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Whew. Training is over for today.
— I bet you would deviate from Hrist's attack – well, not so.
— You bet what? – I asked to a random stranger lying against the pillar, holding a dice with an only hand.
— Nothing. I don't bet money. I just do it for curiosity's sake. As a matter of probability, you shouldn't have avoided that, uh... hair. Seems like we have new flesh hanging around.
— Excuse me! – gee, I don't go with his guts already.
— What's up?
— Is that your way of saying 'hello, how are you'? – I haven't saw that guy before. He's a Dragoon Knight wearing an aqua blue coat, and that's all I know about him. For now.
— The dice haven't told me to present myself. Well, odd is for saying my name, even for not – as it seems, that dice ain't there for decoration. He throws it and gets – even! Well, guess I won't say my name to you.
— Neither I to you – I'm leaving. No need for introductions.
— Why not? Hey, aren't you cool as a cucumber? – what? Better get away from this weirdo... – chose to leave by chance?
— Chance? Mother told me to not talk to strangers – much less strangers like you.
— Oh, I see. You are Lenneth's daughter, right?
— I am. And you? – kinda rude to just leave without any introductions, mother used to say as well.
— A man of the dices. Also known as Gray – Gray... is there anything more redundant than a burmecian with gray fur be called Gray?
— Good morning, Gray. Oh, no need to bow before me. Careful, you will-
— GraAAAAY! – I told you to not bow. He did it, some dices came out his pockets, he stepped over and... slipped over some dices? As far as I know, they aren't slippery like bananas or anything. More like pointy as stones. Anyway, he fell, and that was an awful fall – geez, my dices fell all out my pockets. A hundred possible ways to begin or not begin a talk and I have to follow only one So... Gray Rhinehart. At your pleasure.
— That's better – he seems okay. Okay? I wonder who has such an extent collection of dices – my name is-
— And you? A pretty thing like you...
— Hey! – not so fast, boy.
— Christine?
— What? – is he doing the guessing game again?
— Rachel? – yes, he is.
— No – and I go along with him.
— Well... Frida?
— Almost – I'm a peaceful lady, there's no need to be harsh with Gray. He is kinda goofy.
— Freyja, right?
— Freya. Without the 'j' – at least he doesn't bet money. I should have bet money.
— Nice meeting you, Freya without 'j' – I help him get up with a hand.
— Nice meeting you too, Gray Rhino Heart.
— Rhinehart – he said, but it sounded like RHiNeHaRT.
— Yes, Rhinehart – if I have to say that yet again... it's kinda getting into me. Like when the doctor asks you to say '33' and your body vibrates. No way I'm saying vibration just after meeting this guy – now that we have been properly introduced to each other... how are you doing?
— I... I am – Gray throws another dice in the air, grabs it and says – number four. Well, I am fine, despite a pain in the butt. And you, Freya without 'j'?
— I am fine – and I don't need a dice to tell.
— That's good, Freya withou-
— Just Freya – I appreciate he knows my name used to have a 'j' in it. A few people know it. This speaking of someone I met right now...
— Right, Just Freya – he doesn't learn. Is he making fun or me, or just who he is? He throws another dice, it's all he does – is your hair white or have you painted it?
— My hair? It's white ever since I was born – why would I paint my hair anyway?
— White like snow, wearing red... Is your name Freya? 'Cause you're like a mix between Snow White, and Little Red Hood.
— ... – I have no idea what the heck he's saying. Like he orders the dice to say things on his place.
— You're a quite person, Just Freya – he said, as I only stood quiet for five seconds just blinking.
— It's just Freya, not JUST Freya – I had to clarity. If he throws another dice before saying something, I'll stick it up his...
— Right, Freya – ...and he threw it again – of what?
— Crescent. Freya Crescent – like everyone needs a surname.
— Crescent... like the moon, right?
— So, Freya Crescent like the moon – Gray knows what he's saying. Heh, he's doing it on purpose – what brought you to the Jugend. Was it to follow a mother's dying wish? To have a succesful career? To eat the finest meal at the kitchen? To find out the sexual implications of a javelin at your hands?
— Well – anything, but the last question is fine. I'll be honest with Gray, he is not afraid of what he says – I came to the Jugend in search of a purpose. My mother was a Dragoon Knight, she found herself at this place and since little that I wanted to be someone like her. Someone strong, courageous and daring and... a lot of things. Good things. I miss mom, but I'm not here for her. She never said I had to be a Dragoon to be any of the things she, or any Crescent before me, was. I just want to live my life, and what's a life worth living if you... I won't give up already, I still have a lot to do.
— I see, Freya Crescent like the moon – a lot to do? What about slapping that face? Nah – you know, I came here to find who I am too. And because the dice told me to.
— The dice?
— Yes. The dice tells me what to do. Before, I was a kid born and raised during the lean cows ages. The government had to bare the costs of the war against Alexandria, my father was lucky he didn't got called out for that carnage at the desert. Father worked hard, yet he barely earned enough money to suffice his family's needs, my needs. To anything I asked father to do, he said 'no'. Can I buy a toy? No, make your own toys. Can I play with mud? No, your clothes will get dirty. Can I jump out the window? NO. Just no, no and no. It was rare enough to hear him saying a 'yes', as rare as snowing. Can I play with my friends? Yes, but don't come home late. I grew to be less impulsive, more obedient and with these years of denial I haven't been that much happy. To every new opportunity that I came across, I would just deny it. Never took any risks, for real. I almost contemplated something, and it was not God. One day I realized how life is too short, too precious, we can't just give up and say that everything we do, or not do, is useless. No, we should live the best way we can, and the way I found to live a better, if not more exciting, life is by playing with chance, taking risks, be out the box...
You said you didn't knew a thing about this Gray guy, Crescent? Now you know his whole life in less than five minutes.
I wonder why I'm still listening. I'll find an opportunity to say goodbye, when he is done.
Why, that's so mean. Well, it's a mean possibility. And Gray understands a lot about these.
— ...you see, sexuality has nothing to do with genitals, people often mistake that. Yeah, it has a little to do with knowing who you are, boy and girl, and you know what? That's what sexuality is all about, growing awareness of who you are, inside and outside, who are you and who are others beside you it is more complicated than that but that's what it is. Why was I born a boy? Why do I have a... a second tail at the middle of my legs? Why was I born a burmecian? Why does it rains forever? Why did I became Dragoon Knight? Why am I speaking to a cute such as you? WHy have I said you are cute, why do I feel shaken when I say what I think? I'll say why, it all happens by chance, but in society, things happen because someone told you to. Order, it's how it's called. There is a need for order at society, for divisions, routines, work hours, free hours, all these complicated schemes of sucking someone's living potential. By chance, you can do a more lot than you do by being restricted to society and its walls. You feel awful when you say a thing you just though because society demands you to behave well, yet I see no harm at saying you are cute, because the dice freed me to say such. I do feel a weird tremble all over my body, but these are society's chains tightening me up, telling me that's wrong while in fact it is not, I am just telling the truth out of my heart, but that doesn't mean I love you, we are yet to properly love each other, and I think you and me are not in the age for this kind of love the perverted side of my mind, the one restricted by society, thinks about.
For someone who doesn't like restrictions, Gray surely speaks with a wall of text.
Cute, he said? I have reason enough to slap him already, but that's not polite.
At least he's sincere. Maybe too much.
— ...Whew, am I bothering you with my talk? – he is self aware too.
— No, not even a little – let's see if he noticed if I am convinced or not, because he surely will.
— You don't sound convicing enough. In fact, you hate me and want me to leave you alone, but you don't want me to feel bad because it's our first talk, right? – it's not like we have a relation to each or anything, we just met right now.
— That's right. Nice knowing you, Gray Rhinehart.
— Nice knowing you too, Freya Crescent like the m-
— Freya Crescent. F-R-E-Y-A-C-R-E-S-C-E-N-T – Gray ain't my type. He is my antitype, sorta. Yet, I don't hate him. I don't like to hate someone I just met and got a half bad, half good, half shut up, half tell me more impression.
— Have a nice day, F-R-E-Y-A – urgh, I hate when he does that.
— You too – I head straight to the main gates of the Jugend. Nothing can stand...
— Leaving already, Crescent? – ...on my way. Nothing, except Hrist. Doing her Surface Tension technique of always – won't we even celebrate?
— Leave that for tomorrow. I am pooped.
— I see. You met that Gray guy, he talked to you... yeah, he leaves me awful like you do.
— Do I? – Gray appeared out of nowhere without making a noise. He must know Surface Tension as well.
— Yes, you do. Be more impulsive, you say. Well, darling, I came with that philosophy first, without needing a cube at hands.
— Is that why you ate all my onion dolls? – I still haven't forgotten that.
— They were made of onion – no apologies to this day – look, we are stepping on the same place I left a hole.
— Quite a hole – is it really that place where Hrist broke the floor? I must admit, she did a nice job at fixing it – what was the technique called by? Drill Crusher?
— You came up with the name now? Pfft, that's so cheesy...
— I'd rather see you making soap bubbles.
— Do not underestimate soap bubbles. They have a higher destructive potential.
— Show me that potential for later. I'm not up to any fights, I already did a lot for today – knowing Hrist, she would have no mercy right now.
— That tree was laughing at you, but you showed her who laughed last – is she proud of me? That's such a rare sight.
— Trees do not laugh.
— That one did. And you showed her. I'm impressed.
— Why, thanks – half of me thinks Hrist is being nice for the sake of being nice. The other, well... we are shaking hands, so it's fine. For today.
— I'd say you two do quite a nice pairing – there's always a third eavesdropper around.
— Be quiet, Gray. Or else, I'll shove your dices and my fists at your throat – if it wasn't for Hrist, I'd say that on her place.
— I tried to eat dices when I was little. The red ones looked like candies.
— I'll make you eat some sidewalk if you don't stop your spiel.
— Okay... – I know Gray is a smart folk. Then he kneels and slips his finger at the ground, puts it on mouth... eugh, forget about being smart, or whatever. He has something to say – tastes salty. Be seeing ya, Freya. Hrist. Ladies.
— ...Is that why we haven't been presented to each other before? – so Gray left, and there's only me and Hrist.
— Yeah, Gray... he is peculiar – that's the best word to describe him. Peculiar – there are days he chooses to not take a bath because the dice told him so.
— Really? – Hrist ain't one of the most reliable and truthful sources around – well, I should better be going. See ya tomorrow.
— Heh, is that all for today? – why can't I just go home?
— It is.
— Not even a pizza? – pizza, huh? I might have a change of mind.
— No, thanks. Maybe tomorrow – never refuse a pizza. It won't be me who will be paying, though – by the way, tell your father to mark my exit.
— Alright – I can leave this place at any moment. Even live here if I want. There's too much freedom, yet why do I still feel caged? – don't you want me to follow you home? Or, do you prefer to be alone?
— I'm not alone. Not with this red coat.
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— I do believe we have a soul, and at the moment we die, it leaves the body. Silly, isn't it?
— It ain't silly – many things bother my dear friend Ezekiel. Being on the of heads ruling out a school of Dragoon Knights, he's a man who has to deal with lots of trials and tribulations – as a kid, I was forced to go at the church on every sunday. I found the priest's speech to be utterly boring, all I wanted was to get out of there. A tiny bug was way worthy my attention than any of the saviors or prayers, but now I kinda miss the green and purple colors. Liturgical green, it's how I used to call it by.
— Nobody likes going to the church, much less laywers.
— Is that another one of your laywer's jokes? – please, Zack.
— Why, yes... Will you sue me?
– I don't see why – my wages are on time, you pay me well, we've been close of each for so long we're like family. I guess.
— If you say so. Well, better not sue me.
— I said I won't.
— Just checking – to be fair, I think I never sued anyone in my life. But I'd hate Ezekiel being the first on the list – how was training?
— Lady Crescent finished for today. Took a whole tree down with her own fists.
— Really? With her fists?
— With kicks as well – why I don't seem that surprised? – don't you miss a cherry tree standing outside?
— Oh, that was a cherry tree... some fine wood for a javelin – the finest of the woods to make a weapon – I wonder, whose ruler, warrior, Dragoon, whoever came up with this... it may sound unpolite what I'm about to say, but I find it stupid. Yes, really stupid. Why force our students to punch a tree until it's down? Why not chose a tree and make someone else model a javelin out of it? Also, a whole tree for such small staff? That's even more ridiculous, but who am I to question?
— I borrow same questions as well – and my excuse for following these is something we call 'tradition' – when we are little, we feel forced by our parents to do anything. To clean the house, make the bed, take a shower, go to church, but when we grown up, we feel there's a need for doing these things on your own. Not because someone else told us to, but because it's the right thing. Except the church, you can go there if you want, like when you feel you're missing something in your life.
— You mean faith?
— Yes. Faith is important. You can find it anywhere, there's no need for going at church, for something tangible and pervasive as faith be kept within walls – hmmm, why am I talking about that? It ain't faith that bothers me, but something else – you see, private property has made us so stupid and one-sided that an object is only ours when we have it.
— I see. You believe the Dragoon, like faith, can be taught and felt outside such an old and well-regarded institution as the Jugend, isn't it? – it seems you took the words out my subconscious, Ezekiel – look, I broke my back to reach this far, Fratley. To attain this position in the Jugend, run this very academy of respect, while I gave my daughter a good home, a good education, anything money with sweat could buy. Seeing her behave like that, so reckless, so stubborn... I mean, she broke Jugend's property. Dug a hole with her own hair, can you believe that?
— With the Dragoon, you can do a lot of things. I'm proving that by just walking without my cane – a miracle, I could say as well.
— Why do you have a cane, anyway? – good question. Everyone seems to ask me this very question, and I always reply with the same answer.
— Well, I can't just walk because I feel like I want. It takes a lot of effort just by standing by my toes, by feeling each of them. I thought I lost my vision and my capacity of walking after the accident. Of all things I lost... I mean, it was so sudden. Father and I, we were on a train, third class, nothing special. I was looking over the window, feeling the wind while an old lady coughed behind me, a young fellow wearing a huge hat smoked at my side, and father was holding me. And then... I don't like to talk about it, but since it's the last visual memory I ever had, it means a lot.
— Moving on – you're right, Zack. Better move on. Better forget that father holded me, I holded his hand, we flew out the window, fell on grass, and... he did it to protect me. Father Highwind, there should have been a portrait of my burmecian father around.
— I believe in angels, Ezekiel. You said before that it was silly how you believed in souls, but I do believe there are angels, even if the closest of a rat and an angel combined together resulted in a bat, or a pigeon. Never understood the hate for both. I always had a fondness for bats, they can fly and despite being blind, they 'see' at the dark. I also find a few of them to be rather cute. Have I told you about the time a bat came to my tent and sucked my blood by the tip of my toe? It doesn't hurt like many say, however I can't deny I got rabies that day.
— I suppose vaccines do not hurt as well – don't remind me of these, Ezekiel. Well, it's not like I'm the only one afraid of needles around here, so – and what about pigeons? They spread disease.
— Yes, but people don't? You don't see people getting rid of people by considering them as disease. Well, you had these kind through history, and to think they are referred as people... – some even getting a painting at the walls of Jugend, yet for what they fought? Their cruel principles of resistance taught to this day, that tree hitting bullshit, for example.
— In this corridor, only a few monarchs and Dragoons can be considered truly nobles – all these Kings and Queens of Burmecia, and only a few did the right thing – King Karnak believed that a few burmecians belonged to what he called by 'pure race'.
— Sigh... What a fool. If you attempt a 'pure' race, without any crossbreed between different speciments, you'll get no genetic variety and will end up sterile, because the world is made and depends on diversity. Also, aren't the burmecians a result of a mix of tribes, cultures, traditions and breeds throught ages?
— No wonder the King's head ended up on a pike. What a ironic way of dying – and so Zack and I had a bit of history class, then we walk away and I don't know to where.
— Flowers are way smarter than these bastards. They even learned before us about the incest taboo — I still have no idea to where Ezekiel is going. He said nothing, rarely he walks outside the office.
— Need a hand, Fratley?
— No, thanks. I can find the handrail – must be, gulp... that place. So we head downstairs, to that place... – what are we doing here?
— Remember when I told you about souls? How I believe everyone, everything has a soul inside? Well... when someone commits murder, they don't just kill a person, but in my opinion, they take away that very person's soul – Ezekiel is shaken at being here too. I wonder, who came up with the idea of building a morgue right at a school where the majority is made of young students? That's way more absurd than believing in souls.
— I see. It's way more painful that way – and pain taints these walls. I have the feeling that the ones who build this chamber worked until they passed and they became the first guests.
— A bit dark here, isn't it?
— I'm used to the darkness – soon as Ezekiel lights the room, his heartbeat races like a comet. Hmmm, couldn't find a better word, this ain't no place for words. Or metaphors. I try to keep away any thoughts of death, but it's hard in a room only filled of corpses kept within walls. Zack pulls one of those mortuary cabinets and the scent, my god... I can imagine the amount of flies, but there are none. Anything to break this silence would be fine.
— I'm sure you remember this one. The wife of the guy that dropped twenty feet down. What was his name, Johnny?
— Yes. Johnny – I can't forget that day. It always come back, no matter what.
— They found her like this. I'd be glad at being in your place, 'cause this mess... no idea why I haven't puked yet – neither I, with these senses of mine. I hear the rain outside these walls, so clean and filled of purity.
— Would you be more comfortable at my place, Zack? Better think twice – I'm trying, but I can't just ignore what's in front of me. And what's that? I touch, and I feel nothing. Nothing. What was supposed to be a living being lies at the table like meat, just meat. A young lady became this...
— Damn, I feel like my brain's rottening.
— It's the scent. Just the scent – yes, the scent. It's getting all over my nose and clothes – the savagery of the murder's methods... all because of a black mole.
— A black mole?
— She had a black mole in face. Well, there's not much of a face anymore, so... anyway, We believe the suspect got rid of the victim's 'defect'. I don't think a birthmark is quite a defect, thought.
— Birthmark? Haven't you said-
— Oh yes, there's this one too – Ezekiel pulls another cabinet. He is fast while doing so. Maybe he too wants to get out of here. Any sentient being wants to be out of here – a man, thirty-years old, was walking out the market fair, smoked, that's quite a bad habit, and got stabbed in the chest. These dentations seems to belong to a surgical scalpel, and he got stabbed at the lungs.
— This is what smoking does to one being – I swear I can still smell the tobacco coming out.
— Yeah. If he didn't got stabbed, he would die anyway – there is something cold in Ezekiel's voice. Little he knows about these victims, but now it feels so personal to his – like this other dude. He had the eyeballs taken out.
— I know what it's like to live without eyes.
— And to die without them, on other hand...
— That's not funny, Zack – I'm not a fan of crude humour.
— Sorry. To have a few laughters is what keeps me sane at these moments.
— Don't be the devil's advocate. What you've said wasn't funny at all.
— I said sorry...
— I accept your apologies – this place really does things to you. The only heartbeats I feel belong to Zack and mine.
— Look, you don't see me saying these things in front of my little.
— Little? If Hrist heard you say these things – that wicked girl may seem to have a heart of steel, but even steel can melt.
– you know what Hrist told me? That she broke the Jugend's floor because another student pissed her off. That was my dear's defense. She begged me to not put a ball and chain, saying that it didn't combined with her aesthetic, that it was a thing only a dinosaur would do. She called me by dinosaur...
— It's just the way she is. At least one of them. Don't worry, Hrist has shown before she can be nice and friendly.
— Being nice and friendly is a trait of basic human decency.
— A decent human being would never do this mess without feeling guilty – even that girl has principles. I know Hrist, her worries, her fears, what makes her happy, what upsets her... I won't say I know her better than Ezekiel does – when I came back to Burmecia, no one knew me. Maybe I have forgotten the name and adress of everyone I have ever known, it's nothing I regret. Made new friends, one of them being a little girl who wanted to be a Knight like her father. I think that what Hrist wants, deep inside, is full time attention.
— Well, that's impossible.
— To educate someone is an impossible craft – compared to standing here for more than 5 minutes, education is a bless – like I said, Hrist begs for attention. Not only yours or mine, but everyone at reach. And in that age, where you feel so many things... without any kind of support, it all comes down. As a Dragoon, I've found a way to cope with my weaknesses, and I hope same happens with your daughter.
— The youth today... it ain't same youth as before. I mean, they are in this constant process of being. Either something, or someone, everything and everyone, you can be anything, they say. Nobody's forcing you, yet whatever happened throught 20 years of life, they want it to be done in 20 minutes. It doesn't help that there's this impression that success, the best life can offer, only comes after years. Well, I'm here to say that's a lie. Nothing comes in years, years are a thing made by us. Sure, adults can stay awake later at night, but they should not. Nothing to do with being productive, it's because it ain't healthy, you need to sleep.
— If you stay awake at night, you sleep at day, it will happen, it needs to – that's why I find the human body to be so fascinating, and smarter as well.
— A lot of young people who went to my office whimpered with the mention of what's called a waste of time, Fratley. There was a day my daughter cried on bed, and I had no idea why. She cried a lot, more than on that day I found her abandoned in the junk, or the day she fell out the stairs, or that day she began to bleed between the legs... never saw those rivers of tears before. No one close has passed away, none of her friends did something truly awful, no boyfriend broke my dear's heart, and well, not having a boyfriend never bothered Hrist that bad. So, I had to ask her why she was so devastated, what brought despair to my child's soul, and revelation came by numbers. Eleven. She woke up at 11 am, that's why she cried.
— Poor thing... I feel her pain. There was a day father Highwind woke me up and it was afternoon. I lost morning, but the rest of the day was the best I ever had experienced. He taught me how to ride a chocobo, I stood awake until midnight, we made a fireplace and ate some marsh mallows plants... he was aware of how much I have lost and tried to compensate it all.
— Seems you had a good fellow as a father.
— Yes. Sure I had – one of these people could have been father, now that's a scary though. As if this room haven't evoked any until now.
— My apologies for calling you out. Honestly, I didn't wanted to be alone down here.
— It's okay, Zack – I feel like I forgot to tell something important. Am I not invested as Zack on the search of this, uh... maniac? I have, none of us have anything to do with this, but because we are Knights, we feel a need to do what's right – by the way, where have these corpses been found?
— All of them were found at the southeast half of Burmecia. Elysian Fields, Dragon's Crest, Astradyne... Different neighborhoods, but same region.
— The same place where Johnny... – I still feel the weight of his fall.
— He would jump anyway, don't feel sorry – yeah, I better not – yes. That Johnny. At first we thought he was responsible for all of this mess.
— Well, he took the wife's eyes with his, but that was a desperate doing. Hmmm... There's no need to rationalize that, though – even after leaving the morgue, something, I don't know what... something stays, more than its scent. The handrail has its own texture, so rusty and rough. Only after leaving that place that I am able to feel anything with my senses. We are back to the painting hall, as it seems. Some colors to fill in this depressing place.
— Anyway, a witness claimed seeing the suspect mumbling about taking away the rotten pieces, like he was a plumber or whatever. I'm not a specialist when it comes to insanity, yet I feel we're dealing with a higher threat disguised as a minor disturbance.
— Whose witness? – who was courageos, brave enough to come here and tell us this crucial information?
— A boy. Teenager, wearing rags, brown skin, flaccid ears... I won't say he's ugly, but he looks uncanny. Won't reveal his identity, in fact no one knows who he is, other than his name is Puck.
— Puck?
— Yes. He's a trickster, but murder is another story.
— Puck... did he told you anything else?
— No, it's all he said. He couldn't stop calling me by shrimp, though. Do I look like a shrimp?
/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_/\/\_
— Yeah, you do! – so that's the Puck, yelling at us. His heartbeat is racing like a wagon. Wagon, comet... I feel I'm lacking words lately. Whatever, no one listens to my metaphors – What's with ya lettin' me on that empty room? Ye sook.
— Calm down, kid – I feel like I should not have said that...
— Kid!? Amurnay a kid for ya! – there you go Ah hud tae sloch a ill apple fur o' ye! Keek, keek! Tis tae soft, nah... tis rotten.
— I had problems understanding what Puck was saying to me – beats me, Ezekiel. Is that an apple the ragged boy is showing to us? Doesn't have a nice scent.
— He speaks in a lowland dialect. Kinda.
— Do you understand, at least?
— It's even harder to understand because he mixs words in between, but I have a clear understanding of what he's saying – never met a 'teenager' this short. What is so uncanny about this Puck? He seems normal to me. Healthy, a bit fat, I may be sounding impartial, but that's how blindness works – so, you had to eat a rotten apple, didn't you?
— That's richt! – no one deserves to eat rotten apples. I always suspect the soft ones.
— Speak our language, boy – and Ezekiel still don't get his words.
— Ah speak lik' a'm waantin'! This is a free land, isn't it? – then I listen to Puck. Not his words, but inside his throat, the stomach... now I get it.
— Are you hungry, Puck?
— Aye! – that must be an 'yes' – my tummy is aching, A'm feelin awfy, tis a' shrimp's fault! A' his fault!
— Puck said his tummy is aching. He blames you for that, Zack.
— I know. He keeps pointing at me. Don't you have manners?
— Mah manners? What about yer manners, eh? Shrimp.
— Hey, wait! Where are you going? – I listen to Puck's footsteps. They're different. It's like he doesn't have any claws, but feet. Human feet? Now that's uncanny, for a burmecian.
— Ah did whit ah cuid. Ah not a snitch. See ye, sucker! – Puck disappears. He runs pretty fast on those toes.
— There goes our only witness... – I'm sure he knows the streets. Puck will be fine, though one thing still concerns me – so, Ezekiel. If you didn't understood Puck's language, then how come he told you about the suspect?
— Oh, forgot to mention that for you, Fratley. See, the one who brought that boy on rags here understood what he was saying.
— And who was it? – I wonder...
— It was Gray – ...what? Was not expecting that.
— Gray? You mean THAT Gray?
— Why the surprise?
— To think the dice weirdo could have been any useful – that guy just came put of nowhere, stepped in at Ezekiel's office and asked if he could become a Knight, all because of a dice at hands. He came in by chance, couldn't believe that. When did he learned that dialect out of Puck's mouth? Maybe the dice told him so yet again. Well, I believe in gravity, how it attracks people to one another, so that makes us two weirdos – ...Again, what was Hrist's first word?
— I think it was damn – after all the murder talk, nothing better than a casual chat.
— Damn? Wasn't oglop?
— Right, Oglop. I wasn't even there when my dear said her first words. Lenneth was, may god bless her. Oglops be damned. Well, one day, I took the little with me back home, she was saying da da da, then all of sudden, damn. I was like, what? What did you just said? And Hrist said damn, yet again. She couldn't stop saying damn for a whole week, it was damn here, damn there, at church, at bank, everywhere we went by. Have you noticed how a word repeated so many times lose its meaning? No more I felt offended, I was actually proud of hearing my little speak. I admit, I felt so embarassed at times, but she said damn in such a cute way I couldn't tell her to stop.
I am beginning to picture Ezekiel as a shrimp. Hard outside, soft inside.
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Today was... interesting. An interesting day.
Learned a bit about the murder, it's gruesome methods, yet I still feel I'm not tied into any of this. He's a nobody. To think a nobody could do a lot of damage, be this menace. I leave the Jugend and can't get these thoughts away. I am struggling to, doing my best to let it go, and move on. I don't like to feel I'm useless, either, so that's why I'm active in this case. Johnny was a nobody too, before he became very well known around town. Well, known in the worst way possible. I think that's why I came back to Burmecia, to be known by the general populance. When I was at my worst, I'd go out to Lindblum's art museum. Worse than not picturing any of those paintings with the touch of my hands was hearing all those people call out the pieces I couldn't see by masterpieces.
I mean, what there is on a portrait that there is not on another? Input? You need input to do everything, to convey thoughts, a message, so do the people who call those artists and their paintings by 'masterpieces'. What's there so special in these that I couldn't figure out? Why couldn't I just leave my own opinion about it, without having to listen to someone, or in this case, a hundred folks gathered within a row, paying to see a painting forever hanging in a wall? I do enjoy art, there were some times Father Irontail and I came to the museum, and he let me touch those paintings, statues, feel their volume, intensity, dimension by my fingers. He would get the blame in my place, like always.
I have no one to blame but myself. No one to give input by me. Sigh, I hate having cynical thoughts. They don't do anything but make me feel bad. Just bad. Must be a thing from teenagers, but often I had thoughts of depreciation for someone else's work. It's like just because Lord Avon was born first and wrote 'I Want to be Your Canary' first that he is so well-regarded by the whole art and writing community. Only because he was the first one that the ones who came later have no chance, because their works will always be compared to the ones that came first. A piece inspired by Avon's masterpiece... those thoughts I had, they were so dumb. Really dumb, and not worth recalling.
Do you recall? Or haven't perceived in which street you're walking at? Yes, that's the place. The scent, the rain, the nivelation of the road...
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Five years ago...
...
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Could there be greater irony as a bird that cannot fly? Maybe a kingdom of rats. So, Hrist met her first chocobo. Choco, she said. How cute, despite almost being ran over by that thing. That huge golden fluffy thing. Funny, this bird does not look as huge as they used to when I was a kid. Hmmm, this very chocobo we came across reminds me a bit of Doyle, and how I used to eat his ratio. Tasted awful, but Doyle was the closes thing I ever had of a dog... he was there when father was not. I still have his last remaining feather at the top of my hat. Father's hat, too.
— Kweh! – the chocobo made that sound, as Hrist tried to reach for it. She wanted to hug Choco before he left.
— Bye, Choco! – all she did was say and wave goodbye. Choco walked away, pulling a carriage behind. He didn't looked back to the girl, no matter what – I wonder if he saw me wearing those, uh...
— Blinders? That's how these things blocking Choco's view are called by – so I began to explain Hrist that Choco didn't avoided looking at her because he was mean, of course not – lots of chocobos have blinders up so they can only see what's in front of them. Ain't no different from folks who only want to see what they want to, kid.
— Sigh You tellin' me a blind man is the happiest of all men? Happier than anyone else who sees with the eyes? My, you're pretty boring for someone with holes for eyes, Fratley – one thing I like about Hrist is her spontaneity, even if it may sound like an insult – (dare call me by kid again, smartypants).
— I do have eyes, Hrist. I'd say the blind man sees the best of all. Anyway... what I meant to say earlier is that everyone's blind to himself. I'm not judging them, to have some blinders up is what helps us get throught life, stay focused, healthy, happier...
— Are you happy, Frat? – Hrist asked, holding that very ball she went after, before... luckily, she met Choco, and that's all that happened, thank God – You look worried, like you know something I do not. Wanna play some ball with me?...
/\/\_/\_/\/\/\_
— ...No worry, I won't kick your crotch this time. Unless yer asking for it...
/\/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_
— ...My, where are my manners? You were kind enough to not yell at me... Stupid ball, almost got me done for...
/\/\_/\/\_/\/\/\_
— ...next time, I'll look at the two sides of the street... I'm sorry...
_/\/\_/\/\_/\/\_/\_
— ...Hey, are you listening to me? Fratley?
— You asked if I was happy? Why, Hrist... I wish I had a few clear visual memories, but with you at my side, knowing you are fine, sure I am happy!
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At present...
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Home. Afternoon. The blindness men wish for, silence mother of truth...
— ...Uh, Frattie?
— What's it, Raymie?
— I don't understand this game – for a while, Raymie had been scratching its head. He and his brothers, we're all sitting on the table, playing a card game – how do we play it?
— I wonder – it ain't my first time playing Tetra Master, but still – a friend of mine said that he won a Tetra Master round by mere luck.
— Luck? – that was Ingus, the oldest of the brothers. I can tell he's old because of the voice – I'd rather throw dices.
— You're the one who wanted to play this game – poor Archie. Still has not figured out how to play it. I can't blame him.
— Now I do not. It's so boring. Boring like you, brother – as for the attitude, Ingus is just a kid.
— Your brother isn't boring – I say as if it's offensive to call someone boring on same was a jerk. Go figure that out...
— But he is.
— He is not.
— He sure is – a kid, confirmed – well, compared to you...
— Me? Am I boring?
— Hmmm... yeah. Ain't I right? – I can agree that some adults are boring. Adult? I'm not even that old. I'm only twenty.
— Well, can a boring guy tell that you have ten golden coins of gil, a piece of chocolate and a ripped button on your left pocket, Ingus?
— Hey! – I love each of their expressions. Even knowing what I'm able to do, Ingus is that surprised – how did you!
— I can smell better than anyone, kids. My, how I am boring...
— Yeah. If Fratley smelled anything else inside your pants – to hear this coming out of Raymie...
— That was rude, Raymie – I feel his sudden trembling. It's a thing I hate to feel, that I can't ignore with my senses.
— Oh, sorry.
— My chocolate... – said Danny. He's been a bit quiet. If putting his sneezing aside.
— Here, Danny. Take a bit – Ingus took a piece of chocolate from his pocket, and gave it to Danny. He did it so with a confident smile on face.
— My chocolate... you ate it.
— You gave it to me, remember?
— Mom gave me chocolate
— Yeah, she did. But in this state, can you really eat a whole bar of chocolate, Danny?
— You eat chocolate.
— Uh huh. But you gave it to me.
— No I did not.
— Geez... is the cold messing with your brains too?
— Please don't be mean with your brother, ingus. He's sick – it's just a cold, but how much of a debilitating cold for a kid – you should take care of him.
— Me, always me... Why can't anyone else?
— I ain't old. You are – Archie said, comparing his cards to the ones belonging to Raymie.
— To think we were born on the same day...
— Ingus, did you stole the chocolate from Danny? – I asked, still holding my deck of cards. If this was poker, I would be having a Royal Flush in hands.
— No, Fratley. I swear I didn't. Danny gave it to me. He didn't wanted to eat it all.
— Why Danny only gave it to you, fat? – outraged, Archie shouted at Ingus.
— Call me fat again, you jester! – to which Ingus layed his little hands on the table. He can't do much with these, not when I am nearby.
— Jester? You don't even know what that means.
— It's what you and Raymie are – a brief moment of silence, interrupted by Danny's coughs.
— Is that what happens when we eat too much sugar, Fratley? – Archie asked to me. I wonder if sugar can make you angry. Abstinence, perhaps, which ain't the case.
— We know Ingus ain't that sweet – Raymie said, laying his cards on the table – see, I got a Dragon, and a Goblin, and a Skeleton. What do I do with these?
— Can I say anything? – Ingus looked at everyone, with crossed arms. I wonder what he had to say, but I know it was no good.
— Yeah, where Ingus steps, grass no more grows.
— You're exaggerating, kids – I miss when I talked whatever I felt like, without having any worries.
— Tell me, Ingus... why did you gave a bit of Danny's chocolate back to him? – said Archie. I could listen to Ingus heartbeat, but I don't want to say that he's a liar. Besides, it has already been proven that he did something wrong, can't say anything else.
— Because I did not wanted to eat it – kids and their excuses...
— Why, you!... Taking advantage of Danny. Just look at him!
— You say it as if you haven't already told Danny to pick up the kite stuck on a tree. On a storm.
— That was before he got sick.
— Does that make any difference?
— It does. Danny wanted to help. Now it's time for us to help him out.
— Look! Danny didn't even ate the bit of chocolate I gave him...
— If I were on Danny's place, neither I would! – I wonder when this card game became something else. Meanwhile, I just listen to Archie and Ingus discussing with each other – Geez... you could have divided the chocolate for us if Danny didn't wanted to, but no! You're fat, thinks with the stomach!
— He called me fat again, Fratley – now they acknowledged of my presence.
— Archie is right. Taking the fat bit away, I mean...
— Heh, cutting the fat.
— Archie! – I hope I haven't increased the tone of voice that much. Nothing can be solved with shouts – well, Ingus, your brother is right at saying you could have divided the chocolate between each of your brothers.
— My... Don't you see, Fratley? Why Ingus give back the chocolate for Danny? He's laughing at his face!
— No I'm not!
— Yes, you are!
— I'm not! Y'all wanted a bite of that, didn't ya?
— Better than keeping it all to yourself, fool!
— Fool, me?
— Yeah, a fool. Isn't Ingus a fool, Fratley? – Danny's chin is burning. Uh, did someone called me? Was it Ingus, or... oh, it's Archie.
— He ain't a fool.
— But Fratley!... – At the moment, I'm giving all my attention to Danny.
— Danny, did you wanted the chocolate? – when I was young, I had fever. You can't feel any scent, and no taste. For someone blind, the senses are everything.
— Mom gave me chocolate. I like chocolate. Ingus like chocolate too – Danny ain't blind. Well... not in same way as I am.
— Hey, I like chocolate as well! Why didn't you gave a bit to me? – Archie won't give up – or Raymie? Hey, Raymie! You heard me?
— I can't eat chocolate.
— Why not? Does your face gets swollen like a frog's one?
— No. I broke my teeth with chocolate once.
— Did you? I broke mine with an apple soft as butter.
— Archie, you're so clumsy that you broke your nose falling on your back – poor Danny, his head is boiling. Oh, was that Ingus talking to Archie? Wait, which one's who?
— And you are a chocolate thief! – that's Archie, uh huh.
— Oh, come on! Let it go, and move on – and that's Ingus, trying to get away from responsibility. Kids... – now you'll say that I have to hug Danny.
— Ingus hugs like a snake if you ask him to – Raymie said to me, to which he took all breath to himself. Wait, is he running out of air, or – I WON!
— You won? How so!? – I think I should put Danny on bed. Oh, and Ingus gasped –Raymie, you cheater!
— I'm no cheater! I mean, Grand Dragon eats Goblins, right? And Goblins eat, uh...
— That's not how you play the game. In fact, nobody knows how to play it. So why are we playing anyway?
— I know, but it's lots of fun this way. Don't you agree, Fratley? – Raymie asked to me. I think I'm having a deja vu.
— Well... having fun is better than having nothing at all. Don't you think?
— A-ACHO! – Danny's sneeze pulled some Tetra Master cards away from the table.
— Bless you – all that phlegm within one's throat...
— Thanks, Frattie – oh, Danny called me Frattie. I'm flattered. Guess he learned with the brother.
— Eugh! Gross! It's yellow – speaking of his brothers, Archie and nobody else wants to play with the cards – whoa, Danny! From where did you got that cold?
— I... I don't know.
— Alright, buddy. Time to rest – Danny's already falling asleep before I could even pick him up.
— It's what happens when you keep poking the nose too much – I heard it from Ingus.
— Funny, I haven't seem you with diarrhea, Ingus – was it Raymie? Archie? All my senses mix up with Danny's heat.
— Uh... you forgot the cane – did I?
— I can walk without it
— But if you fall...
— I would never, not while holding you – or holding to the handrail, in this case. My, having another deja vu, Mr. Irontail? I guess. So I put Danny to sleep on his bed. I take a time to hear his lungs. The acid in his stomach, the blood circulating on his veins... he'll be fine. Just a cold, nothing to worry about. I thought that bringing Danny to play with the brothers at the table would make him feel better. Being all alone in this room, in this darkness, it ain't good. Now that Danny knows he isn't alone.
— Gosh, what a waste of time! – as I come downstairs, I hear the boys shouting to each other.
— It ain't no waste of time. Wanna give up?
— I don't. Not for a loser.
— Hey, I'm no loser!
— Archie, my dear brother... You're such a loser that if you went in a loser contest, you would end in second place!
— Why not first?
— It's because you're a LOSER!
— Fratley! Ingus called me loser! – I can't tell who's who. Their body temperatures are almost the same.
— Don't yell, kids. Danny fell asleep – it doesn't matter, there should be a little bit of order in this house.
— How did he got that cold? – Raymie is worried about his brother.
— Who knows? I don't wanna get that bad – so does Ingus. Kinda.
— Danny.. he was so healthy yesterday. Fratley? – Archie has no idea how his brother got that sick.
— It's the flu, boys. Spreads quickly on air and has no mercy on anyone.
— Good afternoon! – I can tell that sweet and raspy voice belongs to April.
— Mom! – a tall figure surrounded by little whirlwinds, holding of a basket in one arm heavy as Phoebe in another.
— You've brought the bread I like, mom? – that was Ingus, raising his hands to the basket. I hope he cleaned his hands, under toes too.
— Uh huh.
— Let's see – Ingus should clean his hands. Other than that, I feel – Eggs, bread, cheese, cookies. Chocolate cookies. Five oranges, apples... Six apples?
— Am I supposed to be open mouthed? – April stares at me, so do the boys. Phoebe opened her mouth to let a yawn come out.
— Well, aren't you? Is that mint in your breathe?
— Why... yes – an icy, freshy breathe
— Mint, mom? Do ya have bad breathe, mom? – asked Raymie, to which his mother stared ugly.
— A woman has its secrets – not at the boy, but at me instead. I leave the stairs to help April out. She's been carrying a lot of weight from the market until home. Everything's on table.
— ...A pot bottle filled of water – which could've been filled of seltzer water, tea, or lemon juice.
— Why, taking a guess? – how so, April? I didn't even touched the bottle...
— I do not take guesses. I just smelled what's inside. It's water.
— When since ever water smells?
— It does. Not for you, normies! – CRUNCH! I love that expression in April's face. She hates mine.
— Fratley, you silly! There's no need to impress me with your abilites – How do I describe it? MUNCH!... A frown for anger, a curve for a smile, that's the best I came up with.
— I need to. Or else, you would be very disappointed.
— Disappointed with what?
— By living with a blind man.
— Oh, sure. With the way you show off yourself, who remembers about your deficiency? – April knows how to put sense in one's head – now kids, why don't you go play outside?
— Uh, play? – I feel worry in Raymie's voice – but you said...
— Play with responsibility.
— You heard your mom, buddy – I haven't noticed the state of Raymie's legs for a while. Guess it's because I have nothing to worry about, he's fine.
— Yeah, as long as we are not idiots like Raymie – Ingus... he's a hard type.
— Don't call you brother by idiot.
— Yes, Fratley – so Ingus ran away, following Archie to outside. The door is open, but Raymie refuses to go.
— Ingus called me idiot, mom.
— He didn't wanted to.
— But what I did...
— You won't do again, right?
— Right. Hey mom, my legs are healing! – yes, the legs. Full of leeche bites. For a kid who lost so much blood these days, Raymie seems a lot excited.
— Good to know. Wait, did I said good? Oh, that's amazing!
— O-Okay mom! Mom... That's enough, mom! You can get off me already! I feel fine – kids and their parents, hugs and kisses...
— So do I. Come on, you can go outside and play for a while.
— I heard you, mom. See you later!
— Later! – now there's only Phoebe for April to care about. Yet, something in her eyes, so do her heartbeat, changes – does hearing me is enough? I mean, what prevents Raymie from doing what he did again, if not worse?
— The boy cares about you as much as you do with him. It's just that he doesn't know how to express it.
— He could just say 'I love you, mom'.
— Deep inside, your kids are willing to say it.
— So, why they don't? Is it because they feel sentimental while saying so?
— The many was we can express love to someone, April – there's a garden outside the window. I throw what's left from the apple I ate there. Could it be a sign of love for nature?
— Want some cheese bread? – to feed someone might be tied to love. Might be.
— My favorite – April apple pineapple... I could make a tongue twister – still warm? Let me guess...
— Yes. It's warm bread, out the bakery. Anyone with a nose could tell.
— What happened at the Jugend?
— Nothing special. One of my students passed the first training, and that's it – I don't like to talk about my work to April. What stays at work should stay at work.
— That's good.
— Like this bread. Did you knew there's another way to tell if a bread is good or not? – so I took a bread out the basket. I can already tell by the slight touch of hands, it's texture, the softiness inside, that's a good bread – all you have to do is squeeze it, slightly. You can hear by the crunchiness. Here, have a piece.
— Thanks – I offered a piece of bread to April, to which she offered me, eh – here, have it.
— Alright... – a baby. There's no such unplesant thing as to hold a baby in arms. For a guy with senses as I, have something like a baby very close is... not bad, though. Phoebe is fine, smells like gardenias in the wind, her tiny heart beating a lot. I think it has to do with her heart and mine, I don't like hearing both hearts and being uncertain for a lot of time.
— Know what I heard from Melissa? – meanwhile, April is working around the kitchen, cleaning Danny's mess, making coffee, cheese bread, patting Phoebe's head, it's surprising how much she can do with an only hand, now with two – sis said that, at her neighborhood, instead of meal, they're selling bones. Raw bones, like the ones you give to dogs, being sold to people. Can you believe it? I can't. Who would be desperate enough to eat a bone? I blame the government for the lack of effort at distribution.
— The government ain't the only to blame. Tell me, where does your sister lives at? – neither I can't believe it. As for solving, though...
— I asked her, because there's no way that there's no meat avaliable to buy around the hills. There is, but with the few they have, who can afford it all? Yes, sis live at the hills. You know, those burmecian slopes you can barely walk up without almost letting the rain pull you down. Urban waterfalls, that's how they are called around. They really pull you down, let me tell you. I say that as a kid who got inside a wooden cart and got pulled by her brothers down the hill. It was fun, like riding on a comet, before I clashed against a wall.
— You clashed against a wall? – I'm impressed. April ain't a knight or anything like... she was a child, right? – how did you survived?
— Children do have twice the guardian angels as we grown ups have – April takes a seat at the table. Phoebe is too quiet, they both had quite a day – well, I lived at that place, people still live there, no excuse for having no meat, because I had. Got injured and had the finest meal I ever had. Onions boiled together of a ironite steak followed of a lettuce so crunchy...
— Like this bread?
— Yes. You know something's good for you when you can hear the noise of how good it is at your mouth – so I listen to April's words, followed of a carrot taken to pieces bite by bite, reduced into something slimy and – Fratley, don't you dare...
— Sorry. I can't avoid, not after what you said.
— I know when you're hearing something you don't want to. Know how?
— How? – April stared at me. The deep stare of a croc in the lake.
— You wiggle the ears. Everytime you hear something gross – does I? Wiggle wiggle... Guess I do. So does the little at arms.
— Look, Phoebe wiggled her ears.
— Sir Fratley – sigh, that croc is about to bite me, am I right? Nah, April doesn't – with those senses of yours, at least you can tell if my food is poisoned or not, fresh or rotten.... instead, you use them to spoil the fun. Not that I mind. I wonder, how does water smells like?
— Well... – how I will tell it in a simple way, without working around and getting her confused? Don't worry, I'll find a way to, but I can't say I will not sound too intellectual – indeed, water has a scent. It's hard to tell, because there is no such thing as pure water. There is, but it's hard to found. Depending from where it came from, if the source to a bottle of clay, water holds of so many elements, like earth, and earth shares of so many tiny elements, like iron, dead animals, and have you ever heard of elements? It's a new talk around Lindblum, something about every life, every thing in this world and universe is composed of elements, the basic ones being... well, they're yet to be called a name, because they do exist, we are made of these elements, if not even tinier elements, like a neighborhood inside a town, a town inside a city, a city inside a kingdom, a kingdom-
— Whoa – pant pant pant... I need some coffee – that's a lot complicated than I thought.
— It is. I'm out of air, but there's air around me. Lungs work with exchange of airs, you inhale and exhale. The plants as well. See that willow outside? It's breathing. Someone from Daguerreo, those guys are really smart, proposed that the plants do breathe, they have breathing patterns like us, but their air exchanges are the opposite of the one we have. Like, have you ever felt healthier near a tree, or walking at a park? Well, that can be explained by the plants taking our exhaled breathe by inhaling it as they do, and exhaling the air we inhale. I know, it's complicated, but it won't be as soon as we come up with names for these 'airs'. There's more than oxygen in the air we breathe. Imagine if all plants were called the same name, if every red petal was called rose. Things wouldn't work like they should, but they already do. It's just that we haven't come up with different names.
— Even if our goal is to be equal – I like April's single way of seeing things in contrast to mine – by being different, everyone is equal, don't you think?
— Yeah, sure – coffee's good – do you know from what Gaia's most expensive coffee is made of?
— Poo?
— Really? How did you guessed?
— I knew you'd say something gross – April and her sixth sense...
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Home. I'm finally home.
And someone has been awaiting for me.
Isn't that why we, soldiers, always want to come home? Such a pleasant thing to do, isn't it? I'd stay out home all day, if there wasn't anyone to care about. I leave the sheath with my sword, helmet, shoulder pads in a corner. To be fair, I threw them away faster as I could. The less it takes to put away the weight I carried on this entire day, the better. And how I feel better. Sweaty, a bit tired, but after feeling the scent of those carrots, hearing the knife cutting them... no cries upstairs, as well. My boys do not need to cry, their father is once agaim home, together of the mother.
— Ohh, soft! – like butter. Got Learie from behind. She gasped, and I thought my cheeks would turn red with a slap of her hands.
— Dan!?... Oh, what a surprise – I can feel the scent of boiled meat together of Learie's own perfume. And I had to ruin it all with my sweaty body. Well, my skin better sweaty than shedding of any blood.
— How I've missed you, darling – and how much you've grew up. My mind is somewhere else when I think about... uh, I always bring dirt to home. And for Learie, well... I share of my dirt, and a special massage on the chest.
— I know – she smiled. I hope you don't mind any tickles – hey! I've missed you too, Dan... hahaha!... stop. Oh, stop! Please!...
— Okay – enough fun already – let my hands be yours, how's that?
— That's very kind of you – I'll be cutting the carrots in your place, Learie – so, how was your day?
— It was a good day.
— How much good?
— You know, the unusual good.
— Meaning?
— Well, I came back home. For me, that's already a good thing – it feels so good to smell around her. I mean, the kitchen.
— Anything else?
— You mean, if I had to fight? No. Just words. They can be sharp as the tip of my blade – heh, who said that I didn't pulled the sword out its sheath today?
— Dan...
— Come on, darling. There's only two of us – yet, somehow, I feel like I'm being watched. By holes in the wall – Freya? – or, in this case, by holes out a helmet.
— Uh... yeah. Only you two – I think I heard footsteps coming down the stairs before. Now I feel ashamed, oh my... – uh... nevermind. I'm outta here.
— Already leaving? – Learie asked, and even thought I'm ashamed, I can't let her go. Reminds me of the day we've glued our hands with glue – won't you stay for dinner?
— I will – Freya stares at me with a cold look. Caught me in the act, and she's judging me as if she was my mom. Kinda reminds me of Lenneth a few times, must be that – there's so much to do. Take the clothes out the line hanging outside, cut the tall grass, fix the fence... I can't believe you let your husband treat you this way, Learie.
— Which way? – most the time, I am too tired to do anything at home, leaving it all to Learie. That doesn't mean I mistreat her. Why would I, if it's so much better to hold her carefully?
— Oh, you don't mind – Freya is like that kid who closes it eyes whenever an adult kisses one another.
— I'd do anything for you if I had the time and strenght, my dear – I admit it's kinda disgusting, only when you think about what crawls upon the skin.
— Being at home is fine for me – Learie's cheeks are soft and red as apples – and them too – then I hear cries from above. Someone else is demanding of Learie's attention.
— Have you finished exchanging germs to one another? – and someone here feels its not being given enough attention, despite wearing red.
— Well, Freya, would you like to see your nephews? – so I let go of Learie, as I walk upstairs.
— I'd rather not. But if you insist...
— I'm not insisting.
— I know. Wash your mouth before you enter in contact with any of the kids — oh, someone here is feeling envy today. I don't blame you, Freya. Seeing your childhood friend married with your cousin must be... I mean, Learie and I were trading spit to one another since little. She was so fun, I even forgot the reason why I hated girls. Maybe it's because they mix with our heads. In a good way. Nah, girls do more than that. If it wasn't for Learie, I would be dead. There's no better way of saying. But looking at the littles, I try to find a better way of saying without scaring them, while being truthful and warm.
— I never thought of being a father. Am I good enough? I'm not even here most the time.
— Now you are.
— Yeah. That's what matters, isn't it? – I take Adam with me, while Jack stays on the crib. He holds those bars with its tiny hands, stares at me and ever since he learned to open the eyes, does nothing but stare. I think he stares at me and Learie on our sleep. He sleeps like a fish, a cute fish... Cute. Thanks to Learie, I learned to say this word without feeling less man – uh, Freya? Mind if you...?
— Hold? No, Dan. I cannot.
— You don't know how to hold a baby? – Jack needs a bit of attention too.
— I do, but I'm worried that I might let them slip out my arms.
— Babies aren't slippery as soap – they do make bubbles come out their mouths and nose easily.
— No, please. It'll be my fault if I let them fall. Oh, I don't like to think about it. What a sin.
— Indeed – I feel for you, Crescent. I also felt same on my first time. The feeling of hurting these little beings is something that can't be forgiven – don't worry. That's why I'm giving one for you to hold.
— Okay, okay – said Freya, reaching out for my child. Something about the way babies look at us frighten me a bit. It's like they're smarter than they pretend to be, and are judgind us all time. They look cute, we say they're cute, and they think 'what a dumb'.. weird – why are you laughing?
— His name is Jack. I named him after your brother, you see.
— I see. What's so funny about it?
— Seeing you hold little Jack in your arms... know, Freya, you were always older than us, and we called you bug. Freya means lady, right? So we called you ladybug.
— And you the lord of flies – she remembers. And smiles, frowns, look sideways, a bunch of expressions. I think that's why I envied girls a lot, they do have much to express.
— So, how was your training? – I hope Fratley got slighter wit her.
— See my hands?
— I see nothing.
— Yes. Let me tell you, Dan, about my day...
Five hours ago
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...THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP!
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— ...Heart pumps blood to all directions. When you breathe, you make the blood move around your body. It's something more complex can I explain in a few words, but that's it. Sponges and starfishes regenerate lost tissue faster than other animals. Even lost limbs can be brought back, isn't that fascinating? Heard me, Freya?
— ...Now you're gonna tell me that oysters can swin.
— And they do – Freya... all she does is punch the trunk. With her bare fist, knees, kicks... I wonder if she's been hearing what I've said. I live by words.
— Go to the point already, Sir Fratley – she does hear me – my hands are beginning to go numb.
— Use your knees.
— So do my knees.
— Then use your legs.
— I've wasted my legs enough – I feel trembling at her voice, shivers across her skin, flowing like the raindrops. A rushed kick, the sound of cracking, and – damn, how long will it take for this cherry tree to come down? If I really tried
— You've had enough for today.
— Indeed – I try to locate her figure, but all trees around are so tall. Then I smell blood, and I know where Freya is. As if I didn't already knew she was standing near the cherry tree. A cherry without any blossoms... hard to tell, isn't it? – pant, pant, pant, pant... Now you're going to say that I'm hasty, right?
— Why would I say so? – I try to find her hand. As if she could raise it on her own by now... – you did a good job. I thought it would take a whole week until you've reached this far.
— Pant... It hurts... hurts a lot... – lost tissue, dead skin and dead bark – I...I don't want to look at my hands. Not before you... you know, heal them
— I... I'm impressed by what you're capable of – the pain of a whole week at hands, how is she able to handle that?
— Doubting of my strenght?
— Not even a bit – Freya breathes like she just came out of earth. It's kinda distracting. Look at me, surprised by breathes, but those hands... if those were the first pictures I had of hands after I lost my sight, I'd be horrified ever since. Nothing seems to shock me enough.
— What's up, Sir Fratley? – she asks, while I attempt to concentrate.
— Uh... nothing.
— You seem shocked.
— Wouldn't you be if you could hear the amount of platelets clotting around a wound? – an aura of green surround us both. If it ain't green, it reminds me of. I like to imagine the green, green grass of home. Imagine colors, shapes, best thing for a blind kid to do to feel secure, as a passtime...
— Can you?
— No. There are things in this world not even I can hear – ...hear the wings of thrushes migrating to south at night by the window. Always night. Right, where I was? Yes, treating Freya's wounds, that's right – I avoid standing near pregnant women. Can't avoid hearing two, three, nine heartbeats at once. Maddens me.
— So you can tell if a girl obeyed her parents or not?
— Eh... – I think I meant to say a 'yes', but feels so awkward to say anything. Funny, when I was young, hearing those two heartbeats, one inside another, I believed that women ate their own children. Not all imagination I had made me feel any better – well, I'm done.
— And what you did exactly? – Freya asked, as she stands on her own.
— Do you breathe?
— Huh? Is that a question?
— Really, do you breathe?
— Why, of course I do – I think I'm relying too much on the wise man's persona – anything to do with my breathing that made my skin, muscles and flesh coming back?
— Rei's Wind. It's how it's called by – honestly, I can't stop showing off how smart I am – the breath of life, your own breath converted into healing energy.
— So, all I had to do was breath in a specific way in order to heal my wounds, simple as that?
— Not any breath. To put it simple, I made you breathe in a very special way – and so I insist to explain it all, even if Freya already figured it out. Looking at me like that, crossing hands – let me explain. As you may know already, breathing has to do with your blood. After all, your blood is what moves oxygen from your lungs, same blood has to do with the cells in your body. And those cells make up your body as a whole. I shared of my breathing pattern, close as the one Reis discovered by herself during her exile at the mountains. It's hard to breath in high altitudes, there's less oxygen in the air as you go up, close of the stars...
— I like how you go from simple explanations to lucid talk – and look who arrived.
— How are you doing, Hrist?
— I'm doing well, Fratley. It ain't everyday you break the floor with your hair.
— Or break someone's hands with the power of fixing it – said Freya. Following Hrist, they both stare at me with same stare, same frown. They do have a reason.
— You know I'm against these outdated training methods as much as you do. Yet, you can't fight against tradition most the time. It's unbearable.
— Unbearable, eh? Said the lawyer who stood at the side of a handicapped woman who haven't been treated like a woman at all by said 'tradition', and the defenders of same. Shame on you, Fratley – Hrist only comes to be specific at these moments.
— For the first time, Hrist, I'm at your side – and she gets support from Freya too.
— First time? Hate to admit, but you're the one who... who... you know – a longtime support.
— Know what? Do you have any skeletons in your closet?
— You mean literally or figuratively?
— Honestly, the fact that I have to specify...
— (I don't want to talk about that. Not in front of a man who can listen to all our secrets) – I could avoid any whispers from coming to my ears. Really, I could ignore these – ya heard me, Fratley. Get out, and stay out.
— As you wish, Hairy – I leave the girls on their own with a jump.
— (I hate when he calls me like that.)
— (Still whispering?)
— (Want me to shout at your ear?)
— (You're not a 3 year-old, Hrist.)
— (Often he treats me like a child.)
— (He who?)
— (Fratley. He has a small dick.)
— (...What?)
— (I said Fratley is such a dick.)
— (No, you said something else.)
— (...Don't look at me like that, Crescent. I had to come up with something just so he left us alone.)
...
Five hours later...
— ...Wait, does Fratley has a small-
— That ain't of our concern, Dan – oh, I see. I look at those hands, and wonder if there were any huge scratches at all – anyway, he taught me what he had to ever since the first day I stepped on that place. Well, not really. He just healed and haven't taught how to heal by myself at all.
— And why he did not? Fratley ain't a neglectful guy, or is he? The sheer amount of violence one Dragoon in training has to pass throught... it ain't Fratley's doing, my dear, you know that.
— I know. But, doesn't that mean he agrees with those methods? If he keeps doing these? – so Freya shows her arm once again. Little I care for her arm, but the one's she's holding – you should have saw my arm yesterday. Or a time ago. If Sir Fratley could have done the damage, so he could heal at will. His very will kept me bleeding.
— Only his will? – I don't see any signs of bad conduct. I can't say what's bad conduct or not, I just have a sword and people obey me. Though, I don't need any weapons to make my boy sleep quiet.
— Well, no, but... – given her tired tone, Freya has a lot more to tell – on that day, Sir Fratley had to leave the Jugend. To take care of a delicate situation. I'm not a fool or too innocent to know it was someone about to kill himself in front of many. Captain Edea came in and said he was a man of good words, or something like. His good words weren't enough, and that guy... my brother said that he got stuck on asphalt like rubber, everyone was shocked, and some, I would say, entertained. And Fratley, well...
— He is devastated, I know.
— Everyone, Dan. Even I, who wasn't there to see it.
— I see – these little things we have in arms do not know what happen outside. The day they will, if I'll be there or not to tell... of course I will. I'm a sucker for keeping promises, counting the bad ones.
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— Maybe we could invite sis for dinner a few more times – I watch Burmecia by the window, all these people walking and the rain just falling. There's a lot more to see at town than you do at country, yet I miss the green of grass. I could just take a walk, but right now, I feel so tired.
— I'm sure she'll accept another invite – we both are tired. Aren't we, Ottis?
— I know Freya is independent. She made her own bed before I could, or wanted to. Remember?
— I do remember. I had to make your bed – even when I said you didn't needed to. But that was Ottis job, to take care of me when mom was out. Me and Freya – something bothering you, Jack?
— Everything – I wish I could forget my problems by looking at her face, but they remind me of more problems. Married with my childhood's nursemaid? Nah, that's the least of problems – when you are young, no one bothers you. You live your life. Then, as you grown up, you get to do a few jobs. Put some hard work in the easy living. Right when you get a little bit older, they, everyone just say 'well, better live your life. You have experience', but thing is... we don't. I enjoy mostly what I do, because I do it for you, for Freyr...
— Hmmmm – Ottis judge me in silence. Half silence. I look at little Freyr, resting at her arms.
— He doesn't need to care about same things as we do – the boy alone drains all our energy and attention.
— Isn't that a bless? I take care of children everyday, and Freyr is the quietiest of them – is he? Well, I heard that out of Ottis, so it might be true. The many tales she has to share about burmecian kids are a mix between exorcism and fairytales.
— He has a bit of grandpa. wish you knew him.
— Your mother told me a lot about Bart – I wonder what would I be without Ottis. Without father was already hard enough – she missed him a lot. I never asked money out of her, but she was willing to give it to me. I said 'no, thanks', but that was her way of saying 'thank you'. Followed of you too, and that little as well. Freya, isn't it?
— Yes. My sister. The one we invited to dinner.
— That one?
— The only one, Ottis.
— Oh, my... I can't believe it's her, how she grew up. She was that little and grew so tall!
— Tall like mom – honestly, I do not seem that surprised. Not as much as Ottis. It's because I'm worried again – mom... it's been like, what? Three, four days, a week since she... I wonder how sis feels. I mean, Freya always has been a kind of a loner. That's what bothers me, because, well... she's my sister, I know her better than anyone.
— Anyone?
— Yeah. You were there as well, Ottis. How many times sis refused to put a shirt and you just convinced her to...
— It wasn't that easy. Those were your clothes – one of the advantages of being the older brother.
— I believe Freya is the only kid who ever felt happy by receiving clothes on her birthdays.
— To have a piece of cloth is already a gift enough – time to put Freyr on the crib. He looks like me, so quiet while on sleep. Wait until he wakes up to see...
— You know, hugs are way better without these, darling – Ottis arms wrap all around me.
— Jack, please... – I had to ruin the moment.
– You are from Cleyra, right? Don't the ladies out there wear short dresses? – please, stop ruining the moment.
— Only the maids participating at the ritual dance.
— What, you never participated? Never danced among those pretties... no, wait, you are the pretty, the only one, errr – I swear to god, if you could just shut your mouth, you'd feel less embarassed than you do right now.
— Maybe I could show you my dancing skills – is that a code, or what?
— Hmmm... maybe – Jack, Jack... you are not that innocent to perceive what's going on, aren't you? – ah, let me close the window, alright? It's so cold here, heh. So, you dance? This room, well, is too small for a dance
— I thought about a private dance – that's it. Nothing much to do, other than give myself in to her embrace. Who dances in a bed? I'd rather jump upon it.
— Right now!? What if Freyr wakes up? – shut up already, Ottis said with a kiss. Whatever...
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