Drowning in the Red Sea
Author: Your Euthanized Sleep
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Ocean (as much as I wish I did) and I don't own any characters mentioned in this chapter, but I do own the names of the river, the lost race, and the necklace! W00t!
Summary: A fanfic that was born from a suspicion behind the constant presence of some sort of covering over Albel's forearms. AlbelxSomebody. I don't know who yet.
Warning: Contains self-harm, uber-mild fighting, and cussing. Basically all the good stuff.
Nobody asks why I wear these evening gloves. Why do I wear evening gloves? Why do I wear a skirt? No one knows and no one cares. 'It's just part of his look…' Right. Part of my look. The same goddamn reason that idiot Sophia has to prance around in those god-awful knee-high stockings with paw prints on them. None of those piss-brained maggots seem to realize that everything I say and do- hell, even everything I wear- serves a purpose. The evening gloves are only there to hide what I do not wish for them to know. If they saw, they'd ask questions, and if they knew, I'd have to kill them. Not that I would mind killing them, I think I would actually enjoy their screams of pain and suffering as I disembowel all of those wastes of life force. But…that would be too much of a hassle to clean up, so instead I settle for hiding it.
There was a leisurely knock at the door, and the slender man gently set the pen on his nightstand. He absent-mindedly stood and shoved the piece of parchment under the mattress and approached the door. He supposed that the one bothering him today is Cliff.
He grasped the cold handle and waited until whoever was on the other side of the door to be in the midst of another knock before he flung it open. "What do you want, maggot?" Albel asked irritably and impatiently, placing his good hand on the doorframe as to bar entry.
"Jeez, don't get your panties in a bunch…" Albel was right… it didn't surprise him. "I just wanted to tell ya dinner's ready if ya want some."
"If I wanted food, I'd be in the kitchen, maggot. Quit wasting my time." Albel slammed the door in Cliff's face. From the sound of it, he nicked Cliff's nose.
Walking gracefully back to the bed, he reached under and pulled out a now somewhat rumpled piece of parchment. Writing things down on a piece of paper seems easier to him, it burns a lot easier than a journal, and besides, journals are a commitment. He didn't want to be forced to write his thoughts down on every page of a journal if he didn't have to. The only downside was that individual sheets are a lot more to keep track of, and that could lead to unwanted trouble should one go missing…
Albel had barely picked up his pen before another knock could be heard at his door, this one softer and more timid. He guessed Fayt this time around. And what do you know… as he opened the door, the blue-haired boy was standing before him, looking a bit worried. He guessed over his flat refusal to eat with those worms, or socialize with them at all.
"Albel… um…" Fayt mumbled, looking down as to not suffer the wrath of Albel's gaze.
"Spit it out, fool… Quit wasting precious minutes of my lifetime…"
"Well… I'm worried about you. I haven't seen you eat for at least a few days, and you're spacing yourself more and more from the group…" Fayt looked up and the worry was as clear as those emerald irises.
"I was right on both accounts…" Albel mused aloud.
"Right about what?" Fayt inquired.
"That it was going to be you to bother me this time around and about mundane things such as eating and conversing."
Fayt decided not to reprimand Albel for playing down a vital need and his friends. "You must be psychic." Fayt joked, deciding to lighten up the oppressing mood.
"You must be full of shit." Albel retorted, mimicking Fayt's tone. "Quit worrying yourself over what I choose to do. If I choose to eat, it's not going to be around the likes of them, and if I choose to converse with them, it's not going to be pretty… Now go waste someone else's time." Albel, once again, slammed the door in someone's face.
Fayt sighed and walked away from the shut door. He couldn't accomplish what he had hoped to do, which was coax Albel out of his cave to see the light of day and taste a substance called food, but at least he accomplished a few other things. For instance, he was only called fool once and there was also a speech error in what he had said. Albel did not specify the entire team when he mentioned eating with someone; he left Fayt out. Nevertheless, this little problem was a weight on Fayt's conscience. What if Albel is anorexic? What if it's a call for help?
What if it's nothing? Albel thought quietly to himself, not sure where the thought came from. He leaned back into the soft cushions, which felt good against his bare back. He had his shirt in his hands, poking his fingers through a decent-sized hole in the shoulder blade area of the cloth. He played with the fabric while contemplating the working of this team he was stuck in. Everyone dislikes him for his attitude, which is fine, but Cliff decides to stick his nose where it doesn't belong and try to mine through the walls of ice. Cliff tells Fayt and Fayt works himself up over menial things.
Tossing the torn shirt over the side of the bed, Albel sighed and stared at the ceiling. Why can't that idiot Fayt be like the others and hate me? My attitude clearly indicates I don't want any friends; I don't want to get close to someone and have them die on me just like my father did…
Fayt looked troubled. He just played with his food the entire time, dicing everything with his fork until it turned to mush. The bluenette was usually optimistic and upbeat; no one had seen him like this before.
"What's bothering you, Fayt?" Nel asked, kindness laced in her voice.
"It's… nothing," Fayt said, forcing a smile. "It's just a simple thing. I won't let it get to me."
"Don't hesitate to tell us anything. If you bottle it up, you'll only make it worse." Nel stood to punctuate her sentence, and gathered up her dishes to place in the sink.
As soon as Nel left, Cliff decided to give some friendly advice. "Don't work yourself up over that stubborn bastard, Fayt. He doesn't deserve your kindness. If he wants to starve himself, let him. But don't let that cocky sonofabitch cause you to lose your cool. It ain't cool."
"Yeah. You're right." Fayt said, and began to scoop up the cold mush that became his food.
Cliff sat back in his seat and stretched his arms over his head. "So, Nel, what's the game plan now? We're still headin' down to the Seiryl River, right? What're we goin' there for again?"
Nel finished cleaning her dishes and placed them neatly in a stack in the designated cupboards. She walked back into the dining room and stood in the doorway, her weight shifted to one foot and her hand on her hip. "Her Majesty asked us to search underwater for the fallen temple of the Tesrics, an ancient line of mages who learned runology spells that you can't even begin to imagine."
"And why do we need to go to visit some crackpot mage temple?"
Nel glared at him before continuing with a more formal tone of voice. "If the skills and spells of the Tesrics are uncovered, then inscribing runes into our skin would be obsolete and more people could become runologists. And those who are runologists would only become more powerful. Tit is a safety measure in case one of the three major powers of this world decides to threaten Aquaria."
"Wait a minute… If that's why we're goin' to this temple, then why'd Albel decide to come?" Cliff was clearly perplexed by Nel's explanation.
"Albel, being a Glyphian and thus knowing all rituals pertaining to dragons, is needed to tame the spirit dragon that guards the entrance to the temple. The taming of the spirit dragon requires an immensely powerful individual with extensive knowledge and experience with dragons, and the said warrior must also be strong at heart. That's where we run into problems. Albel has more than met the first two requirements, but he's cold and stubborn and therefore cannot fulfill the third." Nel crossed her arms and watched Cliff, expecting more questions.
"How're we supposed to get Albel to be 'strong at heart'? I think we'd be better off finding another guy for the job." Cliff winced at the memory of how Albel jumped down his throat for asking the man to loosen up.
Fayt set down his fork with a clink and interjected another question before Nel could continue. "What I want to know is how did you convince Albel to come without telling him it's for the sake of Aquaria? He'd never agree to something like that."
Nel closed her eyes and thought for a moment before continuing to explain what she could. "How we can encourage Albel to open up and become less oppressive, I do not know. However, there are only three main officers to the Glyphian army, and only those three are far above the rest of the army in terms of strength, tactics, and other matters. However, Vox is dead and Woltar is too elderly to fight so that leaves Albel as our only option. As for your question, Fayt, Albel's king volunteered to send him along with us, but he has a different mission: to acquire the necklace of Aerive. Why the king wants the necklace is unclear to me, but at least he inadvertently gave us passage into the temple."
"Great, so we're stuck with that whining, antisocial bitch until we get into the castle. After the whole mission, can I drown him in the river?" A bit of a mischievous smile crossed Cliff's face, and he stood behind his chair with a hand gripped tightly around one of the vertical pieces.
Fayt looked a bit shocked at what Cliff had said, but he was getting used to the tall man's constant cracks and bashings directed toward the solitary two-tone. "Cliff, please don't try to drown him. I think he'd tear your hand off before you even tried…" Fayt yawned, a sudden tiredness overwhelming him. "It's kinda late. I'm going to bed, you two." With that, he stood and ascended the stairs to his room in the mansion of Arias.
"G'night, Fayt." Cliff called. Nel did the same. "Do you s'pose that kid worries a bit too much about that plague upstairs?"
"Too much for his own good? Yes. Too much so he seems unlike himself? No." Nel knew what Cliff was getting at, and she knew Fayt would never fall for a cretin like Albel Nox. He didn't earn the title 'the Wicked One' for nothing.
Cliff was almost to his bedroom when the door just in front of him opened and an irritated Albel slammed into him without even looking. "Hey, watch it!"
"Watch where you're going, maggot…" Albel growled, staring daggers into Cliff.
"You were the one who bumped into me." Cliff responded, wondering where in hell Albel got the impression it was the other way around.
"If you weren't such a steroid-popping oaf then maybe this wouldn't have happened!"
"Alright, now you're takin' it too far…" Cliff slammed his fist into a cupped hand as a warning.
"You take up the whole fucking hallway, you overgrown ox!"
Albel's insults finally cut his last nerves. Every damn day he had to take this from that cold-hearted asshole and he finally went over the deep end about it. He lost control of himself and the moment he regained his senses, he was standing over Albel who was half-leaning, half-sitting against the wall with a hand over his mouth and his chin, neck, and chest covered in blood.
Albel looked up at the man who attacked him so suddenly and ruthlessly, not a trace of fear in his eyes. In fact, he was silently hoping that bastard would hit him again. Pain is weakness leaving the body. No pain, no gain. But instead, Cliff only bowed and shook his head, walking slowly to his room and closing the door with a quiet click.
Albel traced the split on his lower lip as he silently contemplated the recent events. Cliff physically assaulted him over a simple argument consisting of a simple run-in resulting from his not watching where his was going. But he'd be damned if he would even think of admitting to that oaf that he was wrong. Then that blonde freak would think he was right, that he was better than Albel the Wicked. Maybe even that the said reputed man was even under him, and Albel couldn't have that. So day-to-day, he always runs into arguments, and he has to win those arguments or the others would start to look at him as a maggot. But this was all beside the point…
Cliff hit him over a simple matter of slamming into him. Well, simple things for simple minds. Simple bastard. Or perhaps he strained Cliff's nerves far too much… But how could he not? If he didn't scorn the blonde every day and actually faced him with indifference, then he might actually think of the man as a friend. And becoming close to someone was not something he wanted to repeat. So he reprimanded them, all of them. But the condescending glares and 'maggots' and looks of disgust were all a mask… but they didn't know that, nor will they.
Albel felt his throat tighten during his contemplations for a reason he couldn't conceive. He stripped off the evening glove on his right hand and turned it palm upward. The pale-as-ash underside of his arm was marred from previous cuts and scars, some scabbed over and some still half-healed. He could see the blue veins stand out clearly from the mixture of white and red, even the larger ones leading up his arm and through the bend. But he didn't wish to commit suicide… He held the razorblade talons of his left arm to the skin and tore them across, in one swift and painful motion. Albel winced at the pain, but it erased his mind of all thoughts of loneliness and depression, and as he watched the blood seep from the four wounds it seemed to him like that was the tangible form of his misery. He let it bleed for a while longer before sneaking off to the bathroom and retrieving bandages and the like to prevent infection. Not that he'd mind an infection, but he was too weak to sustain one and not suffer noticeably.
Pain is weakness leaving the body, he thought bitterly to himself. But why do I only feel weaker?
YES(Yes, that's my penname abbreviated, sadly): Ok guys, there it is. Hope it didn't suck too badly. I have a problem, though! I need someone to help poor Albel out, but I can't think of who! Argh! Any suggestions would be wonderful.