Hello, there. My name is Starry's Light, though I can't escaped being Starry. X3
Anyways, this is the start of a story I've been dying to write (and revise, since I love it so mu- FUTURE STARRY? GASP, PAST STARRY. -PARADOX HIGH-FIVE) and I am so happy you've started reading it!
This is the tale of a late-teenager (we're talking eighteen at the youngest) who happens to be a kind pushover. Hweh. Her name is Dina, and we are to delve into her awkward little story~
Pronounced dee-nuh if you'd please. So... we begin?
I want to thank ShayminMarx for inspiring me to write this. It's because of them and a few other things I even worked up the nerve to get a Fanfiction account.
I do not own Fossil Fighters... waah. The games are amazing though. I mean who wouldn't want to use friggin VIVOSAURS? VIVOSAURSAREAMAZING.
The Alone Champion
Chapter one: Jail Bars
"Hey, Dina?"
"Y-yes... Todd?"
"Torn's been awfully quiet." With his easy statement, my hand flies for my left pocket; for the medal. I sigh when my fingers touch a smooth, cold surface. Still there. The only thing I have from my past life -the memories I do not have- is the medal. The medal of a vivosaur. Torn... Oh, Torn. He... Torn is a middle-sized vivosaur. He is a quadrupled beast with rich, red scales. He has a red sail on his back, also the same red. Two gleaming, yellow eyes form out of his narrow, vibrantly-red-scaled head. And two scarlet, nearly a deep red-violet of stripes zigzag from his eyes and down to his long tail. The same color follows along his sail. I am grateful for Torn. He makes me feel safe in this house. He invokes such safety inside of me, especially when I stand here on the island of Mini-Vivaldi Isles and stare into my face, into the scared, brown orbs, and the winding, orange hair, a sizable majority piled into a single hair band, and the jumpsuit swindled on my body, the dusty assortment of blues sending an untimely feel of discomfort in my heart. I look like a rumpled ghost with the pale skin and the deep, fearful, brown orbs... and the folds of blue sinking upon me, of course.
Beside me is the cheeky, shy glance of the boy, younger by a good portion in comparison to me, though somehow slightly trumping my own height through his own shortness. His own green jumpsuit is gold-spun thread compared to this heap of rags the girl in the pale, ghost-like skin dons. His tanner, much healthier palette of skin strings around my shoulders easily to show the he is there, too. He is a nice foster brother, especially in comparison to them. To his... hi-s... his parents. I suppose that is the word.
"It'll be okay, Dina." Todd Hurican, the son of Mr. and Mrs. Hurican, is quite cheerful in comparison to his family. His brighter eyes sparkle upon movement, and his coiled, brown hair lies unkempt beneath a beige cap like the childish character he is. Thoughts, shaky thoughts on his heritage, on my foster parents, send him reeling to a completely diverse direction on personality scales. He varies from myself, of course. He is... cowardly, at times. But warmhearted. Somewhat of a thick-headed boy at times, but he means well. Todd and I fit together like that.
Torn is still silent, motionless albeit flickering his forked tongue betwixt his red maw, diligent inside of the small, red disc. The dimetro does this at times: distance. I remain unsure why he does this near my foster brother.
"Really, Dina, it'll be-" My flinch forwards collapses his words among themselves. We both know well enough how I feel about that phrase. About it being okay. Maybe there are girls out there in the big world who do not hold a strong perspective of their own in life, and they need others to let them know that it will be okay, but I know well enough that it will not, not be okay. I know enough, dear foster brother.
His silence not unlike the one clinging throughout my dimetro, Todd stands. The green shoes wrapped around his feet like plants, nearly, appear comfortable over the gravel. A tan hand plows into the ground in front of me; I lightly take such support in pulling myself up. "I know how you feel about this, but I still think that it had to've been okay at some point in time. Before the amnesia. Whatever. Gotta be something."
Brown eyes watching over me lightly, I brush away a blink in response over wandering orbs. "... Perhaps" is all I muster prior to the weak coiling of a stuttering leaning over me. "P-perhaps I... I... d-did. But... b-b-but..." I struggle to speak beyond the empowering burden. "B-but I came here... I myst-mysteri-my...mysteriously appeared here... n-not... not l-less than... when I was... p-possibly of... n-nine years, Todd..." It is an estimate, but an estimate that easily proves recessive compared to the ten years I have spent myself in this tiny island most never acknowledged on maps. Ten years sounds simple- one decade, Torn tells me. Only a decade. But that decade is in possession of ten years, and ten years is... too many months, too many days, too many to hold up in fingers and count out, as my limited education calls for. And this accumulation of days, if I know anything, would stretch for immeasurable lengths of days, of days and days and days... And it will all snap shut so easily, now that our time to leave the small town of Mini-Vivaldi Isles is upon us and I lie on the cusp of outdoors and... the parents, for lack of other words.
Now we are slowly walking through the town. It is not too much: wide-spread houses around the lake that empties into ocean, but it is home. At least, my home of now. Honestly, I have never seen such ground before... the house is... um... homey... I perceive... Pale toes scuff across gentle layers of gravel as we move along slowly, as if in a slumber. Torn, inside of his medal, continues to observe quietly, though his boundless dislike for the neighbors we have not even met is throbbing withing me. Attempting to tone away from such relentless thoughts of his fiery mind, I pass by an aforementioned home. Mud brown bricks stack to form a square dwelling. A smaller assortment of bricks lead outwards to new rooms of the house. In between the brick slabs and the brown, hinged roof is a ring of white cement. Most homes are made with the same material, including, um, my own. It is the insides that differ severely. I believe my own is the single such dwelling containing a... a basement.
As we pass by houses, people glance towards us. Friendly eyes crinkled at the edge: tan, smiling faces. "Hello, Toddy!" the modest total of townsfolk call out to us as we walk. Sometimes Todd gives a cheery smile and utters a few words that sit on the top of his mind, but the dominant response is portrayed as he stares at the ground, thinking. They do not acknowledge me; I do not acknowledge them. Not as if I was ever blessed with the ability of simply converse. Either way, I would never dare to tell them what happens inside the household. I already feel the experiments they nigh always dish out for only living there. I do not want to see the what else the Huricans have in store. Their parenting is quite a sight, if none else.
Oh, fuck them all, Torn growls sarcastically to me.
Words. Like the okay, the it is okay, I am brittle on the edges of this new accumulation my dearest dimetro has acquired- examples splay out in shy of each sentence. Torn... Why the quadrupled fire-elemental finds these sorts of words needy, I could not be sure. But he uses them. He uses them, and there is not a form of way I could stop him in. Admittedly, I do not mind. He does love me, I know. It is the Hurican parents that...
Todd is furthermore silent in the response Torn provokes. So am I. Though... it is usual for me to trap myself in like this. Todd and Torn expect this from their... their Dina.
Though I have never pertained such chance to leave the home, now that I am outside for once in my ghostly-pale life, I truly do enjoy the scenery of Mini Vivaldi-Isles. There is soft grass underneath my bare feet, the color of a wonderful, summer day, appearing such a nonchalant green. The leaves a rich, skylarking sense of dappling greens dancing in the wind, trees the arms that wave each particle loftily and in such a reverie, such a simple, overall relaxing manner. What Todd told me before we were essentially "kicked out" from the Hurican home for a measly "hour," whichever time implement that pertains to, though it feels short, is that Mini-Vivaldi Isles is traipsing through a summery time. And it is a sweet summer here, for the most part, I believe. Simply strolling out here by orders of the parents relieves my numerous aches and pains and stresses through gentle, warm winds, near stifling but not tipping such scales. It does get hot every once in awhile, but mostly stays breezy and warm, like an everlasting dream of happiness and pleasant lands of peace and harmony. But adhering the instructions the father had given us, Todd reluctantly steers us toward the simple dwelling before us that I have spent all of the time I remember inside. A measly ten years, though it is quite obvious I am much elder than such, even through my malnourished composure.
And the happy feelings leave in fleeting movements. There stand the Huricans, holding two green duffel bags, although a quick turn of the head to the side reveals a small, black, overstuffed, still-slightly-bloodied case protruding from a garbage can. This means... this... I am not left alone here? I can... I can go wherever he is? Oh, please tell me Todd is not to move on without me...
My gaze returns to our, um, humble host: a muscular male stands near the door. He is bald, but the thick, black, shiny mustache consuming his face begs to differ. He is tan, like the majority of Mini Vivaldi-Isles, and wears a sleeveless, dark green shirt with camouflage-colored pants and long brown boots. He has a loud, demeaning voice, and his dark eyes roll over me like I am scum stuck to his large boot. "Todd! There you are!" The man -The father, my foster father...?- smiles warmly to his son, who shrinks back beside me. I glance at him with concern. He is... not the most courageous person I know. Although I guess he is also one of the three people I know, all of them, including the one dimetro, being present at this time. At least, they are all amnesia chose to leave in memory those ten years ago.
But I do know, for a fact, that my foster brother does not like his parents whatsoever. I-I would rather not pick sides, honestly. I'm with Toddy. Yes, I know you are, Torn.
The woman next to Mr. Hurican is prim, dainty and proper. Her short, black hair does not leave her face. She is pale, but not the has-not-seen-much-sunlight pale I am. More of a proper pale. She wears a thick coat of makeup on that proper face like armor. She is a nice short- a Todd short, which somehow expands taller than me. A puffy, pink dress falls limp to her waist, and tall, uncomfortable high-heels stick to her feet and match the dress. "Oh, sweetie," the woman sighs. "You know you don't have to pretend to like her!" I flinch. They know who Mrs. Hurican means. Todd, in response, is dead-silent, eyes wary over his mother and one hand easily grappling over my wrist as if to let them know that he has not chosen their side, never was, never will be on theirs. At least, that is what I see in him. I could be wrong.
Dina. Please. We both know well enough that Todd's one'a us more than anyone else. Y-yes... thank you, Torn...
The muscular man powerfully hefts the green baggage of what must be nigh short on every last possession Todd owns, his eyes directed toward the boy in question. "It's your birthday," Mr. Hurican grumbles roughly, voice carrying over to Todd. Um... what is a birthday? I am already lost... "And because of this, we've finally decided to let you become a fossil fighter! Sorry Dina's coming with you, that pathetic little..." I drown his words out so I do not have to hear the names. They are already drilled into me, I do not want to hear them again. "...it's time for her to leave our house. You can ditch her when you're there, though." Ah. Oh well. That is not as bad as I had expected it to be.
It never is, you freaking awesome pushover.
No, it never is, my dear Torn.
You're way too nice, I swear. It'll be up to me, but I'm making sure not a soul walks over you.
Um... okay... Flustered and confused, the words Mr. Hurican left already dulled through my ears and practically forgotten, I ensconce in thought.
Already the parents of the awkward family are leaving. It is a point at the end of Mini Vivaldi-Isles, where the helicopter comes at certain times. It takes us to wherever the Huricans commanded earlier for us to be taken. I listen to the mother as we walk, who is bubbling about where we are headed. "Sorry again, but you and her are going to the same place. We wanted the best of you, and didn't bother looking for a place to send her. But no matter: you can ignore that!" The lady claps her hands excitedly and twirls with her hair. "We're sending you off to the magnificent Caliosteo Islands!"
Mostly every landmark on Vivaldi-Isles is named with an "island" or "isles" after it, since most are singled off areas of land, surrounded by deep, long oceans. I have noticed this by the times my foster brother and I are alone and he would regain a sense of adventure, of excitement, and boldly speak to me of these other islands, other isles out there, and that one day he would take me to every last one of them. Torn did not like the thought of having the tan, freckled boy tag along with us, but he never spoke this notion aloud.
Mrs. Hurican continues, boisterous now. Her most-dainty tone is closer to a shriek. "There are three islands you get to stay at. One has the beautiful scenery and shine of spring, another is hot and humid.. and the third..." Out of the corner of my eye, I see the mother allow he nose to wrinkle in outright disgust. "The third is cold and chilly. Winter: what a terribly terrible time," she scoffs on. "Anyways, you'll get to dig up fossils and use them to beat everyone at the Caliosteo Cup: a tournament about to begin. That Joe Wildwest hottie is holding it!"
That prim and proper lady hates fossils. She loathes the act of becoming dirty, and fumes against using vivosaurs, but she will do anything for Todd, for the son that is too afraid to tell her how he truly feels. I do not ever want to find out what could happen if I left Torn out and she found him. G-good thing I am leaving.
Joe Wildwest... I feel I have heard of him, and Todd has boasted over strong vivosaur users in the past he has seen on television prior, but this comes from deep inside. Whoever he is, Joe sounds powerful at least. He should be, holding a tournament for the vivosaurs. Torn should enjoy this.
Upon the fact that the heavily-muscled wall of a back has stopped, I nearly trip forcing myself to copy his movements. Thankfully, I do not bump into Mr. Hurican... Mere inches off of my sore feet, grass stands like a fierce battalion, standing straight and tall and worthy. But it is different: a white, large circle had been spray-painted over the grass, and an X swathes inside. I can tell what this is before the wind flies, easily threatening to lift me up and carry me into a tree nearby. I quickly scoot away from the landing point as a large vessel swoops down- towards the landing point. So I was right.
When it lands, I cannot stop myself from gawking at this sort of mechanism: this vehicle. It is big and bulky, and three metal choppers slice at the wind, but slowly tune down, and then it is black, but it is shiny too. My fingers twitch at the thought of rubbing their pale dirigibles amongst the black workings. It just... it looks so... smooth, so palpable, so real... so... s-so shiny...
A head pokes out of a wide, tall entrance. He wears a green hat. "Oh!" The man gives a smile. "You must be Todd and Dina! Come on in!" Not questioning his name, my hand grasps the warm, red medal inside as I quietly move closer to the black vehicle as it hums merrily. The sniffles of the mother as she wishes him farewell strife upon me. Not wanting to be near, I slink into the large helicopter and slide onto a black, cushioned lounge chair. And still, as always, no matter how many patches have to be sewed into my blue jumpsuit, no matter how baggy it appears, I do not take up much space. Some people... are this. Me. Todd is short. I am just... shorter?
While I wait, my brown, skittering eyes bore into my surroundings: wandering. I see a small cluster, a couple of other beings, on a similar, black lounge couch in front of me by a good stretch of space. The floor is a marble black. So are the walls. And the doors -one wide, tall one on each side- show scenery of Mini Vivaldi-Isles. They are quite... large, and seemingly wide open, like a grin. I feel sick to look back, so my eyes flit to my baggy shorts- the ends of my jumpsuit. It swamps my knees entirely, easy. Oddly, I find a sense of comfort in the baggage-more-than-clothes of a jumpsuit.
A quiet oomph. I glance to my left to see the green jumpsuit. "H-hello, Todd..." My voice is soft, nearly impossible to hear unless you are accustomed to it. But he knows, and soon his mischievous eyes lock with mine. His baggage litters near his feet, two green lumps slumped over to the cool flooring of heliport, as I believe it is called.
"Well, that happened." The jovial attitude in his eyes is pulled away from the tone for a moment, plucking strings of the quiet, somber form of discord we have grown accustomed to. "My parents still think I'm... just like them. Heh." He is not, not, not not not- "Whoa, Dina! Calm down! Your face, like, got all blotchy from just mentioning... aha... Now it's draining of the color again. Pfft, it's so funny to see your face do that." A soft giggle lulls the painful anarchy inside. "Well, they're gone now. We never have to see them again. Just us and Torn, now. I think I like that way more." Me too, Todd... me too.
As he rambles on, my eyes glimpse further out to our right. There are two black driver seats. They face an extra wide and extra large windshield. The one on the right has a driving wheel. As I stare, the man in the other seat grasps a small microphone with a squiggly cord attached. "Hello, fighters!" the man exclaims with an overwhelming, joyful voice, like we are children. Not that I truly mind. Todd and I practically look the part, and combining my silence with his childish glee gives us the overall demeanor. "Our next stop is the Caliosteo Islands, so hold onto your hats and we'll be off shortly! Remember you are allowed to get up on the helicopter and look out at the scenery!" At first, my foster brother merely snatches at the hat lingering over his head and stuffs his hair through it more securely.
After the man finishes speaking, Todd automatically takes a wild dash towards the door to my right. The one we came in. His tan hand grasps onto a bar from above and watches as the helicopter takes flight. His brown eyes widen, and a hand goes to his hat, the brown curls not seeming to help the beige material to stick. "Dina, this is amazing!" he squeals. "Come on! Check it out!" I stay where I am sitting. He pauses. "Do I have to drag you on over?" My hands scrape the seat and I shake my head no. Todd groans and releases his hand from the bar. His green shoes clonk and Todd walks back to his seat. "Psyche! You're coming!" He grabs my pale arm and literally pulls a not-truly-struggling, through struck-to-the-ground Dina into the opening. His tan hands lead mine to the bar, his small self easily lifting me.
I gasp. The sight is dotted with clouds, adding a majestic feel. And underneath... the fattest quantity of water I had ever seen from above. The curling waves of liquid, knitted together, shines with sun rays dancing over the breaking surface. Water vivosaurs flip through the water with ease while air ones glide over, their shadows casting over the blue mass. Which is what I consider myself to be. A shadow.
"Amazing, isn't it?" His breath near me. I give a small nod. "Say something.." he moans. Todd knows well I do not talk. We saw not all that long ago how I tried to speak earlier. So he only uses that voice when he seriously wants me to stop acting like that shadow. I keep my hands against the bar, gripping furiously, and sigh.
"I agree. It... it is beautiful," I whisper to the waves in awe. "I... I w-wish we could... we could s-see this more of-f-f-ten..."
Todd smiles next to me. "We've broken out of prison. We probably will see more like this!"
Not so jubilant, the medal thickly clasped in my hand mutters angrily how he digresses in my mental ears.
Me: YES. DID IT.
Future Starry(Me now): -crashes into the story- YES. I DID IT. TOOK THREE DAYS TO CLASP ONTO MOTIVATION BECAUSE IMMA FAIL, BUT I-
Both Starries: DIDIT. YES.
Hweh... well, thank you for reading my first chapter, and may this lead for more to come!
Future Me: -grumbles- thirtyonetobeexact.
