A/N: And now for something completely different...
A Mathematical Interlude:
The creator of APH is a man.
I am NOT a man.
Therefore, I did not create APH.
(bows) Thank you, thank you...
Akosua hated the dark. Not necessarily the dark itself, but what it brought, and what it took. The dark, kusuu, had infiltrated her mother's home, taken her brothers and sisters.
Kusuu took her maame. And kusuu brought the voices.
She licked her lips, tasting the dried blood that had settled days ago. Her stomach moaned, the raw plantain that had been forced down in the morning already forgotten.
Hiding, the small child knew, was futile. The voices would find her. They always found what they were looking for. The voices had already taken so much away from her, it wouldn't be long.
But she had to, for her maame's sake. Small, shuddering breaths through her chapped lips, her tiny fingers holding tightly to the rough bark of the cocoa tree.
The toddler dug her nails into her bare arms, under the fraying kente dress. It wouldn't be much longer...
BANG!
Akosua quickly shoved her dirty first into her mouth in a desperate attempt to muffle her scream. The voices were closer, louder, angrier. She pulled her knees to her hot chest and buried herself under the tree.
Thud...thud...thud...
Her heart rate quickened instantly. Even closer now...
Thud...thud...
Warm, salty tears poured down her cheeks. I want my maame...
"Hello there, little one."
She shot up with a start. It was over.
This one was older, she decided, his gray hairs like tiny lights in the night. His face, white as coconut milk, was expressionless, as his cold fingers clamped down on her shoulder and forced her to a standing position. His voice irritated her, calling out loudly in the strange language of the obroni.
Another came. By this time, she didn't care for the faces of her captors. She just hoped they wouldn't hit her...
Few words were exchanged in the foreign jargon, then the dirt fell away from her as she was lifted up, and they began to walk.
Rushing water disturbed the girl's brief respite. Loosening her arms around the man's neck, she looked to see what had caused the stop in their journey.
It was a dark lump, bobbing in and out of the water. Even through the darkness, she understood what it was, a whine bubbling in her throat. She began in a desperate attempt to wriggle free from the obroni's grip. He did nothing but hold her tighter as they began to proceed once again.
She knew the thing, all too well. They called it a boat. She shuddered. It was a vicious thing, taking her people to far away lands, away from her heart, never to return. Tears flowed faster as the struggle became more fierce.
"No..." she moaned, using the only obroni word she knew. "No, no!"
Her cries gained nothing but a cruel smack to the wrist and a reprimand from her captor. Nevertheless, she fought, legs kicking, arms punching, her throat slowly turning raw with her screams.
They couldn't take her away. They couldn't. They wouldn't.
Still, the men proceeded, as solid ground turned to sand, then to the quivering deck of the boat. The young girl's eyes felt heavy, fatigue pulling her to its cold, unforgiving bosom, as she was placed firmly in a small room. The first man strapped something icy cold on her ankle, and pushed her head down, insisting for her to sleep.
The door slammed shut. The fight was over, and she had lost, she had failed her maame. Kusuu had returned, the cruel mistress, leaving one word in the musty air.
"Failure..." she hissed. "You are a shame to Africa."
Akosua wept.
He wanted to get her out of his hands as soon as possible, Jennings concluded as he pulled the African's hand through the streets of London. She was being irritatingly difficult, dragging her feet in the ground, spitting on him, even biting him on one occasion, her black eyes narrowed in pure defiance.
"She's a little bugger, that one is," his partner, Thomas mumbled, echoing his own thoughts. He spat a bit of tobacco juice on the street and clucked his tongue. "Can't see the use of her, though." He paused, taking a quick look at her. "I mean, look how tiny she is!"
Jennings took a long drag from his cigarette, watching the faint rings float into the smoggy gray sky. The girl coughed softly, her tiny nose wrinkled in disgust. She was small, probably only three years old at most, but his boss knew more about these matters. He didn't need to question as long as he got paid for his work. He began to walk again.
"She's uncivilized," he responded slowly. "It's up to people like us to change people her. We don't want people like her running around like wild animals, breaking things and hunting animals and whatnot."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "So, we're doing her a favor."
Jennings took another drag. "Aye, we're doing them all a favor...ah, here we are." They stopped in front of their destination as the rang twice around the dull bronze towers of the Houses of Parliament. Jennings took his cigarette out and crushed it with his foot. "Oy! Look sharp, Thomas!"
Thomas removed his hat, revealing his pale dome of a head. "Get off! I'm sharp, I'm sharp...come on there, little bugger. We'll be rid of you soon enough."
The girl spat again, her eyes hard as she followed the two into the large building, through many hallways, lined with old, fraying, photos of the distinguished. Soon, they arrived at a wide area, the windows open, allowing soft gray light to shine on the green walls. At a large hardwood dest, a woman, with a pear shaped figure and loose blond hair sat, long nails clicking on a typewriter.
She looked up. "Ah, Mr. Jennings, Mr. Thomas..." Her thin lips pinched into a frown as she noticed the toddler. "I...see you've...brought another one..." She stood, giving a heavy sigh. "I'll see if he's ready."
She then walked briskly to a hardwood door and entered her employers office. A few moments passed before she returned.
"Gentlemen," she murmured softy. "Mr. Kirkland will see you now."
She hated this place. It was too much.
Too gray, too crowded, too pale, and to top it all off, people kept blowing nasty smoke in her face.
The people here appeared to return the sentiment, giving her strange looks, avoiding her. Some of the obroni women shook their heads when they saw her, as if in pity, which she couldn't quite understand.
But, she quickly forgot the looks as she was taken into a big place, with tall walls and towers made of gold. She was forced to wait once again in a tiny room, with ebunebun walls, the color of plantain skins, until the women in the dress called the two men in their strange language. Their faces were even whiter than before, she noted, following them through the large door.
However, she paused before she entered, staring at the sign on the door, fashioned in gold, with strange markings on it. Maybe she would decipher them, one day...
Voices now arose from the room behind the door. The two men she had been with sounded almost fearful, for some strange reason, at a third person's voice, another male. This one sounded younger, by far, his voice less coarse and irritating, but clear, smooth, and rather soothing.
And yet, there was something else... Akosua felt the barest tingle at the back of her neck.
He is like me... she realized. Her maame had always told her that they were a different people, adehyeman, destined to live forever and care for their people. Her shoulders relaxed slightly as she listened to his voice.
More minutes passed as the men talked, keeping the girl behind the large wooden door, out of shyness and fear. She did hope that they would finish soon, as the woman with the yellow hair was giving her such a caustic look, as if her very presence was a source of impurity for the room, where everything was kept in perfect order. It was maddening.
But eventually, the two left as quickly as they had come, leaving Akosua alone in the silence. Gently sliding her feet on the creamy marble floor, she entered the office.
It was big. And bright, much brighter than the other room. The walls were the same pale plantain color, only with thin white stripes running from the ceiling to the floor, now almost as dark as her skin and smooth under her bare toes. Shiny things adorned the walls, covered in the same markings as before, and plated in gold. The window was open, bringing in the smell of rain and the powerful sound of rushing water.
It was too much like home.
Behind her, she heard footsteps. A door closing. Footsteps coming closer.
"Hullo."
It was the same voice, still strong, clear, and familiar. She slowly turned around, figuring that the word he had uttered was a greeting.
The two stood in silence as the girl took in the sight of the man who stood before her. He was young, probably just coming of age. His hair was the same yellowish color she was beginning to see more and more often, only it was spiky, like tiny spears, and fell over his forehead slightly. His clothes, like his room, were clean, starched and orderly, from his midnight black pants to his white shirt with a grey sleeveless shirt worn on top of it.
The most captivating thing about the man, Akosua saw, was his face. It was naturally rather pale, yet his cheeks were as rosy as hibiscus flowers. And his eyes... his eyes were two emeralds, the only source of vibrancy in the dull and orderly place. His gaze was piercing, and the way he scrutinized made her rather uncomfortable. There was a strange light to the gems, an expression that she couldn't place.
The man knelt down so that they made full eye contact. And that was when she noticed them.
Two large bushy things, placed perfectly above his amazing eyes, a source of imperfection. The girl felt herself exhaling quickly, a new reason had been found to smile after so long. But, she held it back, in fear of angering him.
The man put her hand on his chest. Akosua could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady. He gently lifted her chin, forcing her to stare into his eyes.
"England."
Akosua tilted her head slowly, confused at his actions. He sighed and put her tiny hand on his chest again. "England."
He wants me to say the funny word...perhaps it is his name...
She placed a hand on his chest. "Eng...land..." she responded slowly. Using the obroni language made her uncomfortable. Even though, the two repeated the action, until she could say his name clearly. He was very patient with her, though, and gentle, for which she was very grateful.
Next, he placed his own hand on her chest. Carefully, she wrapped her ebony fingers over his large ivory ones. They were so different, yet so the same... She looked at him, ready to see what he would do next.
"Gold Coast," he said slowly.
She had heard that name before. The obroni men who came to stay at her house would call her that. Some others would call her Elmina, after the large castle that they had built near the coast.
Slowly, she repeated his actions until she had succeeded in saying this name correctly as well. Appearing satisfied, he gently took her in his arms without another word and they left the room together, through the dark halls, and out into the grey.
There was a large box-like thing on wheels waiting for them by this them. A horse , strapped to the thing, stamped its hoof impatiently. England kept her securely on his lap as the box began to move through the bumpy roads. The constant jostling made her nauseous, however, and she began to squirm as time passed. The box did stop soon enough, but she felt rather dizzy, leaving her off balance.
They had stopped in front of a large white building, with a wooden sign placed in front. It was made of two sticks, one going straight down, and shorter one crossing it. She knew this sign, as many obroni people, pleasant and jovial, carrying the stick thugs and black books. They had told her of a very nice obroni man, who was kind and had special powers, who apparently loved her very much, and had died for her sake at one point. She liked the nice man.
His name was Jesus.
The inside of the building, was filled with colorful light, due to large windows with colored bits inside to make pictures. England told her quietly that the place was called a 'church', which she repeated accordingly.
At the very end of the room was a small pool of water and a man, his hair white as snow and eyes as blue as the sky. He was very kind, and took her gently from England's arms. He then closed his eyes and said some words. She recognized the word 'church' a few times in his speech.
Then, he took her to the pool of water and dipped her straight in. She wasn't scared, as she had been taught how to swim, and simply blew a torrent of bubbles through her nose until she was taken out of the water. She was then wrapped in a towel and returned to England's arms.
When they returned to the box, England situated the tiny girl on his lap and made her face him, and placed her hand on his chest again.
"Arthur," he said slowly, which she repeated. She liked his name, even if it was rather strange sounding.
He placed his hand on her chest, which was still damp. "Abigail."
She tilted her head in confusion. "No," she said clearly. Her name was Akosua, not this strange Abigail. She thought the name was very pretty, but it didn't suit her much at all.
Too obroni for her.
Arthur raised a bushy eyebrow, then shook his head.
"Abigail," he replied. His tone was more firm, almost demanding this time.
She remained quiet for the rest of the trip. Still, with each bounce of the road, her heart grew heavier and heavier.
Why is he trying to change me?
Akosua didn't understand how a house could be kept so immaculate. Everything in England's was either polished, folded, or arranged... Another splash of soapy water flowed over her head, forcing her eyes shut.
The house was themed with the colors red, white, blue, and green. There were many boxes of wood, the chairs and the plates were white as milk... She signed in relief as her hair was scrubbed firmly, loosening particles of dirt that had been lodged in her thick curls for an eternity.
The strange thing was the large amount of photos. They had always been such fascinating things, and she was very pleased.
No, the strange thing was that they were all of one person, a little boy, with smooth dirty blond hair and wide blue eyes. He seemed to smile quite a lot in the photos arranged in the house. She guessed he was special to Arthur in a certain way. Maybe she would ask him when she learned his obroni language...
"Il est temps de sortir de la salle de bain, un peu."
Akosua smiled as Matthew wrapped her in a warm towel. She had met the boy almost instantly, and quickly took a liking to his quiet demeanor and even temper.
The nice thing about England's house was that there were others like her. She had even seen a few of her sisters and brothers, including one of the eldest, now called South Africa, which made her very happy, as she was one of her favorite siblings. The reason she was staying at his house still eluded her, but she began to care less as she met more nice people.
By this time, Matthew had succeeded in placing the colony in a long pink dress, and pulled her hair into a neat braid that barely fell below her neck. The girl was then carried to a small room, with nothing but a small bed and a table next to it. Matthew took her and set her comfortably in the bed, placing the covers under her chubby arms and tucking her in snugly. Fatigue took over, causing the African to yawn, her eyes slowly drooping.
The Canadian stroked her sweaty forehead and placed a kiss on her nose. "Good night..."
She paused. "Good...night...M-Matthew..." she replied hesitantly. Her first obroni sentence. She giggled as his cheeks turned red. What funny expressions these people had!
And with that pleasant thought, she fell asleep.
She had woken with tears pouring down her face.
Arthur sighed, running a hand through his blonde hair, as he looked down at the girl, her face pulled in a pout, arms outstretched. It was barely past one. He had wanted to get her asleep for a while now, but she had woken up screaming, putting a halt to his plan.
He felt bad. Part of him wanted to take his new colony in his arms and rock her slowly to sleep, but...he couldn't.
Not after he had left.
The Englishman bit his lip, and sat down next to the girl, Abigail. He gently placed a hand on her head and laid it to her pillow.
Abigail whimpered, still crying. "Maame..."
A pang of guilt surged through him like a lightning strike. Mother Africa had disappeared months ago. Slowly, he wiped the tears away from her smooth cheeks and began to sing softly:
Alas, my love, you do me wrong,
To cast me off discourteously...
The girl's sobs lessened as the song continued, her black eyes wide as they watched him sing, his eyes closed, his thumb running circles on her back, until her breaths slowed and her head lolled into his lap.
Now came the hard part. Arthur pushed his bangs out of his eyes and placed his hands over hers. The shadows in the bedroom grew deeper as bright green light surrounded the African's body.
"Dare mihi thesaurum...lacrimis adamas, sanguine sapphyro..."
The girl twitched slightly, her sleep too deep to notice what was happening to her, as the emerald light enveloped her, surging for one last second, then fading, rushing into her chest. Cautiously, he swiped a finger against one stray tear on her sweaty cheek. As soon as it left her face, it hardened
A diamond.
The Brit rose and left without another word, leaving his newest colony, Gold Coast, little Abigail, to sleep, leaving her unaware of her role in the growing British Empire.
So, yeah. It started as a oneshot...(cough) they always do...
Basically, I'll try to keep everything time-period specific...
...except for the music... -.-
Anyway, yeah! Hope you enjoy!
