New story?
New story.
I've been playing around with this idea in my less than sane head for a while, now, so...here is my first DIVERGENT FANFIC! YAY!
Please read and review, also, if you're fans of The Mortal Instruments, then please check out the rest of my fics! This is the longest chapter I've ever written for any of my work; don't expect my chapters to be this long every time.
ALL CHARACTERS BELONG TO VIXEN VERONICA (Veronica Roth for those of you with normal minds)
Hunters Manor
It was decided, there was no arguing with her now. I was to leave in a fortnight. Hopefully my mother's sister whom I'd never heard of until today is more motherly than her. How could she do this? How could she just send me away like this? I deserved better than this. One mistake, I made one mistake. She'd never do this to my older brother, no; Caleb is mother's precious baby, her most dear and beloved treasure. I, on the other hand, am just a mistake. A reject; who could ever want an insolent, misbehaving child like me? My father just sits and watches as mother and I argue, never saying anything, never protecting me, and never telling my mother how wrong this is. How could she send her sixteen year old daughter to the middle of nowhere? I have a life, I have friends, and I'm just as important as Caleb. Just because I'm not some kind of child-genius, doesn't mean I'm less of a human being than my brother. Caleb is what you'd call the perfect child; incredibly intelligent, work orientated, loving, familial, he was the best son and brother anyone could ever ask for, and I loved him just as much as my parents loved him, if not, then more. If he were here then he would calm my mother down; show her just how outrageous he's being, but he's not here. He's at the country's most prestigious school, The Presidential Academy of Erudite.
"You're going, Beatrice, and that's final" with that, my mother stormed out of the room, her blonde hair flying behind her. My father sighed and followed her, leaving me on my own in my small, grey box room. Grey. Grey was my mother's favourite colour, it was all she and my father ever wore. She even went as far as dressing Caleb and I in all grey until we became old enough to dictate our fashion choices. All of the rooms in our little house were painted grey, just a sign of the control-freak that was ever-present within my mother. Grey, like her drab, repetitive life. Maybe leaving wouldn't be such a bad idea? But I knew I was just trying to console myself, this was my home, and my life was here, with my friends. I flopped heavily onto my rectangular bed. The mattress was old and battered, but it was my mattress. Two weeks, that's all I had left of my life here. Two measly weeks.
The airport was full of people, all rushing around like headless chicken. My mother walked stiffly beside me, as though she was afraid to get too close to me and touch me. She led me to customs and then, when I turned around to find her, she was gone. I should have known. I should've known that she would just dump me at the airport, with no one to help me. A feeling of sickening dread settled in the pit of my stomach, my nerves skittered, my mind reeled with anger and hurt, yes, I'm still stupid enough to get hurt by her. What am I supposed to do now? I looked at the little book in my hand; my father had thrust it into my hand before my mother and I had left for the airport in our rusty little pickup truck. Inside this little book was my mother's slanted scrawl:
Beatrice,
I am so sorry I couldn't keep you, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. You may not believe me but I love you, no matter what happens, no matter what you do. I wish I could keep you with me, but that would be selfish on my part. They're after you, Beatrice, protect yourself, make yourself as non-descript as possible. I know you don't understand any of this yet, but I promise, one day I'll find you and bring you back home; one day, just not today. Be careful who you trust, Beatrice, even the most innocent of them all can turn on you in a heartbeat. Your father, brother and I love you; we hope to see you again soon. I'm sorry, Beatrice, I'm so sorry that you're a part of this. I'm sorry I can't be there for you when you'll need me most. My sister that I told you about, your auntie Miranda, will send someone to the airport to pick you up.
Forgive us,
Mum, Dad, Caleb.
Was this some kind of sick joke? My mother loves me? Who could be cruel enough to write such pathetic lies? My mother doesn't love me; she made that clear from the day I could talk. But, why would it be written in her handwriting? Why would my father of all people give it to me? What did my beloved older brother, Caleb have to do with this? I stuffed the book into the front zipper of one of my duffle bags. The man at customs wore a green tie and white shirt; he was a podgy, stout man. He took my three bags from me and began lifting them on the conveyer belt.
I made my way to the other end and waited for my over-stuffed bags, I felt the hairs at the nape of my neck raise. Cautiously, I turned around, a man, no, boy, stood inches away from me, he was half a head taller than me, he had thick, brown hair that lay in a mess atop his head, strangely the whole 'bed-head' look suited him. He had deep-set, dark blue eyes that were rimmed with thick lashes that brushed against his cheek bones every time he blinked. He had a strong facial structure, with the kind of chin that girls at my previous high-school would drool over. He had a muscular physique, with strong, muscled arms. I folded my arms across my chest and glared at him, he was very handsome. Handsome boys were always trouble. He reached over behind me and lifted my bags off of the conveyor belt with ease.
"I think you'll find that bag is mine" I said
"Miranda didn't tell me you had attitude problems" the boy answered, his voice deep and naturally husky.
"You know my aunt?" I asked
"I live with her." He replied, I frowned, confusion set in, Miranda had a son? This was my cousin?
"I didn't realise she had a son" I said
"Oh, no, I'm not her son"
"Well then why do you li-" the boy cut me off.
"Your aunt sent me over here to pick you up, just to clarify, you're Beatrice Prior, right?" he said
"Tris. My name's Tris" If I was being ripped out of my life, I might as well start afresh, leave my old self behind.
"Fine, Tris it is" he nodded and then made his way towards the airport exit, with all three of my bags.
I followed, not knowing if I should trust this guy. His strides were long and purposeful; he had a confident swagger in his step; the walk of a guy who got what he wanted and who he wanted. I caught up with him.
"Just to clarify," he said "You're about to get into my SUV willingly, I'm not forcing you into anything" I stopped short as he unlocked his shiny black SUV.
"What?" I asked "I'm not clarifying any of that"
The boy smirked and nodded, "I thought as much" he put my bags into the trunk of his monster-sized car and then made his way to the front passenger seat, opening the door and motioning for me to get in. I hesitated then jumped in, what did I have to lose?
"So," I began, after half an hour of agonising silence and trashy pop songs, "What's your name?"
He seemed to deliberate this a moment, who has to think about how to answer such a simple question?
"Four" he said, he glanced at me, trying to gauge my reaction. It was an unusual name, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of letting him know I thought so. I kept my reaction neutral. "So, Four, what brought a city boy like you to somewhere as rural as Hunters Island?" I asked
"City boy? What makes you think that?"
"Please, you're wearing Levi's, an Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt and Chuck's. You're a city boy. It's written all over you, from the clothes you wear to the way your mouth tilts to one side when you talk"
"You're quite observant, I'll give you that"
"Well?" I urged
He sighed in resignation, "My father. He's a geologist; there are some rare rocks and plants down here so he ripped us out of Uptown New Jersey to fulfil his ambition"
"Sucks to be you" I said, while staring out into the green distance. I say 'green' because Hunters Island is a very, very rural place, with little to no large buildings and only one shopping center, total. There were only five high-schools, so football matches weren't very competitive, yep; I've been doing my research.
"What about you?" he asked, "Why are you here?"
"I don't know" I told him, surprising myself with my honesty. "What does it look like?" I asked
"What? Hunters Manor?" Four asked, absentmindedly scratching the little scruff that was growing on his jaw. "It's big. Really big, very vintage, it's nice; if you're into that kind of thing"
"What's Miranda like?" I asked
"Miranda?" his head snapped towards me, "You've never met her?"
I shook my head; no
"She's nice, she's really excited about your arrival, so is the rest of the island"
"What?"
"Nothing" Four answered with a barely concealed smirk.
The entire ride from the airport to Hunters Manor was a grand total of three hours long. Three hours of uncomfortable silence, three hours of horrible music, three hours of boredom, painful agitation and anticipation. Three more hours further away from my family, from my home.
Four pulled up a serpentine, cobble stone path, the path led to a huge, 1800's style mansion like building. I counted a total of 40 windows at the front of the Manor. A large, vintage looking signpost had been situated outside the drive, it read:
HUNTER'S MANOR,
CURRENTLY UNDER RENOVATION.
A tall, thin-boned woman, around my mother's age, stood in the Manors doorway. She shared the same thick, blonde hair that my mother and I shared, and the same storm blue eyes. She pulled me into a tight embrace as soon as I was close enough, crushing me against her. For such a small woman, she sure packed a punch.
I let out a squeak of distress, she pulled away immediately, a look of concern on her face.
"Oh, doll, are you okay?" 'Doll?'
"I'm fine, thank you. I'm Tris" I said
"I know who you are, pumpkin" she smiled toothily. I wanted to ask her if smiling that widely hurt her thin face, "I'm your aunt Miranda" she said, with a high dosage of enthusiasm.
"It's nice to finally meet you, aunt" I smiled, my smile a lot less stretchy than hers.
"Such a positively wonderful young girl" my new-found aunt clutched her hands against her chest.
"Thank you, but really, I'm neither positive nor wonderful, just ask my parents, I'm sure they'll agree" I answered, sugary sweetness barely concealing the raw bitterness I felt.
My aunt's smile finally faltered. I heard someone clearing their throat behind me. I craned my neck in order to see who was there; Four stood less than a meter away from me.
He looked at me with a look that was similar to amusement and curiosity. Miranda threw her arms around him; his expression became one reflecting shock and horror.
I stood back and watched with amusement as the tiny woman hauled his head to her side and began rubbing her knuckles into his head. His shouts of assault and indignation fell on deaf ears though, as he had to wrestle his way out of her grip.
The inside of the Manor didn't disappoint at all, with mahogany furniture, rustic leather sofas, old radios and thick, leather bound books in wall shelves and book cases. A lot of the rooms were closed off because they were being re-painted or re-carpeted, well, something like that, anyway. I decided I like aunt Miranda, despite the striking physical resemblance between her and my mother, she was actually quite the opposite of her. Miranda was homely, bubbly, and funny. My mother was cold, harsh and severe. They were world's apart, complete polar opposites, at different ends of the spectrum. Aunt Miranda left Four to give me a tour while she baked her 'famous Apple & Blackberry Turnovers.'
Four, I learnt, was not a very sociable person, I mean, I wouldn't exactly call myself 'popular', but I knew how to strike up a conversation, Four didn't even seem capable of that, or he just didn't want to talk to me. That's fine by me, I don't want to talk to him either, no matter how ruggedly handsome he is.
He showed me to my new bedroom; the room was large with a window seat, an oak double bed with cream duvets and various extra quilt, fur throws and cushions. The room was painted a pale, lavender colour, not too garish but not too girly either, I loved it. There was an old computer in the corner of the room atop a mahogany desk. The room was connected to a little en-suite bathroom, just for me.
Four showed me as many rooms as he could.
"This," Four said, as we approached a door identical to its predecessors, "Is where the local idiots hang. Your aunt let's them have their little secret meetings here" he opened the door, sure enough, a group of kids around my age sat together all with steaming mugs of hot chocolate. They all looked up at our arrival. A boy, fair-haired with tan skin and chestnut eyes stood up from his seat and made his way over to us. He smiled warmly at me; his smile caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle up and his eyes to sparkle. He was very handsome, almost as handsome as Four.
"Hey, I'm Clarke" he said
"Hi Clarke, I'm Tr-" I began, but Clarke cut me off
"I already know who you are. The whole town does. You're Beatrice Prior, professional figure skater"
I smiled nervously 'the whole town'?, "Actually my name is-" I was cut off once again, this time by Four. He'd moved closer to me sometime during Clarke's introduction.
"Her name's Tris, actually" he said
Clarke's eyes flickered over to Four, his gaze barely hiding his contempt.
"He's right," I piped in, "My name's Tris"
Four smiled smugly, I was sensing some boy-issues here. Great, there's nothing like over-active testosterone levels to make everything awkward. Clarke glared at Four but then returned his gaze to me, his eyes softened.
"Well, Tris, welcome to Hunters Island." One of the boys from the group of teens behind him cleared his throat.
"Hey, Clarke, you gonna introduce her to the rest of us or not?" the boy called out, he had an angular, tan face with short dark hair and dark, mischievous eyes.
Clarke smiled at him, and then looked back to me, "Tris, this is Uriah, the girl next to him is Marlene," Marlene looked at me with dis-interest and then looped her arm around Uriah's, marking her territory, "That over there is Christina," he said pointing out a dark skinned girl with a nose piercing and cropped, black hair, Christina smiled warmly at me "Next to Christina is Will," Will had brown hair and handsome yet pale features, he gave me a quick smile before returning his gaze to an oblivious Christina, "There are usually a couple more of us, but you'll have to meet Zeke and Shauna later"
I said a small 'hello' to Uriah, Marlene, Christina and Will, and then they began attacking me with questions. Four had left halfway through the introduction.
"Why don't you sit down, Tris?" Clarke asked, he sat down on a love seat, the only space available to me was next to him; I sat down with all the grace of a figure skater.
"So, Tris. What brings you here?" Uriah was the first to ask a question
"I don't know. I wanted a change of scenery, I guess" I lied
Clarke was next, "What about your figure skating? How will you be able to compete?"
"I was out of the running this year anyway, injured leg" I answered vaguely
"How old are you?" Christina piped in
"I'm seventeen"
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Uriah asked, Marlene shot him a look, Clarke shifted so that he was facing me directly, "Do you?" he asked
"No, my figure skating comes before everything else, including relationships" I answered, unafraid and definitely unashamed.
"How long do you plan on staying?" Will asked
"I don't know" I answered, truthfully.
"So," I started before they could ask any more questions. "How old are you guys?"
Clarke answered for them all, "We're all eighteen except for Marlene and Uriah; they're seventeen"
"What do you guys do around here for fun?" I asked
"We just mope around until there's a good enough reason to go out" Uriah answered.
"Do you still go to school?" I asked, they wouldn't be busy with school at the moment, unless they used their summer vacation to go to summer school.
"Yep. We're all still at school, though I'm probably the only one who takes it seriously" Will answered.
"He's right, you know. I hate school" Christina agreed.
Just as she finished her sentence, the heavy oak door swung opened and aunt Miranda barged in, donning an apron that read;
"YOU CAN DO A WHOLE LOT MORE THAN KISS THE CHEF, ELVIS" A picture of Elvis Presley was stitched underneath the crude lettering.
I stifled a laugh, "Everyone in the dining room, now, mamas baked you her famous Apple & Blackberry turnovers" she smiled
There were a few 'whoops' and noises of jubilation, "You're the best, Mandy" Uriah called out as he practically ran to the dining room, "You're a woman after my own heart" Marlene smacked him in the arm, Uriah feigned hurt and said "I'm joking, you know you're the only one for me, baby" he wrapped an arm around her shoulders, Marlene batted him away good-naturedly.
The dining room dripped with country splendour, the walls were papered with deep red and cream wallpapers, there was a large mahogany and glass showcase which contained old framed photos, glass ornaments, clay ornaments, certificates etc. The table was large and shiny oak. A deep red table runner was set across the centre of the table. The chairs were also oak and were upholstered with deep reddish-brown leather. There was dark wicker wall decor and an open archway that led into the kitchen. Two thick, velvet, deep red curtains were tied back on either side of the doorway. A door from the dining room led to the back garden and there was a large window that would probably fill the room with light, if the sky weren't so dark right now. An impressive chandelier hung low above the table casting light and soft shadows across the room. There were little arch shaped alcoves in the walls containing little Moroccan-style lanterns that were lit by small tea-light candles and scent diffusers, the diffusers and incense made the room smell warm and inviting. There was an intricately patterned glass vase in the middle of the table, filled with deep orange-almost red-tulips. A man was already sat at the table; he must have been in his early forties, late thirties. He had a squared jaw, greying-brown hair and thick, broad limbs. He was also quite tall. His eyes were blue, his face was lined with the kind of wrinkles that you saw on men like George Clooney and Robert Downey Jr., they revealed maturity, not age and added to his handsome-ness instead of deducting from it. He looked up from the newspaper in his hands at our arrival, and gave us a quick smile, his gaze lingered on me.
"You must be Beatrice Prior, we've all heard so much about you, I'm Marcus Eaton" he said with the kind of voice that you could imagine to be soft and caring and then authoritative and commanding, too.
I smiled, "Please, call me Tris"
"In that case, Tris, you can call me Mark" he smiled then looked back down at his paper.
We all sat down, I was sat between Clarke and Christina.
Miranda walked in with a large tray full of steaming pastries, she plated them up, serving them with cream and raspberry milkshakes.
I watched as everyone wolfed down the pastries, occasionally smiling or moaning with appreciation. I looked down at my own plate; the pastry was triangular in shape, coated with a thin layer of sugar. It was huge, about the size of my whole hand when it was outstretched. I was quite a small girl, small, blonde, and pale. I love food, but my stomach could only take a little at a time or else I'd fall into a food coma.
I picked up my silver fork and took a small bite; it was good, really good. So good I wanted to wrap myself in it and never leave. I could only manage about three-quarters of it though.
Miranda looked at me and tutted when she asked if everyone was finished and I nodded, "That's nowhere near finished, Tris." She said. Uriah beamed from ear to ear when I said he could have the rest. Once everyone was finished, I collected all of the plates and utensils and insisted on doing the dishes, despite Miranda's refusal, I managed to convince her that it was really no bother.
While washing the dishes I noticed an extra plate and milkshake on top of the oven.
"Who's that for?" I asked Miranda
"Oh. That's for Four" she answered
"Is he out?" I asked
"No, he just likes to mope around in his room while the other kids are here, very closed off, is Four" Miranda answered, "Could you take it up to his room for me? His room is right opposite yours, across the landing"
I nodded. Grabbing the plate and milkshake, I made my way up the spiralling staircase, my room was in the East Wing, the stairs ended and the landing led to two wings, the East Wing and the West wing. The room directly opposite mine, across the landing. I repeated in my head. I followed Miranda's instructions and tapped lightly on the door that I hoped belonged to Four. There was no answer, I was about to leave when the door swung open, Four stood in the doorway, he was wearing grey wool sleep sweat pants and his chest was bare, revealing a whole lot of abs.
I looked away quickly; Four smirked and turned back around, grabbing a black shirt from his bed and throwing it on. He had a tattoo on his back, the tattoo read the words:
'ERE QUERA, SIEST, INTELI, SIMPA, TREYI, BRIEV' the words flowed into each other. I had no idea what language the words were in, let alone what the words meant. He returned wearing the shirt, but it didn't make much of a difference, the shirt hugged his chest, showing clearly the outline of his muscles.
"What?" Four asked
"Miranda sent me to give you this" I answered, pushing the plate and tall glass of frothy milkshake towards him.
"I'm not hungry" he answered
"Not my problem, I'm just doing my job"
Four rolled his eyes and said "Pleasant as ever, I see" he took the objects from me.
"You're one to talk." I retorted.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, narrowing his eyes
"Nothing." I replied, turning around, "Absolutely nothing"
He caught my arm, his touch sending unwarranted electrical impulses through me, he seemed to notice this too and he released me arm. He stared into my eyes.
"What's that supposed to mean?" he repeated. His proximity was such that I could smell him, he smelt of raw earth and spices. Of something new. It was a strangely pleasant smell.
"Oh come on, you're calling me unpleasant? You're the one who's all emo and 'oblivion-is-arriving-and-we're-all-facing-impending-doom', I mean, your sky-high testosterone levels don't help with your personality either." I replied. Sass queen.
Instead of looking shocked and hurt like I'd expected, Four smiled, very subtly, though.
"Sky-high testosterone levels?" he asked with a bemused look.
"Yep. Your uneasiness around Clarke didn't go unnoticed you know, neither did your disappearing act. Luckily there were nice people around to keep me company"
Four's expression darkened, his hand was on my arm again, I ignored the electrical currents that were flowing through me.
"They're not nice people; you don't want to associate yourself with them"
I narrowed my eyes and pulled my arm out of his grasp, my body screamed profanities at me.
"I can do whatever I want, and, if anything, you're the kind of person I shouldn't associate myself with." Once again, sass queen.
Fours face lifted again, "You're probably right," he leaned forward, "But that's probably exactly the reason as to why you want to associate yourself with me."
"You wish" I replied, one of my less witty retorts, damn, and I was doing so well.
"Maybe I do" and with that, he was gone and I was left staring at his bedroom door, a blush imprinting itself onto my cheekbones.
Clarke is my character. I own Clarke. CLARKE IS MINE OKAY? MINE, NOT YOURS. NO SHARING.
Orange Tulips, TFIOS, noooooo. I cry.
'ERE QUERA, SIEST, INTELI, SIMPA, TREYI, BRIEV'
That is completely made up, it means:
'TO BE SELFLESS,INTELLIGENT, KIND, HONEST, BRAVE' in ClaryFrayMockinjay-ian.
REVIEW!
-CFM XX
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Loosely based on the book 'The Splendour Falls', no infringement intended.