belonged to someone walking over coal...
— You do not want to do this – things were all over the place for Fratley, his eyes welling up while staring at Johnny. It's hard to tell who will fall first – you do not need to. Still you have a choice...
— Choose life? Is that what you're going to say? – Johnny had no powers of predction, or any powers whatsoever. Only a life, which he used to give value – even if you're able to fulfill what you've said... there is nothing that can bring the dead back. Not even your magic, or whatever you have in hands that I do not. Now, if they understand what I have to say in the wrong way, Knight... then so be it. Everything is wrong with my life, this world...
For a moment, Sir Fratley's face froze in hesitation. A painful long moment, for a short fall.
Meanwhile...
At the Jugend, where the spirit of old warriors travel across generations, a young Dragoon Knight lays her body against a cherry tree's trunk. It doesn't bring any comfort, Freya and her back knows, but it's better than staring at those hands. Numb and senseless, if not for the warm blood dripping out her wounds, covered as well by the ooze spurting out the trunk; it ain't like honey, which's useful for wound care or whenever you want to bring a taste other than beans to your mouth. The stomach groins, claims for food, but all it gets is to distract its owner from the pain in hands. Freya doesn't want to look at the exposed injuries. Sure, she can support taking sight of a deep wound, but a bone... better let it stay inside you, unlike tears. Anyone who wouldn't cry right now would be a monster, or someone who trained enough.
It's only my first day, the Dragoon thinks. No, the one inside the outfit thought. If it was indeed the Dragoon, it would say 'keep going'. Right now, I hear it saying. If it was mom's voice, maybe I could follow what it says, but instead, Freya closes her eyes, and...
— ...Taking a nap? – so another voice echoed in her mind. No, it came from outside.
A blurred shadow amidst drowsy eyes stood upon Freya. That voice... – Edea? Where you had been?...
— In reality, which ain't your case – she said, in a cold tone – are you done yet, Crescent? It ain't safe to stand near a tree during a storm.
— You tell me – there was no storm nearby, as Freya watched the clouds. She thinks it would be interesting to see the sky crack down, or if a thunder hit her body right now, only for she to be able to redirect that powerful source of electricity away from that body. Can a Dragoon do it? Yes, it can – Edea... teach me how to redirect the lightning out my body, or whatever is the name you call it by.
— 'Misfortune redirection'?
— Yes. Anything but this tree – said Freya, letting a tiny yawn out. Edea stared at her with that same apathy on face, or whatever is the word that suits a face drained of any emotion better.
— You're the one who should finish with the tree, not the other way round – yet, something in her voice revealed life.
— Trees aren't overwhelmed by sorrow – the young Dragoon said, feeling a twitch of fingers. Tried to stand up, but her arms didn't responded – they don't care if one of their twigs are cut. Maybe they do, but who are we to listen?
— We are people. Living together of each other, occupying space, growing in numbers... That's why it's easy to chop a tree down whenever we want – Edea said, soon as she proceeded to pull Freya out the 'comfort zone' by arms. That brief sensation reminded the young Knight of the way her brother Jack used to pull his finger out a hand. Magic tricks, for a world where the real magic is unsealed by pain. Edea's eyes are sealed of any compassion, which ain't the case of the gauze she's wrapping upon Freya's hands – the why we do not take all trees down is because nothing is infinity, all beings need a space on their own, and because some of us care for plants as much as we do for one another.
— You are sounding like Sir Fratley – same who made my hands bleed this way, thought Freya. She already expected a harsh training, but to begin with this?...
— He taught me a lot. A good man, don't you think? – Edea asked, tightening the gauze once white in palms, both covered by a brown smudge below.
— Barely I know him. And if he's that good, my hands-
— Only your hands? He's good. Nice bracelet. Lapis-lazuli... from Fratley?
— Yes. He gave it to me. Just his way of saying 'have a good mood', 'be confident', because if it shedded of any luck...
— You are lucky to train with the best, Crescent.
The best? I can't feel my fingers.
— Good, because had you felt the needle...
— The needle? – Freya looked at her fingers, their surface covered by sutures. If she couldn't fell the needle, then by staring at those green lines...
— You should stare at something else, like you did with my face all along – said Edea, who acknowledge that there was something unique on her face. Maybe a first impression issue, thought Freya, since the driest of the flowers share of a scent. A blank wall as well.
— I saw my skeleton, Captain. I... I wasn't supposed to see it.
— Well, had you ever been into a hospital, Crescent? – suddenly, Edea's tone changed. It's the only thing in her that does change – ...to not being able to tell who's alive and who's dead, to slip in feces and blood on the floor... it ain't a nice thing, but you don't see me complaining. So, stop whining and get that tree down.
— But with my hands!? – said Freya, trembling in both her words and feet – that's... that's impossible.
— Know what else is impossible? This rain. Yet, it's here, falling and falling. And look at the mirror, and tell yourself that you are not a rat, girl. A rat doesn't difference from one another, they cannibalize their own sons, but we know the law and the punishment those who disobey the law deserve. That's why we don't crawl naked around these streets. The why we wear clothes, but a Dragoon ain't only a coat! – ouch. The pain in arms is gone, all taken somewhere else. Not my head, or my heart, but... it was then that Freya's helmet began to weight a lot, and she had no choice but to lay her forehead against the trunk.
— Can I break this trunk with my head? My feet? Anything?
— You can break anything that belongs to your body throught training, Crescent. Except your wit – For Edea, to play tough ain't that much of a game, but a thing easily to be done as to throw any rock in a lake to see it bounce.
— Alright – only round rocks bounce, the others sink, so thought Freya, who still couldn't feel any of her fingers by each hit – it should hurt, Edea. It's wrong not to hurt.
— It's your mind ignoring pain. That's the goal of this training. From where else the strenght of a mother holding a whole ceiling just so it doesn't fall on her sons comes from?
— Is it the same source of an assassin without a heart? – said Freya, with a fist upon the trunk, each hit felt like hitting water again and again.
— No, Crescent. It ain't. Some criminals can ignore pain, for sure, but it's different from my previous example. You know, when you give up pain, but still care for one another... that's what I meant.
— A day ago, Ezekiel said something about a criminal dressed as a Dragoon Knight, murdering people.
— Rumours.
— Rumours? With all those reports he came up in hand, upon his desk, isolated cases...
— Isolation such as a wall covered by bullet holes, but you closed the eyes by the moment you pulled the trigger. Well, I understand what Ezekiel passes throught, an only man doing the job of a hundred, and not being against his entirely, I know how hard it is to tell a lie from a half-lie, and a truth from a half-truth. Truth is that sometimes people report members of the own Jugend because they saw one of us lead astray by our powers, and because it's easy to do a report. Understand?
— A single slap in face is enough for them to do an abuse report, that's what you mean? – the scent of sweat floated to Freya's nostrils. Not even the amount of rain falling is enough for the scent to be gone, or what brought it at first place. Though, better let sweat go out than blood.
— Some people think we are the reason why crime exists, though we began to exist before it. They don't understand, even when we wear these coats so they can understand what we are capable of doing.
— Like standing on any water surface?
— Yes. To think we show our faces in order to tell that anyone can do what we do...
— But you hide the scars – and in your case, a smile too.
— Now quit the small talk, if you please – THUMP! If there was a word alone to describe the hitting of a trunk, perhaps...
— I'd rather talk than listen to my bones shattering piece by piece.
— And I'd rather watch you fall apart while doing my nails – ...THUMP! And another hit, this time louder. The only thing that shed of a noise, or dared to. Freya didn't wanted to turn her neck, or worse, get it done by those hands belonging to Edea. She knows the captain won't do it, but the tension doesn't let right thoughts to be articulated – but I am a good person, you caught me in a good day, girl. I'm not angry, so you know. Just demanding.
The trunk... It wasn't hollow inside, Freya of her wishes came true, the world already had that shape before she was even born. Her fingers can barely touch one another, after being used all day along. And what Edea said doesn't help. This if she said a thing until now. Those fingers... it was as if they didn't belonged to her body anymore, that same blood flowing throught arms was drained out by their tips, that they are about to rot and fall down...
— Enough, Crescent – a crooked neck, watching the grass growing between toes... of her feet and hands. Fallen, the young Dragoon's ears stand tall, once they heard a voice from behind. There's only Edea, but it's hard to not close the eyes, let them be sunken by darkness, tempting. Darkness that covered those scars, the cracks on the wall shedding of light – next time use your knees.
— Next time? – with conscience and blood left, Freya is able to stand on both feet. Only her hands to be fixed, unlike that appaling face asking for fresh air. How ironic for it to come out that cherry tree...
— Yes. It's over for today. Rest, and come back tomorrow.
— But-
— It's an order – Freya swallowed hard when she heard those words. For a moment, she couldn't say anything. Had nothing against such order, except for...
— But if I leave now...
— I'll tell Ezekiel about your leave – Edea pointed to the entrance. She could move a finger, after all – know that you can leave the Jugend anytime you want. It's your choice.
— And what about the duty hours?
— You aren't on duty yet, child. This is only training – only training, which took so much... Freya tries to focuse her mind, to breath with her nose instead of the mouth, both dry.
— So, if I never come back... – fading into distance, the red Dragoon leaves the Jugend, in doubt.
— You will – same doubt answered by Edea – it's what you want, stubborn like that.
Later...
278Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡet6MLdspbM
278Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUxoQa35AiL
— Oi, sis! – said Jack, standing at the market street, as well recognizing my color over this distance between us. It could only belong to me.
— Hi, Jack – and that awful scent... it could only belong to my brother. Not that I am perfumated right now – selling fishes?
— And scales too. Want one?
— No, thanks – I really didn't wanted anything that could flay my skin – if you please...
— Hey, hey! Are you going to pass by like that, sis? – Jack furthed his step towards me – don't you want to listen to me, or any of my offers?
— I'm not interested.
— Why? Not everyone share of this opportunity I'm giving you! – he insists, but I don't care.
— Does a Dragoon get a discount?
— Well, in this case...
— Then ask someone else, Jack. I'm not a Dragoon yet.
— But you are a child of one.
— You too – no matter what I say to Jack, he follows me. I am not even running away from his, just walking.
— Hey, I know what's wrong... not enough fiber makes you act like that – only you are smiling, Jack – but enough joking, you can talk to me whenever you feel... well, like that. It ain't good for you, sis.
— I know – I still haven't shown Jack my hands, hidden on the pockets.
— You never let up – Jack smiled again, but this time, it wasn't due mockery. Call him a bastard if you want, but he's yours. A good bastard, and I dare to say, a good brother – I advise you to relax a bit, Freya, or else you'll die from all the stress.
— I'll do it.
— Okay. Now, can you hold this bucket? – Jack offered me a wooden bucket, full of fish's heads. A good brother, you say...
— I will try, not because you asked – I just want to feel my fingers again. Carefully, I took the bucket with an only hand. It ain't that heavy, but my fingers can barely be close of each other. Somehow, I am able to hold the bucket, maybe for Jack – what are you going to do with all those heads?
— To discard ain't an option – said Jack, who came out a tent carrying carrots on a basket, which looked like fingers – these ugly carrots, I'll tell you... ugly, but delicious. They are so cheap, yet I don't see many coming in to buy them.
— Do you feed Freyr with those?
— Of course, sis! If you knew how much feeding an only baby costs... – Jack didn't noticed the dirty bandages wrapped in my hand, or any of those green lines. He just kept talking about having a son with Otterley, who used to be our nursemaid. I just accept it, like the rest; it ain't my life, but someone else's. A common life, not that I do not mind having one. It's just that a life without nobody is boring, and the only way I can be with someone, or millions of them... – now that he grew teeth, my boy wants variety.
— Don't you think it's too earlier to feed the baby with solid food?
— If I could, he would be drinking water by now. You know, Ottis ain't always home, taking care of other's sons... see, burmecian babies are a weird thing. Anything that comes out of an only month pregnancy may be, if you think about it. We learn things so quick, only to forget them as we grow. And Freyr isn't that young, sis. He's on its five, six months. Don't know why I had to hide him from you and mom, maybe I felt too ashamed.
— Why did you felt shame? – I asked, to which Jack's ears twitched. And that look on its face, too...
— I...I can't explain. Yeah, how could I explain that I fell in love with my nursemaid? That is... it's wrong somehow, even thought it isn't. The age gap doesn't bother me that much. It really shouldn't be a reason for I to worry about. So, together of Ottis, we wanted to grow a peace of mind before any of us let mom know her son brought a grandchild to this world, not for her, but... forget it. Know how much of an exaggeration it would be to call Freyr by accident, understand?
— As much as it would be for you to worry about these little things.
— Yeah. After telling ya to chill, to hear these things out of me – so Jack looked around, left to right. Then, he took a glimpse of my face – I wonder when Freyr will open its eyes. Should had, by now.
— It's a thing he can only do by himself – for someone who used to be a brat, Jack grew a lot – good to know you're raising your son well.
— To be born in this filth word is already a well-earned accomplishment, sis – same Jack said, and now that I perceived he was bothered as much as I.
— Why do you say that?
— Well, sis... today, I saw something horrible. A few quarters, a man stood on the roof. He looked below, walked in and out, and more people getting in at the streets. I was there too, couldn't get out, seeing that figure who wanted to jump, and I... oh, I don't know. I just stood there, watching... It was as if I was liking it, sis.
— Don't say these things. The Jack I know would not ever enjoy violence in a sickening way.
— Speaking of violence, tell me what they did with your hands – now that he noticed.
— Crescent! – I trembled, soon as I heard my name out a third party. And I knew to whom that voice belonged – what a surprise!...
— You don't need to shout, Hrist – instead of me, it was Sir Fratley who said it so – I am having a bad ear ache.
— Oh, sorry – said Hrist, who provided support for Sir Fratley's limpering feet. In other words, Hrist was his cane, but dare to say it at her face – it's just that... oh, what the hell, weren't you supposed to be punching the tree until now, Crescent?
— Punch the tree? – Jack asked, looking at Hrist, then back at me. My hands, specifically – is that the treatment given to your delicate hands?
— Delicate? Huh, those nails deserved to be cut – said Hrist, to which Jack turned back to her.
— And you would enjoy it so.
— Would I? Look, this was Sir Fratley's idea all along.
— Really? From you, Fratley? – Jack seemed less confused, and more pissed. I know where this is getting – a guy who couldn't even hurt a fly, no matter how much blood it drew out you.
— Jack... – I tried to hold his arm, pulling him back. In this situation, the arm is the least of the things that hurt.
— Do I know you? – asked Sir Fratley, who had no idea where he was.
— As much as I know you, pal – and I didn't wanted to be here – look, Frattie, I know you are a good person.
— And a lawyer that can sue for defamation, don't forget that – Hrist said, with a devious smile.
— May I continue, Hrist Chatterbox?
— Chardonnay. Yes, you can. If you insist this to be a way for old friends reunite again...
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
— Well, Sir Fratley... in no way I'm criticizing your work, but please, there are other ways a girl can grow a bit of muscle. What you did with sis, I'll never forgive you if you do it again, not without saying 'I'm sorry', or 'would you care for some tea?'
— Jack... – Sir Fratley said, but there was something off in his voice. He didn't looked to my brother's face, just the ground – your heart is beating a lot... so full of live. Why waste heartbeats like this? Why be moved on by hatred?...
— What? – caught by surprise, Jack gasped – what are you saying?
— Get used to it – to which Hrist explained, with that same smile on face – Fratley can hear your intestines too, but a heart is enough to tell you're not fine. Also, hanging out for free, Crescent?
— Speak to your father. He confirmed my exit. Besides, Edea told me to rest.
— Did she? – Hrist stood pout, looking at me – you're lying.
— She ain't lying, Hrist. I can hear her heart. Yours, Jack's, mine...
— How convenient – both Jack and Hrist reacted to what Sir Fratley said before. The two looked to each other, in a rare moment of synchronicity.
— You took the words out my mouth...
— Boy, I can take more than spit out of it.
— Boy? I am older than you.
— Don't remind me. Come on, Fratley... we have a bigger fish, not this sardine to care about – so Hrist and, with a pull on the shoulder of Sir Fratley, left the street. Now I have only my brother to care about.
— You didn't had to do it, Jack.
— Oh, come on, sis. I was at your side.
— That wasn't your voice – I feel a shaking travel my body, same itching I feel when I am about to run, or punch someone. But I do my best to resist.
— I worked a lot, sis. As a matter of fact, my back is killing me.
— That's no excuse for being so rude with Sir Fratley – I said, to which Jack had no reply. He must be feeling same itching – also, have you saw his face? He seemed shocked.
— Yeah... I perceived too. Vulnerable, out his mind, and I took it as advantage – Jack replied, following a deep, and heavy breath – but after seeing your hands, I had to say something. Now, I don't hate Fratley; I really don't want to. And if there's a thing I hate... is to hate. Someone, or something. Like rocks between toes.
— I appreciate that you care for me, Jack. But please, not so much.
— Alright. Next time I see Frattie, I'll tell him what I really have to – I appreciate the optimism coming out my brother, shown in his face and words – as for Hrist... well, she's like that. You can't trust someone whose hair covers the eyes.
— And what about me?
— You are my sister. We share of an unbreakable bond – yes, we do – hey, now that you're out training, what about a dinner?
— Dinner? – my stomach claims for food, which I'll humbly accept. Yet, something bothers me – why not? But I won't be able to hold anything after this basket, not even a fork. So...
— Don't worry. I'll hold it for you, like I do with Freyr – and then Jack closed his fist, waving it on all directions like a poisoned fly, coming to my face. Gosh, that voice and smug... – now, just open your mouth and watch out for the dragoooon!
— Shut up, Jack.
On another place...
278Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRbisOEhj07
278Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhfy9Bn7y5Z
— What is this? – I notice a scent other than mine. Kinda familiar – lavender, isn't it?
— Only now that you took notice? – said Hrist, from where that scent came from. Nice, unlike most her words.
— A while ago. Just had to ask.
— Is that your way of saying 'I'm feeling better'?
— Maybe – my head is still waving around. I think it would be worse had I been able to see anything but black.
— Good. Now get out my shoulder – I felt a pull of arms, but I can't feel my legs. Then I fall, and I feel slimy mud between my hands. I think I shouted when I fell, so I thought when I holded Hrist's hand, shivers on each of her fingertips – oh... I'm sorry, Fratley.
— It's okay. I just have to believe – my foot, the one who kicked the door, is bleeding. If there's blood in my foot, then that means my legs are alive. They belong to me. I was born with them, lost so many people on the way... except for my... my... – I need you, Hrist.
— Geez – Hrist let her breath come out. She ain't tired, just fed up – okay. But please, your smell...
— Any complains? – as far as I know, I'm not stinking.
— No, no. It's just that it... it's all over my clothes, Fratley. You smell like an old man.
— I am not that old, Hrist – I said, soon as we began to walk.
— Well, you can barely walk, you are blind, and stands near young girls – there's something enigmatic about Hrist's smile. I wonder how many muscles does she uses to make it come out. This one, specifically. In this case, she's the only one smiling
— Does the third point sheds of any relevance?
— It was a joke. I'll improve next time. Now, mind if I ask where are we going, Sir Fratley? – a few times Hrist calls me by Sir. I can't tell if by irony, or respect. I only have a pair of ears, after all – the Jugend is on the other side.
— I know. And I have no need to be there. Zack must have received the corpse by now – nobody wanted to see Johnny's body. They just wanted to see the poor guy fall down, as a sort of sick joke. How repugnant is to feel something other than blood come out the dead. Blood ain't supposed to be green, one of them said.
— I wonder what's worse for daddy: to be at morgue, or to sign papers with same stare – said Hrist, worried. It ain't usual to feel this out her, unless on my company – at least, none of the papers are pages in blank, so he must feel entertained somehow. Like, a machine could do these and more without complain.
— A machine? – so I hear the noise of a rambling carcass, its roar unlike any other beast I've faced before. They had a heart, but this wooden craved with steel devil has a source of power in place. Hearing better, tolerating its presence on burmecian grounds if preferred, I can tell that it's claws are collecting wheat, its tubes fertilizing barren fields. In my mind, it has the size of a house, on wheels. Hrist stood quiet, as we stood alongside the fence. So much noise... is there someone guiding it, or does it have free will? I want to hide, but the grass that used to hide the green of my clothes is gone. This darkness ain't comfortable.
— Not everyone has one of these – Hrist said, speaking about the burmecians. People outside borrow a lot of these machines, I'm sure that I heard these noises during my travels. It moves slower than a train, yet it spits that same breath taking smoke.
— I wouldn't like to. I prefer when I have something to be done with my own hands.
— But wasn't that thing made by hand too?
— These machines do what our hands do in less time, but they also turn any use of a hand very unuseful by comparasion – I made my statement, to which Hrist nodded. However, she doesn't agree with me fully. If that was the case, that wouldn't be the Hrist I know.
— You use your feet in a loom, as much as you hold a needle to sew.
— That's not what I meant, Hrist. What bothers me is that all craft is gone in change of a standardized method.
— Honestly, you weren't supposed to see any human value in cold steel. Well, that's what we earned from Lindblum in exchange of nothing.
— Lindblum... I once went there. Beautiful place, the last I ever saw with these eyes.
— And why you came back? – 'why would I come back to this awful place?' that's what she meant. For many reasons, Hrist. Same old story. One of them... right here. I may not be able to see, but that doesn't mean that I can feel. Lavender... not only it belongs to Hrist, but someone whom I shared my life with. Before the gates of a city of stone, I stand. A wind invites me to a place without life, weren't for the grass and the people that come in and out. Or my heightened senses. A lot of unknown faces, for a place where so many are well known.
— ...pant...pant... Pant. Whoa, Fratley. You've walked this far on your own, without falling. To this place... – I heard Hrist on my back, sweating and losing breath. Other than walking all the way to the graveyard, I found strange that I heard no more of her voice. Her voice, scent... – without paying, too.
— Lavender... – I feel this scent. With the tip of fingers, I have the touch to tell where her name is written. Here... lies... Sophia Highwind – they were mom's favorites. One of the few things I can remember about her is the scent of these flowers. Everywhere, Hrist – I kneeled before the grave. The petals of lavender were drying up, despite the lot of rain falling. Something fell out my eye. Do blind people cry? Of course they do. Like children.
— I only feel the scent of rain – Hrist's senses are limited, compared to mine. For better or for worse. I kinda miss the scent of rain pouing on dust, without the things in between. I never liked soup, just a yellow boiling liquid with carrots floating. Had I this tongue, what would I think about mom's food?
— ...'Sure. Travel the world, but be back at dinner', so mom said. I mean, father and I never went back. If it wasn't for me, only father – I murmured, very loud – he left home, and I made company. All the times he left Burmecia, I was there at his side. Doyle too, and how that beck hurted... anyway, despite the knowledge and amusement I acquired, I couldn't see, or refused to, that things weren't any wonderful at home. Rarely mom and pops fought each other, and with time, a silly reason was enough for them to discuss. Despite that, they were good people, never layed a hand on another. Know when you take a walk alone to bring relief? Well, father choose the world. One day, he left home for real. Didn't wanted my company, but I insisted. Funny how none of my friends noticed I was gone, except for mom.
— She was more than I friend, I see – then I felt Hrist's hand laying upon my left shoulder.
— She died alone. And I wasn't there. Everyone, except for me – I hear the vermins crawling beneath me. It's all I hear. There are things I shouldn't hear, like the crowd of each morning devouring my spirit, or the vermins taking away what remained of mom.
— And hat would you do if you were? – everything, except what is inside of me.
— It would be useless to save her. But to say some words, in other hand... say something to make her feel better – leaning on mom's grave, slowly I try to stand up on my own. Joints crippling, fingers twitching, I hear something inside of me, louder than any yell, quiet like a whisper. Hrist is behind me, stood at my side until now.
— I would like to know your mother. I didn't even had one.
— And what about Lenneth?
— Right there – Hrist said, as she pointed to a grave to which we walked at – well, Lenneth took care of me like she did with her own offspring. While father fought at the streets, I was in her arms, this when a spear wasn't being held by same, and that's it. I wouldn't ask for a better life, never fought for Lennie's attention. Maybe a bit, but that's beside the point. How I liked her... without Lenneth, or daddy, what would I be, other than an orphan?
— Who knows.
— Yeah, who knows. Hey, now I see that a lot of us Knights are orphans. So why not, instead of Dragoon, call us Orphan Knights?
— Guess we are all orphans in a way. Of the sun, the moon, the stars... father used to say it when we crossed the hills – I said, as Hrist and I left that awful place, full of good people – I made company for him, said what I had to. This until I lost him, my sight and my childhood. In his place, another man raised me. Vincent Irontail... Oh, forgive me for being too sentimental. I don't feel right today, after what happened.
— With the whole world in your ears, who wouldn't feel like this?
— I feel a lot better when I am able to only hear a voice, Hrist – and to hold an only hand, too.
ns 18.68.41.141da2
