So I thought I was done with OC fics . . . Really, I did. But then I got inspired by a few people and by reading the rules of writing according to Mark Twain. Hah, you may say, for the presence of an OC is an added personage that is not needed. And to this legit point I have no response. But in this rewritting of an old fic of mine ("Circle"), a lot has been altered. And soon there will be increased involvement from canon characters, namely Ikaku, Johan, Yuri, and a bit of Jun. Also Ichinose. But I have babbled enough; the story should tell itself and should be enjoyed for the sake of being a story.
This time around I will only write five chapters. :D
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! DM GX.
Chapter One - Nascent
There never will be a novel published about me—nor poetry, biographies, or news articles.
Now, as for what is told here, that is another tale completely.
It was on a foggy day, typical of spring in Liverpool, when the acceptance letter from North Academy came. I had gone to a preparatory middle school, of course, but matriculating in North Academy was optional. Seeing as how small the student body was, many figured that they wouldn't get in; I was one of them, so the letter came as a shock, a guiding whistle in the dark stagnation of my future.
My parents were a letdown as they had no problem with me going, and were even happy that my dreams of fame might be achieved (my voice and acting and appearance were all clearly not going to take me to any stage, much less the silver screen or iPods). How great would it have been for my potential career if I had surmounted the doubts and restrictions of my parents and risen to be a moderately successful duellist? But, no, things like that do not happen to hoi polloi.
The next few months—it was the end of the spring term when the letter arrived—passed by quick enough. My summer vacation, spent preparing for harsh duels, harsher weather, and even harsher languages, is a truly blurry memory. The only thing I can vividly remember was when dad got a promotion and mom could finally retire from her teaching career. Interminable jokes of "well, I shall just have to come and teach you at North Academy" failed to amuse me, however.
Finally, my uniform arrived in the express mail. Up until this point I had not really realized that North Academy would be a palpable reality for me. But when I fingered the thick material of the uniform coat and skirt (my mom began to doubt the school when she saw how short the skirt was, but I showed her the stockings and all doubts were relieved), I knew that this would really be happening for me. Yet, when I tried on North Academy's raiment, I could not help but feel lingering doubts; the measurements for my neck and chest had been wrong, so the blue collar sat loosely upon my shoulders. My dad commented that with as white as the uniform was, I would have to be careful not to get lost in the scenery. This amused me greatly, for my pale skin would probably be a more likely offender. But with my massive thighs, I wouln't get lost in any snow banks. When he heard this, dad just laughed and told me to wait until I saw the North, that permafrost and tundra were way more vicious than I knew. So I would wait.
There were many reasons why I broke down and sobbed for hours on my final evening at home. Paramount was my fear of being separated from my parents until the winter holidays; I had never before been gone away longer than three days form them, and that had been for a two-day trip to London to see how the Pro Leagues were run. On said trip the thought of "yes, so close to going home" was refrain in my mind the moment I set foot on London tarmac. Second was my ability to get seasick like no other. Many times day trips to the mainland have been ruined by my sensitive stomach, and the only way to get to North Academy was by submarine. Really.
That morning I woke up well before dawn and had nothing to do for two hours. So I pulled out a journal and began to write down whatever came to me. I am by no means a poet or writer, but I like to get my thoughts down on paper. That way I can always look back, and they will be there for sure. It's a kind of comfort, maybe even an indulgence.
Finally the rest of the house woke and it was time for me to get ready. Showering always took me less than ten minutes. Putting up my hair only took me a few minutes, the longest process drying it before securing it with an heirloom pin in the half-up style. Dressing was easy aside from figuring out how to secure my coat and then, realizing that it was too hot, trying to get myself out of it. Looking in the mirror, I fingered the spattering of acne on my chin and prayed that it would not leave acne scars. Forgoing makeup as a I always did, I deemed myself ready to set out. But standing there, on the cool tiles of our modern bathroom with my feet swathed in black nylon, I could not help but feel vulnerable. I really was leaving, wasn't I? But I had used up all my tears the night before, so I moved on to take one last look around my room.
It was a Sunday, so both of my parents were able to accompany me as far as the airport. However, when the airport was reached a renewed front of water slide from my eyes and I thought all the water in my body would sluice onto my face and clothing. But soon even those tears dried and all I was left with was a smarting head and red eyes. Before I boarded my mother handed me my carry-on and my jacket, bidding me a watery farewell.
"Be good my daughter, and do not be outside more than you have to."
"Of course. I will stay warm," I assured her with a small smile. Dad winked at me. Then he did something that surprised me, because being a Manly Man, he was not partial to PDA; enfolding me in his arms, he told me to make him proud and take care of myself.
"And no boyfriends, you hear?"
"Of course," I said. And I laughed inwardly. What boy in their right mind would want me, anyway? Even if they were stoned I know they would have enough sense to not touch me.
Then I boarded the plane—economy got on last—and tried to fall asleep in the recycled air. I was able to doze off, but never truly fall asleep, the REM cycle flitting away from me.
When we landed in Oslo I noticed that it was cold for summer, but by no means did this chill warrant my uniform jacket. Interrupting my thoughts was a smartly dressed woman holding up a whiteboard marked with North Academy's entwined NA. I shuffled over to her and she offered a noncommital smile. Several others joined us—seven males and one other female—and then she was satisfied so we set off to the baggage carousals. Two boys spoke staccato-French, commenting on how bad the in-flight meal had been. Strange, I didn't remember any French people or chicken being served.
Shunning them, I was inclined to walk near the other female. She was decidedly French, with a dignified but confused air about her. Her gait was a bit wobbly, prompting me to immediately take to her.
"Hello," she said in accented English as we walked, "I'm Jeanne. I'm going to be the next great Pro League duellist very soon."
"You're quiet confident, aren't you?"
"It is not confidence. It is security."
And she was so seriously I had to laugh. "Very well, Jeanne. I hope that you become the next great Duel Monster star."
Good for her, I thought. Because I sure wished I could be that secure in my own abilities.
After all baggage was collected without any incidents, we piled into an unmarked van and began driving towards the dazzling blue sea. About half an hour later we were dropped off at a quaint pier bleached white in gull droppings. Among us greetings were shared and rivalries already starting, while the upperclassmen rolled their eyes at us freshmen and made indignant comments about stupid children. Then I was joined by Jeanne, whose brown hair was absolutely luscious in the sunlight, for the harsh florescent lights in the airport had really done nothing for her.
"You're pigeon-toed?" she asked flatly, and had her eye not been on me I would have thought she was talking to someone, anyone else.
As for my pigeon-toes, well . . . "No, I'm not. I just like to stand this way." And it was true. Standing with my knees and toes facing inward made me feel cute and pert and likeable.
"You're a very strange girl. But I like you. We must stick together in this sea of men." Her hand swept across the rest of the students and my eyes followed. Jeanne was right about it being a sea. Aside from us I could spot only two other females. And even they looked rough. Like the kind of women who marched on Versailles to demand bread for their starving families and then rounded up the royal family and escorted them to Paris personally.
"Yes, I'm not ordinary. I prefer to think of myself as eccentric."
"Ah."
It was clear that she didn't understand what I meant, but I let it pass. Reaching out a hand, I summoned up my most pleasant smile and said "Jeanne. The two of us shall be partners in a sea of testosterone."
"Yes." Jeanne took my extended hand and shook it. "Just so you know, you're courses will probably be affected by my mine. Very soon it shall synchronize to my schedule," she said gravely.
I eyed her. Then warily considered her.
What was wrong with her? If I was eccentric, then she was a circus compacted tidily into a petite female frame.
"I shall keep that in mind. So, what kind of deck do you play?"
"Aqua. Now if you will excuse me, I have to go and introduce myself to those other girls." Just like that she was gone. I knew she would be back, but I really didn't want her to. People like that, who think that they can boss me around . . . The first command I get is the same moment she gets ditched.
A voice rung out over us and ordered us to cease our chattering. Calm descended.
The countenance of the man that materialized from the dock and walked to the center of our group screamed militarism. I thought him German with his imposing cheekbones and regal air. Perhaps he was an offspring of a kaiser. Pins on his hat and coat sparkled purposefully to tell us to really pay attention to this towering giant or face the consequences. Images of torture flooded my mind and made me shudder. Luckily, he did not see my weakness and instead focussed on a black-haired male who looked to be about my age. His obsidian hair was spiked into a sharp point protruding from his head like a horn. And his cheeks appeared to be dirty.
"You there, boy. Don't stare at me like that. What's your name?"
"Tachibana Ikaku," the younger male replied back, a subtle immaturity lacing his words. For some reason I felt the urge to walk over and slap his face. But that would have been improper and uncouth.
I noticed that Ikaku's chin was very pointy, sort of like a wooden top.
"Well, Ikaku, watch your tone or I might have to readjust it for you," and the man wrung his hands together to show what he meant. Ikaku seemed to be unaffected, however, but did not say anything more.
"Right. Now children, it is time to get your sorry arses"—several people flinched at his language—"onboard my submarine. But not that fast. I don't care what that Ichinose says, I'm only allowing one bag per person. So pick what you want and leave the rest here."
"What will happen to our stuff?" inquired a very brave soul.
"Whatever will. Perhaps some fisherman will take it home to their families. Or maybe someone homeless will benefit from your forfeit."
Homeless people in Norway? But I said nothing.
So with a great dealing of grumbling and muttering, we picked out our most vital possessions and ditched the rest. For me it was easy. Aside from four uniforms I had nothing else save an enameled pen from my grandmother, basic toiletries, and an extra set of boots.
Jeanne was having a fit, however, as she forced to decide between her vast collection of makeup and a few pairs of boots that didn't look too much like the ones issued by North Academy. Her dilemmas left me with a vague satisfaction, and I smiled when she tossed up her manicured hands and shrieked about unfair and impossible decisions.
It only took looking at the submarine to get my stomach to churn. Maybe my seasickness was more mental that physical? That aside, I climbed down into the haul of the black war machine and into a different world. In this dimly lit place everything was tinted red and one felt as if they would suffocate because of the confined quarters. I followed the student in front of me, for he seemed like he knew where he was going, and came upon a relatively large space where others had already divided themselves into groups of five and settled on slim benches resembling pews. I looked for a place to sit and found that three females were looking nervously at me.
Did I want to sit with them? By no means, though neither did I want to sit by any males. Indecision was tearing me apart.
But something happened then that saved me from having to make such an uncomfortable decision. Now, I don't believe that simple encounters with amazing persons can alter the course of your life. But people can, just as easily as an earthquake can alter the course of a river. He stood not much taller than me and had a soft look about him that contrasted violently from the harden air of the rest of the males in our group. Smiling, too. And not a malicious grin, but a honest-to-goodness smile.
He then looked at me and a wave of anxiety washed over me. Looks can be deceiving . . . But I . . . I knew that he would not really harm me. Sitting down himself, he gestured for me to join him on the bench next to him, on the end. Though not pleased that this could be an order (really, I knew it couldn't be because he was apparently not the kind to order people around), I walked over, sat down, and clutched my bag to my chest. Nothing was said. Then my stomach growled and I cursed its rebellious timing.
"It's a pleasure to meet you! Another freshman, correct? My name is Johan Andersen," he chirped in impeccable English. I couldn't detect even the slightest accent, but I did notice his voice was very soft. Made me think of running through a field of white down.
"Likewise . . . Though, English of mine is not so good," I lied while feigning a German accent.
He looked at me, clearly bemused. "Eh? But you looked to be British, so, uh . . . Is this a game?"
I shrugged. Then, dropping the lie, "no. I was just testing you, I suppose."
"Ah, okay." And his smile returned in all its resplendent glory.
It was at this point that I realized we had begun moving, prompting my seasickness to crash down on me. Saliva rose in my mouth and my stomach seemingly flipped, practising for the upcoming Olympics in my belly.
"Are you seasick? Would you like my to pinch your wrists?" He offered, throwing me off guard. Others weren't suppose to care about my state, let alone offer to help. It really did freak me out. I scouted away and, being the calculated genius that I was, misjudged the distance left and fell of the bench. My head collided with the metal floor and made a rather disgusting sound, reassuring me that my skull was thicker than most others because it didn't hurt as bad as it sounded. Pissed at the situation, I hoisted myself up and stood proudly. By now the laughing had stopped and they had moved on to more interesting things than my misery.
It wasn't his fault. Don't explode now. It wasn't his fault, but mine.
Luckily I was able to keep myself collected.
I sat down and buried my head into my bag. Sullen, I didn't respond to his inquiries about my state. So eventually he quit and struck up a conversation with the male on his other side, conversing lightly on Duel Monsters and the weather. I learned that he was from Denmark. "Andersen" could be Danish, I knew. But "Johan"? . . . I remembered that it could be German or Scandinavian. Time passed and I figured that I had enough reason to dislike him, but then he turned back to me and asked about me. I pretended to be asleep, hoping to God that I did it convincingly. Either he was convinced or got the message—I really couldn't tell—and turned back to his other side.
By and by, my petulant display allowed me a dreamless sleep.
Johan woke me up some hours later, telling me that we had arrived. He was still smiling.
I waited for the rest of the crowd to pass before I got up. I really don't like be pushed by strangers, let alone being touched by them. And in my sore (I realized then that I could have gotten a concussion) and cantankerous state I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't ponce someone for displacing a single hair of mine.
When I exited and saw Johan in the daylight, I felt ashamed for how I had acted. Really, such a nice looking guy. His eyes sparkled with charisma and his posture radiated congeniality. Of all the people . . .
The ground tore my thoughts from that boy and to the fact that ground was indeed "permafrost". It was ice. Everywhere—crags and ravines of ice; even fingers of ice jutting up from the ground and reaching for the gray firmament.
"Remember to walk on the snow, children!" The captain shouted at us before descending back into his beloved submarine. We freshmen waited in a hush silence at the base of the imposing walls guarding the school. Were we to go ahead to the school by ourselves?
I took a step, missed a patch of snow, and nearly fell again. I cursed under my breath and pulled myself up from my amateur split. My thighs burned.
"You're very graceful," Jeanne commented offhandedly as she approached me. Dislike boiled in me, so I took a step away from her.
"Careful not to trip again. You've already managed to make a fool out of yourself twice today," she said, her guile shining through. Okay, she is good at making comments, I thought irascibly. Inept at this sort of exchange, I shrugged.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, trying to be nonchalant.
"I'm sure you will." With that she pulled out her cell phone and thumbed it open, only to find that there was no service. Well, duh. Foreign cell phones are known to not function well on isolated islands.
"Your attention, please," came a strong voice over the crowd. Its origin was an older looking man with black hair and a kind smile in his eyes. Really, his eyes did smile. He stood on a rock and waited for us to quiet. "Welcome to North Academy, students! I shall escort you to the main building where schedules, books, extra clothing, tours, and dorm arrangements will be handled shortly. Please watch your step." He stepped down and began walking, the whole group following him without further bidding. I was a bit surprised, because this group didn't seem like the type to respond well to instructions from such a mild looking man. But he did. Maybe it was the respect he seemed to inspire? Because I knew what was blooming in my chest had to be a respect for his authority.
Who was this competent leader?
In any case, the sorting of us and handing out of items went surprisingly well. I was ushered to a corner where a stout woman stood with three female students. Jeanne and two others joined us, brining the female student population up to a staggering seven. I was doomed.
The female dorm was built to accommodate twenty, so we were allowed a great deal of privacy despite the small confines. There was a total of sixteen rooms: ten bedrooms with two bed to a room, five washrooms with one shower and two sinks per room, and one laundry room crowded with five washing machines and five drying units on either of the lateral walls. Not glamorous, but not all that horrible. Jeanne, who I had made out to be a prima donna at that point, took it rather well. She even assigned me as her roommate, confident that someone like me would never deny her. Unfortunately, I preferred privacy so picked a room that I could have to myself.
Comfortable in my sphere of solitude, I became indolent and threw myself on the already-made bed. The pillow smelled vaguely of garlic.
I was joined by the head of the female dorm who asked after my needs. "It is not much, but I will do what I can for you. If you need lotion, lip balm, a new uniform, or anything else just ask. Headmaster Ichinose is rather kind to our female students."
"Ichinose? Was he the one that brought us students up?"
"Yes, I suppose."
"He seems like a very . . . Inspiring man. All of the students actually listened to him," I commented, making direct eye contact with her so I could judge her next move.
"Everyone responds well to him. Now, good day. Oh, and don't keep yourself in here too long. Dinner is in thirty minutes." She really liked him, didn't she?
Alone now, I decided to unpack and set up my things. Pen, paper, and books all sorted on the rickety desk at the foot of my new bed, I was left with nothing else to do. So I took a nap. My culpable "friend" Jeanne allowed me to sleep through dinner and the first all-school meeting, helping me mark myself as the careless one of the bunch.
However, notes on what was said were delivered to me at eleven in the evening. I imagined that I had a good idea of where the notes came from and whose loopy hand they were written in.