Hey, guys! I know I promised another chapter of Dragon Rider to DADA Professor, but this has been hanging around my head for a couple of weeks now, and I figured writing it down would help me get on with the other story. Depending on when inspiration strikes me, I may or may not update this for a long time.
I only have a vague idea as to where I do/don't want this to go, hence the cryptic description, so please don't hesitate to make suggestions. If I use them, I'll credit you in an AN.
Summary: Normal people were raised to the first power - not raised at all. People of their calibre were squared, which was also common. But there were four of them, so when they added together they formed a zenzizenzizenzic. A number raised to the eighth power. And true to form, that number was a polynumeral. 'M'.
He seemed to have wandered into the room almost by accident, and for a moment Mello actually thought the boy had. He was strange, but strange was perfectly normal in Wammy's House, which of course was oxymoronic. How could something be its antithesis?
Mello shook his ragged blond hair and studied the boy again. He was playing a handheld game and didn't look up, yet still navigated the desks with ease: peripheral vision, thought Mello. He wore orange plastic goggles around his neck, but faint lines on his face and a slightly paler skin tone suggested he wore them over his eyes often.
He took the lone empty seat in front of Jacques and Jacqueline, whom nobody could ever tell apart, as they looked identically androgynous. The twins stared for a moment, then shrugged in perfect unison and returned to playing paper-scissors-rock – a useless enterprise, as they both always did the same thing.
Studying him, Mello saw that the boy was doing a little discreet observation of his own. Though his face never moved, his eyes flickered between the game and various people in the classroom. Mello, diagonally behind him, could see the flashes of colour when the pupils changed from a direct downward gaze.
Mello mused inwardly that the boy must be very smart. Like only one other arrival of his age in the past year, the six-year-old had realized how much of a hunting ground Wammy's was for predators.
Mecka sighed inwardly. Being the only person truly interested in engineering at Wammy's got very dull sometimes. There was never anyone the six-year-old could discuss the finer points of her inventions with.
"Hello."
Mecka whirled from the miniature radios to see an orphan her own age. The child's expression was blank, but hazel eyes darted curiously from Mecka to the mass of wires, tiny screws, even smaller tools and practically microscopic electronic pieces.
"Who are you?" asked Mecka cautiously, irritably brushing a strand of dark hair out of her face. The shorter pieces invariably fell out of her ponytail, annoying her with little respite.
"You would have better luck if you put it up high and used some clips," observed the spiky-haired child. "Here." He – or she, Mecka mused, as there were no defining features either way – held out a handful of black clips.
The mechanic touched her hair awkwardly, noting the knots she hadn't brushed out and the way the elastic was falling out anyway. "I can't do more than this," she admitted, gesturing to the ragged gathering of hair at the base of her neck.
"I can help," offered the other.
Mecka looked suspicious. This was Wammy's House, after all. Nobody ever did anything without an ulterior motive. "Who are you?"
"Magpie. Mr. Ruvie said to find Mecka, because she was my new roommate. Are you Mecka?" It wasn't a monotone, but certainly a very good impression of a deadpan.
"Yes." Mecka eyed the girl. The short, spiky hair wasn't masculine but merely androgynous, she decided. Similar to the blasted twins.
"Would you like some help?" repeated the girl.
Mecka sighed. "Fine. I'll show you to our room." She began carefully packing away her work, wary of the watchful gaze focused there.
"What are you making?"
"Stuff," Mecka replied shortly. She disliked being questioned this much and the girl was getting on her nerves.
When she was done, Mecka locked away the work in her project locker, secured by a self-invented security system, and began the long walk through warmly lit white corridors to the girls' dormitories.
"How many people to a room?" inquired Magpie.
Mecka turned a baleful eye on her, but couldn't deny the question was sensible. "One, if you're an official Successor to L. Two, if you're in the top twenty non-Successor list. Up to five, if you're in the normal dorms."
"What's a Successor?"
Mecka ignored her.
"I see." The girl was quiet then, which Mecka was thankful for.
"Here we are," announced Mecka sarcastically, pulling out her special room-key. She'd made another system for her room, of course. How annoying this girl would have to learn to get through.
The dorms at Wammy's were nothing special. In this, one of the top-twenty rooms, there were two curtained four-poster beds, two dressing tables with mirrors, two closets and two chests of drawers. A small sliding door led to the adjacent bathroom.
"Do you have any luggage?" asked Mecka boredly. Magpie shook her head mutely.
Used to people not wanting to talk about their pasts – nearly everyone at Wammy's had a traumatic story somewhere – Mecka simply sighed again and motioned to her roommate. "Come on. Let's go get your starter pack from S&O. They'll have one ready for you, plus a timetable."
Magpie snapped her head up, her eyes meeting Mecka's for the first time.
"Timetable? Isn't this an orphanage, with a school in the nearby town?" she asked, confusion marring her face.
"Welcome to Wammy's House, Magpie. Orphanage for the world's child prodigies and geniuses," chuckled Mecka dryly.