Disclaimer: I own nothing recognizable. Melody, the plot, and select characters are my own so please don't take them. This has been my baby for eight years. ^^
Enjoy!
Wings of Change
Book One of the Dragonsong Series
Chapter 1
He could hear them gaining, feel their feet pounding the earth. A bullet struck the dirt by his feet. Another hit a tree, shooting splinters into his cheek. He winced, slipped. He glanced behind him, panting, his heart in his throat. A twig snapped. He turned back to see another man no older than he.
"Game over."
But he never heard the bullet.
October 10-11
"Mr. Kaiba!"
Seto Kaiba sighed, resisting the urge to run his hand through his hair. Three o' clock and he had a migraine that could drop an elephant. Closing his eyes, he counted to three then looked up. A tiny woman stood ten feet away with her hands on her hips and her glasses resting on the edge of her impertinent little nose.
"Can I help you?" he asked. Nakamura's eyes narrowed.
"Just what were you and Mr. Wheeler talking about that was so much more important than listening?" she asked.
He sighed again, the space behind his eyes aching.
"Wheeler was being an idiot," he said. Then, looking down as if she couldn't hold his attention, he flicked imaginary dust off his jacket. She cleared her throat.
"That doesn't answer my question," she said pointedly.
"Then I was merely pointing out to Wheeler that the stupid movies he's so enthralled with are cheesy, choreographed imitations." Challenging blue eyes flew back up to meet hers. "Better?"
"Ah, I see." She glanced at Wheeler and the blonde rubbed the back of his neck.
"Sorry 'bout that, Ms. N."
Seto just rolled his eyes. Pathetic. One woman raises her voice and the mutt caves without a second thought. Typical. He heard Nakamura's glasses clink as she took them off.
"Mr. Kaiba," she said slowly, "we are here as guests in Sensei Kurosaki's dojo; I will not tolerate this kind of disrespect."
"Then let me leave. I've no need for this acrobatics act. I have work to do."
"So am I to assume that you know all there is about martial arts and their historical correlations?"
Seto leaned back in his chair and lifted his chin. Nakamura just folded her arms.
"Fine. Sensei Kurosaki, would it be too much trouble for Mr. Kaiba to prove this claim?"
The grizzled man of at least two hundred years put his hands inside the sleeves of his gi, his dark eyes attempting to bore a hole through the younger man. Seto barely felt the weight of the man's heavy gaze and stared back.
"I see no reason why not," the old man said. He swept his steady eyes over the rest of the students, noting their not-so-subtle amusement. Excited whispers reached Seto's ears and, out the corner of his eye, he spotted the distinctive sight of crumpled money. Up ahead, Kurosaki pursed his lips then clapped once and the two teenagers that had been helping with the demonstration came to stand next to him. Seto didn't think much of either student. The boy stood a full head and a half shorter than he with a nervous face and blows that couldn't scare a rabbit. The girl, obviously the higher belt, just felt wrong. Something about her made the hair on the back of his neck stand up, almost like she didn't belong here but she was trying anyway. He hated fakes. This wouldn't take long.
"Please follow Nabo to the changing room." The sensei's voice snapped Seto back to the present and he got up to follow the boy across the matted room. At his back, he could hear the Rat Pack whisper amongst themselves.
"Dude, is he off to fight a black belt?" Taylor wondered. Beside the loud, inconsequential brunette, Wheeler shrugged. Tristan Taylor and Joey Wheeler had been yapping at his heels since Battle City, bad pennies that refused to just get lost. He hated them almost as much as he hated the blue-eyed chatterbox sitting next to them.
"Kaiba isn't normally this…provocative…this early," she said. Tea Gardner, a cavity personified, had been preaching at him for years and because of that, somehow felt that she had the right to psychoanalyze him at every given moment. Even when he was within hearing distance.
"Is he?"
Glancing back, Seto saw the big-chested girl turn to the bane of his existence, the shrimp that stole his championship title from him when he was sixteen.
"Only when he doesn't have his morning IV of caffeine," came Yugi's high, child-like voice. Seto had to agree with him, one of the few times, he happily noted, and followed Nabo into another room. It would take at least an IV's worth of gourmet coffee to deal with this class, or, more specifically, the brats within it. He pulled on the gi, wrapping the top tight around his neck, and counted off in his head. This made the fifth class he'd had with those insufferable brats in the last four years, not counting the tournaments during the summer. He wished he could move. Greece was nice this time of year.
"Done?" Nabo asked. Seto narrowed his eyes at the boy's impatience.
"I could break you over my knee with one hand."
"Yeah, whatever." Nabo glanced back into the main room. "Let's see how snotty you are after Mel's through with you."
Seto rolled his eyes. Great. Another one that wouldn't fight his own battles. Tying the belt snugly around his waist, Seto shouldered past the dark-haired boy and walked out onto the mat. The students to the side hushed and his chest swelled a bit. They may not like him but they knew better than to disrespect him.
A feminine voice cleared her throat a few feet away. Another impatient one. He turned his blue eyes to the girl with her gi too loose and her jet-black hair too wild. She bounced on the balls of her feet, watching him with dark amber eyes. He'd never seen eyes that color before. Must be costume contacts.
"You will fight honorably using any style you choose." Kurosaki's voice to his right sounded suddenly deep and commanding. "The match will end when one of you is pinned and concedes defeat."
"Fine," Seto flexed the stiffness out of his hands. "Let's just get this over with."
The girl quit bouncing and placed her hands by her sides.
"Bow," said the old man. They did, the girl bending gracefully in one smooth motion, Seto barely folding himself in a stiff, formal tilt.
"Begin."
For a moment, they both stood still, each studying the other. Her strange, almond-shaped eyes and slender, heart-shaped face labeled her a foreigner. Figures. This girl was probably just another gaijin trying to play Japanese because of some anime show she watched as a little girl. This wouldn't take long at all.
Seto cracked his neck, shaking his hands out, and got into a traditional karate front stance. He rested all of his weight on his left leg, stable, grounded, and brought his fists up. The girl, 'Melody' according to Nabo, rolled her shoulders then mimicked him with a smirk.
"Ten bucks says she nails him," he heard Wheeler whisper. Yugi sweatdropped and hung his head while Taylor snickered into his hand.
"I'll buy that," the brunette said.
"I dunno, guys. Kaiba's pretty good." Gardner wrinkled her nose. "As much as I hate to admit it."
"It'll be a tie," Bakura said. The white-haired Ryou Bakura actually showed up for class today, even acting like his old self instead of that psychopath from Battle City. Seto could count on one hand how many times he'd seen the boy in his seat this semester.
"Just watch," the Brit said. "It'll be a tie. Or a draw. Something'll break them up."
Suddenly the girl crouched and in a flurry of black hair and white cotton, she attacked. Seto dodged, bringing his hand around to knock her sharply in the back.
"All this for a stupid grade," he muttered.
"Aw, you poor baby." Her voice was deeper than he expected and something in her tone sent chills down his spine. He gritted his teeth and fell into Tae Kwon Do. The girl adjusted accordingly and soon, they were dancing back and forth across the mat, switching styles at will. He would punch; she would twist out of the way. He would kick; she would swing off his leg and nail him in the side.
She's fast. Maybe she was a real student. No matter, though. He was faster. Seto fell back, thinking, then attacked again with some moves he'd improvised since childhood. Her eyes widened and she barely managed to block as he forced her closer to the wall.
"You might as well concede," he said. "You'll never win."
"Ooh, cocky." Suddenly she grabbed his arm and in some freaky contortionist move, twisted to kick him full force in the chin. Seto hit the mat hard and rolled out of the way, his vision fuzzing for a split second.
"What?" she asked, spreading her arms. "You done already?"
The familiar warmth of adrenaline flooded his body at the challenge. Eyes flashing, he lunged. She dodged but he caught her with a feint, grabbed her, and slammed her into the ground. The class erupted in catcalls and he smirked.
"Concede."
"Not without dinner, babe." The girl twisted around, jamming her forearm into his throat. He hit the mat hard, gagged, and rolled. Thrown twice in two minutes. This woman was going to die.
"That," he ground out, "was a very stupid mist—"
Next thing he knew, she had pushed him against the wall with her left leg between his knees and her left arm across his throat.
"What was that, blue eyes?" She raised an eyebrow at him and a ring of gold shone around her eyes. The warmth shifted downwards. He forced himself not to squirm while out the corner of his eye, he saw Wheeler and Taylor accept some money from Gardner and Bakura.
"Get off me," Seto growled. He could feel the muscles under her gi and the pulse in her arm. He flicked his head sharply. "I don't have time for this."
"Concede, then."
"No."
"Give up, dude. I've won."
"Over my dead body."
"Ooookay—" She brought her right hand back.
"Melody!" Kurosaki placed a firm hand on the girl's shoulder. "That will do. Bow and let that be the end of it."
For a moment, the girl held him there. Then, keeping her dark eyes trained on him, she backed up and bowed. Seto, suddenly cold, drew himself to his full height of six one then turned to Nakamura.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
"Yes, that'll do." Nakamura rubbed the bridge of her nose again and motioned to the door with her other hand. "Class dismissed. You all head to the bus. Sensei, thank you again for putting up with us."
As they filed out, Bakura poked Wheeler and Taylor in the sides and held out his hand.
"Told ya it wouldn't finish."
Seto walked off to change, reminding himself that he didn't have time to clean their blood off his clothes.
The next day, it was all around school that Seto Kaiba had been pinned by a girl. The minute he stepped out of his limo, jeers and snickers bombarded him. He ignored them all with his usual stoicism, but behind the carefully constructed image, he yearned to just go on a rampage. It hadn't even been a technical defeat. He hadn't been on the mat and he hadn't conceded. But, of course, that didn't matter. The fact that Kaiba had been "beat" by a girl set the whole of Domino High on fire and the constant whisperings grated on his nerves.
It came to a head in Japanese history, the accursed class that started this nightmare. Hana Nakamura was not an orthodox teacher by any stretch of the imagination and she had assigned both a paper and a field trip in which they had to follow a particular theme through history. Each student then had to write a paper showing how it reflected the times. They were also given a choice on which theme to pick; art, literature, agriculture, fashion, architecture, and, of course, martial arts. Cue the disastrous trip to the local, two-bit dojo.
Seto tried to ignore the amused expression Nakamura gave him as he came in and went straight to his seat at the far window.
"Hey, Kaiba." Yugi said, waving from two seats over. Seto wasn't sure if he was so friendly because he had the patience of a saint or because he was abysmally stupid. Yugi laughed at something Gardner said and Seto decided on the latter.
The last bell rang and with a sharp clap of the teacher, the class settled down.
"Most of you behaved very well at the dojo yesterday and for those who aren't Seto Kaiba, I thank you for that. You may have just saved my job from the munchkin horde."
What a shame, Seto thought. He would love to see her face on the news after strangling a toddler to death.
"Oh and we have a new student with us today. I'm sure you all remember, heh, Ms. Melody Solo." Nakamura gave a slight flourish and the raven-haired girl walked in, dressed in the blue miniskirt and pink jacket uniform of Domino High. Seto closed his eyes. How nice. God must hate him more than usual today.
"Hey, Mel, sit by me!"
"No, sit by me!"
"Eeew, don't sit by him. He'll try and grope you."
"Nuh-uh!"
"Hey, this spot's open!"
Solo grinned easily, dark eyes scanning the class. Then her gaze met Seto's and her grin turned rather smug, almost predatory. Seto felt the air catch in his lungs, his torso curling as if someone had just punched him in the stomach.
"Ms. Solo, why don't you sit next to Ms. Gardner? Ms. Gardner, raise your hand, please."
The brunette raised her hand, beckoning Solo to her with a perky smile. Immediately the pressure eased and it was all he could do not to start gasping.
Must've been the sun. Why can't that woman open a window or something? Anyone else would have fainted!
"All right, class." The teacher clapped again. "Let's begin. Today we'll be starting the Edo period, better known as the Feudal Era, and no, watching Inuyasha will not help on the test. Please turn to page 465."
~~*~~
A few blocks away, as Kaiba cursed however many deities he could think of and Joey reveled in his discomfort, a young man dressed in black leather and about twenty pounds of gold finished up with another card-crazy customer. Atemu Moto had worked at the Turtle Game Shop for the past six months, claiming his spot at the low counter of the narrow card and game store every weekday with a thick book and a dish of chex-mex snacks.
Something clunked behind him and he shot a quick glance at the stairs as an old, short man with spiky grey hair and green overalls came down dragging a duffel bag and a suitcase.
"Thank you, come again," the young man said to the customer's back. "All ready to go, Grandpa?"
"I think so." Solomon Moto, better known as Grandpa or Gramps, set his bags down on the floor and stretched. "I really appreciate this, Pharaoh. Mr. Johnson is a very dear friend of mine and him being named the Curator of the British Museum is the highlight of his career!"
"I understand. I hope you have a great time."
"Thank you, thank you. Now let's see…" He patted his pockets, grey eyes scanning his bags. "Got my clothes, my camera, said goodbye to Yugi last night, said goodbye to you—" Here, he reached over to give the Egyptian a hug. "I think that's everything. You have the keys to the shop?"
"Yes, I have the keys to the shop."
"And there's plenty of money in the account. Oh, there's some emergency money under the box on top of the fridge and the emergency numbers are on the inside of the cabinet door on the far right. I printed out the address and phone number for the hotel and put it on the kitchen counter by the sink. Call me if you need anything."
A horn honked out on the street.
"Your taxi's here," Atemu said.
"And you have Arthur's cell number if something happens?"
"Yes, I have Professor Hawkins' number."
"Good. Now, Pharaoh…" The aged game master pointed his finger at him as he spoke, wagging it with each point. "No magic, no God Cards, no Leviathans, no ancient kings trying to kill you, and for Ra's sake, no getting sucked into any more jewelry!"
"You'll be late for your flight."
"Promise me."
"Yes, I promise, now go. You'll be late; it's rude to keep the airline waiting."
Grandpa chuckled and, after repeating a few more last minute directions, he was on his way to Merry Old England. His friend waved at the retreating taxi then turned to head into the game shop.
Ateeeeeeemu…
The Pharaoh spun on his heel.
"Hello? Who's there?"
Flyyy…Atemuuu…flyyyy…
A flash of white caught his eye, followed by something small and fluffy rubbing against his calf. He looked down to see a kitten mewing up at him.
"Well, hello there, little one." He scooped the animal into his arms, absently scratching her ears, and cast his violet gaze around the street.
"No. We're fine here. Aren't we, little one?" He kissed the kitten on the top of her head then set her down and went back inside. He still had some time before the after-school rush and Anne McCaffrey beckoned.
~~*~~
When the lunch bell rang, Joey and Tristan bolted, running over almost four or five people in their efforts to get in the front of the lunch line. Tea and Yugi followed at a more sedate pace, with Melody lagging just a little bit behind. Tea hugged her books a little closer to her. She wished Melody would walk in front. Sure, the girl was nice, but for some reason having Melody behind her made the hair on the back of her neck stand up.
Still, their group had always prided themselves on being friends with everyone so Tea hung back a little and smiled brightly at their new student.
"So, Melody, where are you from?" Tea linked her arm through Melody's and pulled her into the lunch line. "Your Japanese is really good."
"New York," the girl answered, getting her tray. She smiled at Tea, her eyes an odd gold and amber color. The brunette's grin froze a little but she pushed past it and led her to a table in the middle of the lunchroom.
"I was going to school there when we got stationed in Tokyo," Melody continued, "and since they didn't want me to be all city-girl anymore, they sent me here."
"Tak abou' cuchu chock."
Melody blinked once at Joey, half of his tray already in his mouth, then turned to blink at Yugi like a kitten in front of an air vent.
"Was that Japanese?"
The shorter teen set his tray down on the table, brushing his bangs out of his eyes.
"Talk about culture shock."
"Ah. Couldn't catch it around the rice ball. Do you always eat like that?"
"He's a right proper black hole." A soft gentle voice tickled her ears and she smiled warmly at the approaching Brit.
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name…"
"Ah, pardon me," he said as he too set his tray down. "My name is Ryou Bakura. Pleasure to meet you."
"You, too. Melody Solo."
"Yes, your name is becoming quite famous around here. Where are you—"
Wham! A boy from another table slammed his hands down on the table so hard it made their plates rattle. Melody jumped, her hackles rising, then mentally kicked herself for getting startled.
"Joshie!" Tea cried. "What do you think you're doing?!"
The boy, a slim teen with straight black hair and dark brown eyes just smiled…and started singing.
"Dearly beloved, we gather here to say our goodbyes…"
As one, Joey and Tristan stood with their arms outstretched.
"Dies irae, dies iya…"
"Oh no!" Yugi groaned and put his head in his hands. At Melody's questioning look, he sighed. "They do this sometimes. The band got them hooked on musicals."
"Ah. Whoa!" Melody quickly held out her hands to support the now very horizontal singer traveling across the table.
"Here she liiiiies; no one knew her worth,
The late, great daughter of Mother Earth.
On these nights when we celebrate the birth
In that little town of Bethlehem, we raise our glass, you bet your—"
"Joshie."
Joshie made a kissy face at the tiny game-king and climbed to his feet.
"To La…Vie… Boheme!"
"La Vie Boheme!" By now, a circle had gathered around their table, clapping in time with the music in their heads. "La Vie Boheme!"
Joshie beamed at them all and flicked his hair out of his eyes. Stomping his foot with their claps, he slipped off his jacket to rev up for the next part of the song.
"To days of inspiration,
Playing hooky, making something out of nothing,
The need to express, to communicate,
To going against the grain,
Going insane, going mad!"
His strong baritone voice caught Melody's ears and she found herself tapping her foot with the beat. Beside her, Tea started dancing.
"To loving tension, no pension,
To more than one dimension,
To starving for attention,
Hating convention, hating pretension,
Not to mention, of course,
Hating dear old Mom and Dad,
To riding your bike midday past the three-piece suits,
To fruits, to no absolutes,
To Absolute, to choice,
To the Village Voice,
To any passing fad,
To being an us for once ... instead of a them!!"
"La Vie Boheme!" the others sang, "La Vie Boheme!"
Tea grabbed the purple-haired Miho and hopped up on the table to sing the next verse.
"To hand-crafted beers made in local breweries,
To yoga, to yogurt, to rice and beans and cheese,
To leather, to—"
"AAAAAAAHH!!!"
The lunchroom fell silent and the students stared at each other in confusion.
"What was that?" Melody whispered, hunching low to the table. Joey shook his head, looking around with a concerned look on his face.
"Where's Ryou?"
Yugi got a distant look in his eyes.
"He's not here…"
"If I could have your attention, please!" The anxious mutterings stilled and Ms. Nakamura's head popped up above the crowd. "Nothing's wrong. One of your classmates just got sick in the bathroom. Everything's all right. Please just finish your lunch and go to class. Thank you." She hopped off the chair and disappeared.
"Everything is not all right," Yugi muttered. "Melody, sorry about running out like this but I need to go check on Ryou."
"Uh…sure." Melody started playing with a lock of her hair, petting it almost compulsively. "See ya later."
The duelist nodded and slipped away through the crowd.
"Sorry 'bout that, Mel," Joey said, watching him go. "Ryou's…had a lot of problems lately."
"Is he sick?"
"Yeah. No. I dunno. He probably just fell and scared some chick into screamin' bloody murder. That happens a lot around here, actually."
"W-well did they take him to the hospital? Is he okay?"
"Yugi'll call us if it's that serious. No worries, Mel." He threw a reassuring wink as he swung his bag over his shoulder. "School doesn't last much longer. Wanna hang out later? There's an arcade not too far from here. Great hotdogs."
"Yeah." Her mouth felt dry. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"Cool. See ya then. Later!"
Melody watched his retreating form, feeling the crowd flow past her down the hall as she gripped her hair tighter with each pass. That Bakura kid would be fine. He'd be back at school tomorrow and everything would be fine. Nodding to herself, she slipped into her class, her books clutched tightly to her chest. As she sat down, she tried to forget that that scream hadn't come from a girl.
Two hours later, she made a beeline for the nearest fast food place. She needed a milkshake. Now.