Under the Sycamore Tree
By sophomoric genius
Disclaimer: Although the plot and characterizations are mine, Ragnarok and all other components of the game are copyright Gravity and Myung Jin Lee.
It was a chilly autumn afternoon, around five thirty. I stepped out of the old, white-washed building that was our laboratory, and immediately headed south. I am an alchemist, and a creature of habit, order and precision. I have a regular schedule which I keep religiously, and according to my built-in planner, five thirty in the afternoon calls for a slice of cake and some coffee down at Jenna's.
An alchemist is trained to strive for perfection and settle for nothing but the best. That is why everyday, during five-thirty in the afternoon, I visit the quaint coffee shop located on the outskirts of the town to get myself a cup of flat white and a slice of blueberry cheesecake. I could easily brew potions that would restore a dying person to near-perfect health, or triple the mana of a drained mystic, but I could never quite make coffee to taste the way the people at Jenna's do. It is, simply put, the best.
I entered the shop and immediately went behind the counter to the kitchen. I heard a female voice call out to me in alarm. I stopped and turned.
"I'm sorry, miss, but you can't just go in there!"
She must be new. I saw another waitress lean over and whisper, "It's okay. She's the owner's sister."
Actually, I was part-owner. The café was Jenna's idea, and with the amazing skills of an old family friend, Tess, and my so-called merchant prowess back then, it became a reality. It eventually became successful enough for them to open another branch in Geffen.
"Oh," the new girl looked at me apologetically. "Sorry."
I gave her a small smile and went on to the kitchen to get my cake. When I went back to the counter, a cup of flat white was waiting for me.
"Thanks, Tess," I nodded at the plump, middle-aged woman in a black apron, who only waved me away.
With the steaming cup in one hand and a small plate in the other, I weaved my way through the uniquely-designed tables and chairs to the area under a Sycamore tree. It was my place, a spot that was exclusively mine, not only because it was autumn and leaves were constantly falling everywhere, but more likely because instead of the picturesque river that ran on the other side of the coffee shop, one's view would consist of the back alley filled with tightly-packed shanties and their clotheslines. But I didn't really mind. I'm sick of that stupid river anyway.
I was halfway through my cake when, for some reason, my eyes decided to travel up the tree. They were met with a vision of a scruffy boy with his legs dangling in the air, directly above my meal.
"Hi," he greeted me with a toothy grin.
"Hi," I answered curtly, lowering my gaze, hoping that that was the end of it and he'd just leave me alone. I never really liked kids. They're too noisy and nosy—nothing but a pain in the a, in my opinion. That one looked like he lived in one of those tenements too.
Unfortunately, my gut feeling was right. There was a bit of shuffling, resulting in a rain of wilted leaves down my table, followed by a dull thud of bare feet on cobblestones. I used my fork to pick out the leaves that fell on my cake and coffee with a look of annoyance, silently cursing of the scene that was bound to follow.
And sure enough, the boy—he couldn't have been more than five or six—stood beside my table, looking curiously up at me. I turned to him with a sigh. "What?"
He merely gave me another one of his huge grins. He continued to stare at me, with that goofy expression on his face, and I just stared back, a small frown on mine.
His light blond hair stood up all over his head, with pieces of barks, leaves and seeds all over. His light blue eyes were incredibly huge, almost too large for his tiny, scrubby face. His ears were too. He looked like some wide-eyed elf-kid.
"Clay!" a voice—the same one I heard earlier—cried. The new waitress hurriedly came over and grabbed the boy by the shoulder. She turned to me and bowed lightly. "I'm so sorry." Then she turned and walked away, pulling him along. "I told you not to bother anyone!"
"But I wasn't bothering her, ma," I heard the boy reply. "I was just looking at her. I think she's very beautiful."
I almost choked on my coffee.
What the hell…
I may not think of myself as ugly, but I was most certainly not 'very beautiful.' Just…decent I guess. I've got a couple of assets of my own, but I wasn't one to spend a lot of time on vanity. I work inside a laboratory ten hours a day, six days a week, with nothing but funnels and herbs and chemicals to admire my gorgeous self—why bother? And I wasn't the type who didn't need the fixing up either. I simply wasn't one to be called 'attractive,' let alone 'very beautiful.'
Maybe it's those eyes. They're way too large to be any good.
I shook my head and chuckled.
It was five thirty and I was sitting on my table at Jenna's, sipping on my flat white.
"I think you're very beautiful."
This time, he was standing beside the tree.
I raised an eyebrow. "Really."
He nodded enthusiastically. "Uh huh." Walking over to the seat opposite mine, he pulled it out and sat down. My other eyebrow went up as well.
"My name's Clay."
He was beaming at me. I glared back at him.
It went on for several long minutes—he grinning at me with those disproportionately large eyes, and me silently, desperately trying to intimidate his freaky gaze off my face.
I cracked. With a frustrated sigh, I took out my wallet and lifted out a hundred zeny bill. "Here kid. Now get lost."
He did not even look at the money. "No, thanks."
My jaw almost dropped. What, does he want more? Well he isn't getting any, the duplicitous little bastard.
"Then what do you want?" He was seriously starting to annoy me.
"Your name." Still with that huge, goofy grin.
"Fine," I muttered, rolling my eyes. "It's Randy."
That managed to wipe his ridiculous puppy-dog look off, replacing it with a bewildered one.
"But that's a boy's name."
I shrugged. "So?"
He just sat there, watching me. I did my best to ignore him.
"Clay!" the waitress came up, looking disapprovingly at the boy. "Didn't I tell you to stay with your grandpa?" She took him by the hand, apologized to me, and then stomped off with the boy on her heels.
"Why do you keep on bothering that lady?" I heard her ask in an exasperated tone.
"Because I like her, ma. I think she's very beautiful."
There is something seriously wrong with those eyes.
Five thirty. I was eating my cake under the Sycamore tree.
"You're really very beautiful even with a boy's name, Randy."
Here we go again.
It was starting to become a routine. The wretched boy was becoming part of my routine. Those gods really have some twisted and perverse sense of humor. Maybe they thought I was too emotionally unavailable that I couldn't even get a decent conversation from my own kind. Was I so pathetic that the gods had to intervene in order for me to have more than two minutes' worth of interaction with a living human being? And what did they give me? A six year old kid with an eye problem. I guess my mere mortal brain could never discern the complexities of the divine. Right. All hail Odin.
This time, the boy had some paper and crayons with him. He pulled the chair and sat opposite me, giving me his trademark toothy grin. "I wanted to draw you."
"You're kidding me."
It was getting more ridiculous by the second. Twisted and perverse. I could only handle so much.
He shook his head. "Don't worry, I'm good at drawing. My ma says so." He picked a pink crayon and drew an oblong. "I just wanted to make sure I don't forget how beautiful you are."
"Whatever." Why was I even fighting it? Here's someone who worships me willingly and for free. Never mind that he's fifteen years younger than me. At least he's not asking for anything in return. Well, not yet anyway.
He sat there, quiet as a cramp, absorbed with his work, glancing up at me every now and then. I saw him make two copies.
"Claaaay!"
I didn't know his eyes could grow even larger, but it did the moment he heard the sound of his mother's angry voice. He hastily finished his drawing and shoved one of the papers towards me.
"This one's for you," he told me just as the waitress reached my table.
She glared at the boy, took him by the arm and, this time completely forgetting about me, pulled him back inside the café. "Do I have to keep you in chains, Clayton? What do I have to do to keep you from disturbing the people here?"
"But ma, I can't help it if I like her because she's--"
They were already too far inside and I wasn't able to catch his last words, but I knew exactly what they were. I looked down at the boy's drawing. It wasn't anything special—a pink oval shape for my face, a couple of green dots for my eyes, long brown waves for my hair and a cherry red line for my mouth. He didn't even draw my nose, which was the one feature I was personally proud of.
It's not just the eyes. That boy's out of his mind.
But for some reason, the corners of my cherry red lips were twitching upwards.
Five thirty. Where else would I be but Jenna's?
And who else would I be with but that kid?
"So, do you know how to do it?" He cradled his inquisitive little face with both his hands, his elbows propped on the table.
I looked at him from the rim of my coffee cup. "Do what?"
"Turn ordinary metal into gold. That's what alchemists do, right?" His light blue eyes suddenly brightened up. "I bet you know how to do it."
I snorted. "That's a myth. No one can turn metal into gold."
His forehead wrinkled in a frown. "But you're an alchemist!"
"So I am. Very good, genius," I couldn't help mumbling with a roll of the eyes.
"You're supposed to turn metal to gold," he insisted. "That's what you do!"
"Says who?" I countered with a bemused look.
"My pa." The boy's expression softened. "He was an alchemist too. He worked real hard. He told me he's almost got it. But then he died." He turned his gaze at me and quickly veered back to the original subject. "What do you do then?"
"Potions," I said with a shrug of the shoulders. "I work for a company that develops and manufactures all sorts of potions for the King's armies."
He looked at me sadly. "That's too bad."
One of my eyebrows instantly shot up at his words. But before I could retort, he suddenly jumped down of his seat, apparently spotting the disgruntled figure of his mother making her way towards us. "I have to go. See you tomorrow, Randy!"
He ran over to his mom and met her halfway, wrapping his arms around her waist.
"I'm sorry ma," I heard him say before she could utter a single disapproving word. "But she's really beautiful and I like her so much. Don't worry ma. Randy doesn't mind, ask her."
The waitress' eyes wandered uncertainly at me. I somehow managed a forced smile. She hesitantly smiled back, guiding his son inside the shop. The boy gave me one last mischievous grin before disappearing behind the counter.
Metal to gold, huh. That kid's a piece of work.
…And I'm getting soft. Dammit.
--to be continued--