Brooke: I'm starting another story! It's going to be -
Will: Lame? Stupid?
Brooke: Did those words even exist in the 1800s?
Will: They didn't, but we aren't in the 1800s, idiot. It's a futuristic AU story, remember?
Brooke: Oh yeah! I forgot about that! Anyways, enjoy! I hope you like it!
Will: *sigh* Of course you would forget... Whatever, you don't own us, so it doesn't matter. And you don't own any of the authors listed in here either, so you can't mess up their reputations! Ha!
~A Book Without Words~
A TID fic by
Marie E. Brooke
At the dead of night, when all the curtains were drawn and the moon, white and luminous, casted its eerie beams down on the street, there was not a sound to be heard. Even if you strained your ears and willed yourself to listen, you would not hear anything. Not a peep from a small creature, not the tiniest of creaks, not even the trace of a whisper echoing through the town. You would not hear anything, because there was nothing to be heard.
But if you were different, more observant - a Rebel, perhaps - then you would've noticed the slight rustling of the bushes, the discreet sounds of footsteps, going in sync with your fast pace. The way the moonlight flickered unevenly due to some faint shadows. The way the leaves, strewn in large amounts on the concrete, were a bit too crunched.
And of course you would've noticed the dark silhouette darting along the chain mail fence, leaping amongst the trees without so much a sound.
Tessa Gray leapt down from the last tree - a tall, prickly evergreen - and ran soundlessly down the streets, careful to stay near the foliage lest someone see her out at this ungodly hour and suspect her intentions. Her eyes scanned the rows of identical grey houses, searching for the two special ones. She found them and raced down the small strip of concrete that separated the two.
Breathing heavily, she came to a slow stop. The alley had widened enough so that she could walk comfortably. Instead of being smooth and grey, the walls were now made of faded red bricks. Her hands skimmed across the wall and found the one loose brick. She wiggled it out, revealing a black keypad with numbers and a small screen. Without hesitation, she typed in the code: 6, 9, 3, 5, 4. The screen at the top flashed green in approval and letters started to take shape. Press your finger to the screen, it read. Tessa complied, earning her another flash of green and an approved from the screen. Tessa stepped back and waited.
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, making only a small clatter, the bricks in the central region of the wall started to fall away, revealing a small hole big enough for a moderately sized person. Tessa seated herself on the mouth of the tunnel and pushed herself down. The wind whipped at her hair as she zoomed down the endless slide. Well, not really endless; there was an end, sure. The end that was getting increasingly closer, and closer, and even closer -
Tessa dug her heels into the hard plastic, causing her to stop suddenly at the mouth of the tunnel and her ears to pop as a loud screeching sound penetrated the air, amplified by the tunnels close walls. Tessa, who was used to this ear-splitting procedure, ignored the noise and stepped daintily out of the slide without a further glance. Smoothing her hair down, she blinked and looked around.
Even though she came down here every day and ought to be used to the sight of it, Tessa still thought it looked amazing. Hundreds - no, thousands - of people were milling about in brightly colored clothing, their amiable chatter humming in the background. There were rows upon rows of assorted stalls and shops selling things from fruits to dream-catchers. The fact that it was underground did not stop the prospering black market from radiating joy and laughter.
Tessa didn't have much time to appreciate the view, however - she was engulfed in a bone-crushing hug, and all she could see was a mass of fabric before she was released. Panting, Tessa looked down at the eager face of Emma Blackthorne, her thin, pale pink lips stretched into a smile and her brown eyes twinkling.
"Em," began Tessa, "why are you still here? Shouldn't you be in bed or something?"
"Where were you?" demanded the blonde, ignoring Tessa's earlier statement completely. "You took ages!"
Tessa sighed in an exasperated manner."This is when I usually get here," she said.
"That can't be true!" protested Emma. "You're" - Emma checked her rusty, old watch - "exactly on time," she finished dully. "Dammit, why are you always right?"
Tessa couldn't resist smirking at her, but decided not to rub in the fact to the dubious 14-year old, remembering her suffocating hug. "So, where's Dru?" she asked casually, scanning the crowd for Emma's constant but absent-minded companion (and sister).
Emma's sullen expression quickly turned into one of alarm. "Dammit!" Emma smacked her forehead. "Stupid me. I told her not to wander off. Dru!" said Emma, raising her voice at the last part. She started to venture into the crowd, shouldering people away at an amazing speed. "Drusilla!"
Tessa glanced after her. This happened so often it was practically routine. Tessa paid it no heed and proceeded to delve further into the crowd, searching for her stall. She finally located the small red shop and let herself in.
A bell dinged as she walked in. "Got any customers, Cecily?" she asked the younger raven-haired girl, who was behind the cash register, counting up her money.
Cecily returned her question with a toothy grin. "Loads," she said enthusiastically. "You're really doing a good job with the books, you book thief," she added, referencing her job and the title of the book peeking out from her bag.
Tessa shrugged. "Hey, we need the money. Besides, the government is corrupted, not allowing creativity of any kind, as stated clearly in Confederacy Article thirty-three. Well, not the corrupted part. Oh, you get the idea. Anyways, great literture should be preserved. Charles Dickens, a great author, used to be worshipped. But then the stupid government came along and stole all writer's glory, along with everybody's creativity! Outrageous! And - "
Cecily felt obligated to mention that Charles Dickens wasn't the greatest author of all time (it was believed to be J.K. Rowling, according to the Black Book of Revolt) nor did the government take away people's creativity - in fact, they had done quite the contrary. Banning all forms of creativity (which had, admittedly been worded differently) had only encouraged the sport. After all, rules are meant to be broken. Institutes (a code name for illegal safe havens such as the one that Tessa and Cecily were residing in) were suddenly popping up everywhere and there were numerous protests popping up, some of which the government studiously ignored. Besides, the fact that the government had banned all forms of creativity was miniscule compared to the law against growing food in one's own backyard. Not that there were backyards anymore. The government had gotten rid of those, too.
"Aren't we defying the law?" commented Cecily, interrupting Tessa mid-rant.
"Pretty much," agreed Tessa, forgetting about her outrage towards the government for two seconds, "but I think Cadair Morgenstern is the real criminal."
"Oh, yes," said Cecily, smiling wickedly. "Such a criminal."
"Writing books left and right," said Tessa mournfully.
"And good ones too. It must annoy the government," added Cecily sadly.
"Her books are complete and utter rubbish!" corrected Tessa.
"Well, that's what Cadair Morgenstern thinks, not the rest of the world," said Cecily.
"Well, Cadair Morgenstern is right," said Tessa firmly.
Cecily rolled her eyes.
Tessa gave her a look. "Never mind. We should start shelving these books." She slung her bookbag off her shoulder, dropping it unceremoniously to the floor and making all the books spill out.
Cecily let loose an annoyed sigh. "Great. Thanks for making life so much easier," she huffed, bending down to pick up a book.
"It's not a big deal, you know," said Tessa, who had already shelved five books and was working on her sixth. "Anyways, how many books did we sell exactly?" asked Tessa, changing the subject.
Cecily shrugged. "Today? Beats me. I dunno...Somewhere in the twenties." Cecily shrugged again. "Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters!" flared Tessa. "The money we're earning is being used to put the food on the table! We're lucky that we even have enough money for food, that we found an Institute and not a jail. The money we make is precious, Cecily, and should not be taken for granted," ended Tessa with a stern glare.
"Oh, come on, loosen up a bit," said Cecily, jostling Tessa. "We earn more than enough money, with you writing all those bestsellers."
Tessa was not swayed. "Cecily!" she whisper-shouted dramatically, grabbing the other girl by the shoulders. "Look around you!" She gestured wildly. "Can you see all those unfortunate souls? See those beggars, dressed in rags, having to go weeks without food? We used to be like that!"
"We're in a bookstore and the shades are drawn," deadpanned Cecily. "I can't see anything but you, and you certainly aren't dressed in rags." She eyed Tessa's crisp black attire.
Tessa facepalmed. "That's not the point," started Tessa, but gave up when she saw Cecily stubbornly opening her mouth to protest. "Whatever. Let's just get this over with." She eyed the books that were strewn across the floor.
The two girls worked well into the night, and soon they found themselves full and washing dishes in their dusty, compact kitchen. (At least they had a kitchen, thought Tessa, glancing disdainfully at the raven-haired girl, who was whistling cheerfully and drying the dishes with a stained rag.) Finally, after much idle chatter, the dishes were cleaned and the kitchen scrubbed (to which Tessa insisted was cleaned, since she was OCD) and soon enough Tessa was helping Cecily get ready for bed.
"Aren't I a bit too old for this?" grumbled Cecily, whose wet hair was being combed by the Tessa.
"Not at all," said Tessa, who secretly liked to watch Cecily get embarrassed by her motherly ways. She untangled the last knot in the black mess and stepped back. "Ta-da!" she said, doing jazz hands. "All done!"
Cecily groaned. "Tessa..."
"What?" Tessa asked innocently. She thrust a pile of white clothes towards Cecily. "Change into this," she ordered. "I'll be waiting outside."
Cecily rolled her eyes, but obliged, slipping on the cotton PJs and stepping back into her room. Tessa was waiting on Cecily's bed, drumming her fingers on the musty linen. She quickly stood up upon Cecily's arrival and bustled her into bed.
"Again, aren't I a bit too old for this?" said Cecily as Tessa fussed over her.
"What are you talking about?" said Tessa, tucking the thin blanket up to Cecily's chin. "There. You're done. Good night." She kissed the top of Cecily's forehead.
"Tessa, I'm not a baby - " started Cecily indignantly, but was arrested in mid-yawn.
Tessa was thoroughly amused by this. "Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bite," whispered Tessa, wondering how far she could push it.
"Oh, come on, Tessa, that's so - " started Cecily irritably, and then started to snore, her cheek mashed up against the pillow.
Tessa, chuckling, quietly closed the door and allowed the little girl to sleep contentedly. She started towards her bedroom, which was right across from Cecily's, intending to get in a bit of writing before retiring to sleep.
Brooke: Wow. My hands are shaking so badly, I'm so excited to publish this! I'm really at loss for the genre, though. If fanfiction allowed us to have more than one genre, I would probably take: Tradegy/Hurt/Comfort/Romance/Action/Drama/Friendship/Angst/Adventure/Mystery. But we can't, so I'll just settle for Action and Romance.
Will: What about humor?
Brooke: I don't think so, Will. I haven't really included anything remotely funny yet, nor am I planning too. Maybe a bit of humor to lighten things up a bit, but...
Will: It was hilarious! The quality of your writing is so bad, it's laughable!
Brooke: Oh, shut up. We've already got enough of you with you being in the next chapter...if there is a next chapter. 'Cause if nobody reviews and says they want me to continue, really no point in writing the story.
Will: *sigh* Nobody's going to review because of you. So what about this: Review if you like me!
Brooke: What?! No!