Chapter 1: Lucy and the Guild
SEASON: Springtime
"I'm serious – you're brilliant!" Lucy cooed. She instantly slapped a hand over her big, overly-lipsticked mouth and blushed. Natsu, one of her best friends in the entire mage guild Fairy Tail, gave her an odd look.
"You're acting weird." The embarrassed stellar-spirit user turned even redder and fiddled with the corner of her too-short skirt with her free hand as the grinning boy continued. "But you're right, Luce. I'll beat Erza next time!" He held up a fist and grinned, and the tall, sturdy-built, red-haired girl beside him rolled her eyes.
"Like that's going to happen," she said, shifting her legs under their in-door picnic table. Natsu stuck out his tongue childishly at the tall, scarlet-haired mage.
"Oh, yeah? You wanna try again, Erza?" challenged Natsu eagerly, leaping up from his seat. "I'll win, I'll win, I'll win!"
"In your dreams, hot-head," smirked a voice. Lucy and Natsu looked up. A tall, dark-haired teen towered above them, hands stuffed in the pockets of a pair of baggy jeans and ink-black blazers tight-fitting on his top. His black hair was spiky and obviously uncombed, and a familiar smug and sneer on his face completed the sturdy, fun, and competitive look.
"Grey!" Natsu grinned devilishly. "Fight with me. I'll show you who's gonna be pounded to the ground in no time flat."
"Yeah, you," hissed Grey, jabbing his enemy in the gut. Before she could say "I love Loki", Lucy found herself staring at a tornado of clenched fists and bloody noses. Dust flew as onlookers cried, "FIGHT!" and jumped in after them. Lucy rolled her eyes.
"You'll get used to it," Erza assured her, laughing and yanking Natsu by his porcupine-style, pink hair out of the giant, screaming whirlwind. He stuck out his tongue as he dove back into the fight. Lucy shrugged, unable to take her eyes off the wild jumble of red-faced mages.
"I don't know. This happens almost every day, but I still feel that… electric 'shock' that comes, every time something like this occurs. Although it is sort of fun," came the quick, uncertain response. Erza laughed again, just as Mira Jane, another girlfriend of theirs, came strolling by.
"Noisy brats, aren't they?" Mira Jane observed, flipping her sleek, white hair. Erza shrugged.
"'Guess so," she said, rolling her eyes. "Luce here is straining not to throw up just about now," she added with a sly grin.
"Hey! This is a fighting mage guild, so it's a shame to be"- at this point she stumbled over her words –"weird about these kinds of things, Erza-san!"
"Admit it. Daily fist fights aren't exactly your idea of fun, are they?" Erza teased. "And STOP CALLING ME ERZA-SAN!"
"Er-za!" Lucy cried, slapping her hands over her red, red cheeks and tossing her pretty blonde head with a tiny bit of weak fury at the stronger, more powerful Erza. Mira laughed sweetly and then glanced back over her shoulder.
"Uh-oh, better get back to work. My little diners look hungry. See ya!" she said with a friendly wave of her hand. Erza and Lucy returned the farewell as the cheery girl raced back to her counter.
~ o ~
Levy smiled and hummed to herself as she skipped in the beautiful, largely-enjoyed Magnolia park, a slightly heavy basket in hand. She scanned the area and promptly decided that this was the perfect place to have her private picnic. Sitting down, she flipped up the lid of the picnic basket and, taking out a sandwich, a shiny, red-cheeked apple and a bag of Cheetos, she began to eat. Once she felt that she'd eaten her fill, Levy lay down on her back on the grass and stared dreamily up at the mysterious, baby-blue sky and hot, swirling sun. Soon her eyelids felt heavy and they began to close…
~ o ~
Gajeel frowned as he stood, glaring, on the balcony of the second floor. Below him was a dusty jumble of male and female mages alike, fighting and leering and hooting… Annoying, he told himself with a smirk. Don't they have better things to do than to lounge about, flailing with their fists? And how do they call that 'beating each other up'? Lousy brats…
"Gajeel!" called a voice from behind him. He turned his head ever so slightly.
"Oh, it's only you… master Makarov." Before him stood a petite, old – yet young at heart – man with twinkling eyes just as tiny as his body, funky clothes, funny green slippers that turned up at the toes and a sometimes frightening type of jolly attitude. Finally, a corny, striped horn-hat plopped on his head like a colourful dollop of…
"If you said that to Natsu you'd be finding yourself in a fist-fight," laughed Makarov, shaking his small head.
"That firebrain?" Gajeel muttered, his hands crossing at the chest. Makarov raised a knowing eyebrow, but said nothing.
"Yes, that firebrain!" was what the master was about to burst out with a shake of his head, but of course as his duty, he held his tongue. Instead, he said, "Why aren't you down there, wrestling with the group?"
"I just…" Gajeel turned his head around, feeling at a loss for words. This often happened around the challenging, wise(-ish?) master… who was also slightly nosy at times, but of course only for good reason.
"I understand," Makarov put in with a nod, and smiled. "Well, I've got to go to the regular meaning, now. You'll see that they don't make any large harm to the guild." After Gajeel grunted what sounded like a choppy "Of course", Makarov turned and called over his shoulder as he skipped away, "Good… good, Gajeel." To which the iron dragon slayer felt an odd sense of pride and sadness.
"Master?" Makarov froze in mid-air of his skip, his heart giving a jump at the sound of the usually stiff mage. "I…" Gajeel stared at his feet. Why did he feel the way he did? "Ah… Nevermind." Makarov nodded with satisfaction and his toes barely touched the ground when they leapt away again.
Gajeel watched him go with a weight holding down his heart. When he tried to walk, his feet were sucked in by the greenish-blue wood. Something felt… different whenever he was around the master. Suddenly, one word popped into his mind.
Guilt…
The mage's head snapped up, shocked. "Guilt?" he repeated to himself, shuddering at what he scolded as 'weakling's words'. Then, feeling he needed to do something to calm his prideful nerves: "I feel guilty, around a tiny mite like that? Hah!"