Ah, well, this is something I worked really hard on a few years ago, and I just came across it for the first time since then today. I think I can honestly say this is the hardest I've ever worked on any piece of writing in my life. Literally every sentence has been scrutinized and tweaked with, and I've reread this and edited this too many times to count, so enjoy!
Settling down on a small clearing in the deep, uncharted forest, two men in dark cloaks silently debated whether it was safe or not to light a campfire. The first absentmindedly slapped at a bug on the back of his neck whose bite had stung-he guessed it was a mosquito, though the pest had no buzz to it's flight. The small gesture revealed a large, thick, callused hand- the hand of a brute, the hand of a man who could understand nothing but hard, mindless work. There was something different about this hand, though, something odd, unique. This hand, if one looked closely enough in the black night of the thick forest, had an inhuman blue tone. And if one had a skilled enough eye, or was even more observant, one would be able to see a sort of flexibility about his fingers, and that their movements were more precise than the average traveling worker. This large man, large in not only height but in muscle, was a fighter. He was obviously not an intelligent man, or one that could follow a plan- he looked as if he would not be able to grasp even the simplest of strategies.
The second man, substantially smaller than his giant of a companion was more soft spoken, and had sat down with more grace and caution than the long-limbed man. Failing vision was the cause of the man's caution- he simply could not see the outlines of land those with proper vision saw, so he operated only on muttered warnings and directions from his partner that night. Porcelain toes peeked out from blue sandals, revealing painted nails- a dark purple.
The smaller one breathed the other's name in a deep voice, monotone laced with annoyance, "If we light a fire, someone could smell the smoke if they're close enough, regardless of whether they see the light or not." He knew that discussion was getting them nowhere.
The smaller's voice, though deep, had that quality teenage boys have when their voices have not yet finished forming. He carried himself and acted as a respected adult, and he earned the reverence of most men he met either because of his demeanor, or from the ferocity of the rumors behind his name.
"Oi! It's cold, we're wet, 'n I wan' a hot meal! I don' see what's the matter with me makin' little food, I think you're just scared 'cause you can't see anythin' right now, and I'd have to do everythin' an' you don't trust me!"
It was true, and both of them knew it. One thing the short one knew that the brute could do, though, is take advantage of his helplessness and do what he wanted. The smarter one knew his partner could have long ago left him behind and gone ahead at his own pace. Of course then the only thing the smaller would have been able to do was huddle on the ground and wait until the sun started shining and catch back up with his partner. It was not a pleasant thought, but it proved that perhaps somewhere, deep down, the brute cared for he man- boy- he'd spent virtually every waking and sleeping hour with for about a year. Or maybe the brute had just been that easy to manipulate into catering to the boy's every need while helpless. The small one released a soft breath of air, a silent surrender perhaps too subtle for his partner to hear.
"Fine," he breathed, "do what you want." It was the first "argument" they'd ever had that the brute had won.
And he could practically see his partner's triumphant grin.
"I'll be back," the tall one announced, and soon the small, nearsighted teen was alone in the dark.
The black-haired teenager was tired, and perhaps this was one contributing factor to the brute's win. He reached his right arm outward; feeling in the cushion of dead leaves for any unpleasant surprise the deep forest could have for in store for an unsupecting weasel. There was nothing, just the usual damp, cool leaves and the occasional twig. So while he slowly, cautiously, leaned his weight to his right arm, he used his other hand to remove his hat, then he lay on his side, using his right arm as a pillow. Immediately, he fell into a deep sleep. It was risky to sleep alone like that, for the two were wanted far and wide, but the teenager was exhausted, and perhaps he knew his partner would take care of him, whether he consciously acknowledged it or not.
It only took only about four minutes for the large man to swiftly kill their dinner: two small rabbits. The fast kill was partially due to the man's amazing aim, and partially to the abundance of life the regular showers made possible in the forest. And with the same swiftness and silence, he walked back to where he left his partner, collecting wood for a fire on the way.
The teenager did not wake up when his partner came, and he slept through the laborious (and hilarious) process of starting a fire with no kindling. The smell of roasted meat was what stirred the teen into the waking world, and when he opened his eyes there was a warm fire and food waiting for him in the young day. He stared at the roast as he rose, and studied the roughly skinned outside. It looked to have been sitting there for quite some time, and the smoke smelt heavenly. So did what appeared to have once been a wild rabbit.
The teenager sat up straight, running agile fingers through his sleep ruffled hair, then he brushed the leaves from his cloak. He yawned, moisture gathering at his long lashes. He heard a chuckle from a dry throat, and he turned to see his partner watching him.
"Morning, sleeping beauty," Eyes normally sadistic were shinning with amusement, something that would deliver fear induced nausea to a lesser soul. The blue complected man was enjoying the sight of his dignified coworker sleepy-eyed and bed-headed.
In a silent question, the teenager eyed the roast while his stomach growled. His partner watched him, and he understood the boy, "aye," he said in a softer tone, "I saved it for you."
Having all the invitation he needed, the one with black hair that looked to need a thorough wash took the stick with the meat, and took large bites from it that would seem comically uncharacteristic to a person who had never seen the boy eat before.
Of course, the teenager did have table manners, but he only used them when he felt they were need. Eating a wild rabbit killed and skinned with a person's bare hands, not to mention cooked over a fire coaxed to life by said bare hands, in the middle of nowhere did not inspire the need to use any etiquette within him.
So he ate quickly and silently, and surprisingly neatly since he had not wanted to make a mess. After effectively effacing any evidence they'd argued, eaten, and slept at the spot, the two set off towards the rising sun, warm and bringing life to every inch of land it found. With ease born of experience, they left almost no trail, though the two headed at a quick walk. They had been assigned a job- they were to disappear a man who owed money to their organization if he did not have what he owed when they arrived to his home.
The forest the two walked through was seemingly endless, and it was easy for anyone to get lost because there were no trails left by travelers and hermits, and the trees were so large and leafy it was difficult to see the sun. The shade was soothing, the day was cool, and with careful steps there was almost no sound as they strode through the foliage. North, always north they walked, breaking only for sleep and a meal once a day, the two encountered not a soul. For more than a week, they traveled with that easy pattern until they knew they'd crossed a border.
Now in the southern Snow Country, their course adopted a slight eastern turn, and they ran, for the temperatures had been dropping throughout the trip. There was snow in the air and warm beds in their minds. The two found a stalwart inn standing in the middle of the pine forest, old and sturdy, the place was obviously made for tired travelers looking for refuge from the bitter cold. The two walked in, and waiting at a rustic handmade desk was a girl no older than the teen who traveled with the brute. She smiled at them, but she looked tired. Her caramel hair was pulled into a halfhearted ponytail, and loose strands were tucked behind her ears with annoyance. She had faded blue eyes, a rosy complexion, and her thin pink lips were chapped. It was obvious that she lived there with her family by the children playing at a clothesline full of linens to the side to the inn, and she looked terribly lonely.
"Good afternoon, sirs." She tried to sound friendly, but her voice was as tired as she looked. After no response, the smile fell and she went straight to business, "Would you like one room, or two?" she took the pen she'd been playing with into a position to write.
The two shared a glance, and the smaller one took a step towards the desk, "how much would two rooms for a night be?"
She stuck the smile back onto her face, "If you pay together, I could get you both two rooms with a full sized bed and a full bathroom for thirty marks. We could wash your clothes and have them ready by the time you leave, or sooner if you like for another five.
The black haired teen nodded, they shared yet another silent glance, a nod, and the same person replied, "Two rooms, and we'd like our clothes washed."
She nodded; still smiling, "Alright," she opened a cabinet beneath the top, bent over, and emerged with two keys, "If you two could please sign here," She handed the one closest to her a clipboard with a blue pen attached to it. "Your rooms'll be 208 and 211," she pointed to two numbers with lines for signatures by them, "if you would like to pay now, please do so, if not, you can pay in the morning." The smaller one paid her 30 marks in coins from a pouch kept within his cloak, and he signed with two X's where she'd pointed a few minutes earlier.
Illiteracy was not uncommon in those large, scarcely populated northern lands, especially among travelers. The teenaged girl tapped her fingers over the written numbers of each room next to where he signed, and the boy nodded his understanding. The short one tossed his companion a key, and they left upstairs with the secretary girl's call of, "thanks for coming!"
The smaller one stepped into his room with not a noise, and after immediately shedding his clothes, he found the bathroom. The modest room had a simple white sink with silver handles and spout, a toilet to the right, and a bathtub with a showerhead over the bath nozzle against the wall on the other side of the toilet. He examined his face in the small oval mirror hung above the sink, resting his hands on the edge.
On either side of a small rounded nose lay heavy bags and lines from stress, deep and prominent. The lines pointed out at a slight vertical angle, originating at the inner corner of each eye, and extending to the mid-cheek. These were an identifying feature of his, and had been ever present throughout his life since a trauma he'd experienced in todlerhood.
At the origin of the lines were dark, intelligent eyes. Feminine in shape and elegant, the small flap ending the outer part of his eyes identified the teenager as Asian. His lashes were as long and as elegant as his eyes, and above them was a graceful black curve of hair at his brow.
His face was round and his jaw did not protrude as much as most boys his age. His lips were thin and pink, their shape fortunately somewhat masculine. Tanned from outdoor life, his skin was soft despite a hard life and occupation. He touched his cheeks, feeling his skin. He did not know why he was feeling for hair—facial hair was not in his family's genes, but he still felt some hope that he could, in some sense, be normal. He heaved a sad sigh, strode to the shower, started the water, and stepped into the shower.
The teenager shivered as the hot water washed away the shock from the coldness he'd been pelted with before he'd figured out how to make the water warm, and he combed the hair from his face as it became soppy. After getting thoroughly soaked in hot water refreshing him from the cold outside, he located a large white basket stuck to the yellow tiles by suction cups. There was an array of sample shampoos and conditioners and liquid soaps, and he studied them until he found shampoo and conditioner for black hair.
Fascinated by their creamy texture and deep purple color, the boy gave his hair a thorough wash. Locating a soap with a mild scent, he gave the rest of himself the same treatment.
The teenager dried himself, noting that the hair on his legs was getting thicker and longer. As he looked at his chest while he dried it, he discovered with a great shock that there was a lone scared hair located midway between pink nipples. With a sudden burst of hope, he checked his armpits, but they were just as smooth and bald as his cheeks. Damn genetics. He sighed in defeat, and uneventfully dried the rest of himself.
He ran the water again, this time at a lukewarm temperature, and retrieved the clothes he'd dropped carelessly at the door. When the tub was just full enough to soak his clothes in, he stopped the water and started the task of washing his clothes for the first time in a few months. When he was satisfied, the boy tossed them over the bar the brown shower curtain hung on, and he curled up in the bed, grateful for the thickness and softness of the blankets and the mattress, and the luxury of being clean and allowed privacy.
The next morning, the two came out of their rooms at about the same time, the synchronization of their sleeping schedule a result of all the time the two spent together. They quickly paid, and left on their way. And as the two expected, snow had fallen that night. The cover was not so heavy yet, but there was a wind so bitter and so cold with the promise that worse was yet to come they ran. Still with their northeastern direction, the speed they adopted from the fear of being stuck out in Snow Country's deadly blizzards got them to their destination two days early.
They found an inn a bit warmer and more expensive than the last, and they spent their free days resting, during which the teen found his appetite increasing, and he prayed he would grow past his current 157 centimeters.
And when the day of the mission came, the two went on their way at a slow, casual pace toward a neighborhood wearing uniform cloaks and straw hats, the things that identified their loyalty. When they found a cute home that looked more like a dollhouse than a real house with large windows that appeared to be easily broken into with little noise, they knew they'd found the home of their target. And the windows were as silent opening as they looked.
The house was just as cute on the inside as it was on the outside, with beige carpet, deep magenta trim, and floral wallpaper. Small footsteps on the carpet came speeding towards them, and a girl no older that two or three stopped in front of them with surprise.
She had wide brown eyes, an olive complexion, and black wavy hair. She wore a pink sweatshirt, purple sweatpants, and white shoes. She looked like a porcelain doll with her pretty features and waist long hair, and she looked up at the men with shy curiosity.
The shorter one took off his hat so she would see more of his face, and his eyes softened as he put his hand out, scarred from handling sharp and deadly weapons since he was no older than that innocent little doll of a girl. She cocked her head and studied him for a moment before putting her clammy little hand in his larger one, cold from the outdoors. She saw his eyes crinkle with a sad smile, and she watched his eyes as he lifted her up to rest on his hip. At the moment he straightened up with her little arm reaching as far across his shoulder as it could, a woman in her late twenties ran in. She stopped as abruptly as the girl, and she had the same pretty features and soft hair as the toddler. The moment as she registered the pattern on their cloaks, her face visibly paled.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, and it took a few tries for her to manage out a strained "please."
The girl watched her mother, and then looked at the man who held her. He had no meanness in his eyes, and he was holding her as tenderly as her mother did, so she was not afraid. She looked behind the man to a much taller man who had skin the color of the springtime sky and eyes the color of the sun, and she studied him with fascination. His eyes had the meanness her mother seemed to expect from both the men, and when he smirked at her, his teeth looked sharper that a sled dog's.
"Where is your husband?" The one who held the girl broke the silence with his still deepening voice, and the girl drew her attention back to him.
Her mother seemed to realize not just that the men were extremely dangerous, but also that they were there for her husband, not her child. She turned, walked out and into the living room, and when they followed her, she informed them that the man they were looking for would be home from work in a couple of hours.
"Where does he work?" the smaller one asked, and the woman paled once more.
"A few miles west, in the grey office." The woman replied.
In that region, most structures were painted it bright shades of oranges and reds so they could be easily located in the snow. So a grey building would probably be quite easy to find. With this information in mind, the men exchanged glances, and the larger one left to find their target. The teen then smiled at the young one and asked her, "would you like to see something?"
She watched him curiously, and a shy yes was the answer. He then took one supporting hand from her side and reached into his cloak, and his hand emerged holding a shinny, black kunai. She watched it, a small finger in her mouth, and looked at his face, which held a smile.
"This is a kunai, I use it for my job." He turned it a bit, allowing her to see it from all angles, letting her see it's deadly shine in the light. He held its handle out to her, seeing if she wanted to hold it. She accepted it, but she held out for him within a few seconds.
"It's sharp." The girl finally spoke as he took the thing from her, and her mother's eyes had been widening the whole time, too afraid hat if she moved the teen would use the deadly weapon in his hand on the child he held so tenderly in his arms.
Just then, the door flew open and in came the brute with their target in tow. The girl's eyes went immediately to her father, and widened; he had clearly put up a fight judging by the forming bruises in his face, and he was blubbering and begging, his chubby form tossed carelessly into the middle of the room. Then teenage boy looked at her, set her on the floor, and with another smile, asked her if she wanted to show him her room in an a light voice.
She looked to her mother, pale and in shock, he bent down a little towards her, "Your mommy can come too, if she likes," he studied the woman and knew she was not going to follow. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he smiled, "now lets go, do you have any dollies?"
Yes was her answer, and she finally grinned, showing him the way to her bedroom.
The mother stared at her husband, hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes. The partner watched the teen go with a single navy brow raised; he'd never known the teen had that sort of side to him. He shrugged it off, and looked back down at the pathetic excuse for a man (at least in the brute's opinion), and nudged him with his foot.
"'Ey! 'ave any o' our money?"
The man looked back up at him, "Please! I don't have all of it!" he cried.
The fool stumbled up and shuffled into a room down the hall, next to the room the teen disappeared to, and the tall mercenary followed him. It was obviously a master bedroom from its size, its walls a light purple and sheets deep red. The debtor reached under the bed, and pulled out a small wooden box, opening it with trembling fingers as he presented it to reveal that it was full of money, wrinkled bills, mostly smaller in value, tossed in with no order. The man gave his victim a kick in the stomach for the trouble, leaned his massive bandaged wrapped sword against the wall, sat on the bed, and began counting. He sat taking the bills in his hand for a few tense minutes before looking at the man and pocketing the cash.
"Less than half." He smirked, "you die."
The victim sat there, shock written upon his fat face. Finally, the debtor cried, "Please! I'll do anything! Give me more time-!"
"You already 'ad mor' time! You 'posed t'ave all the money last month."
"What more do you want? I can give you anything! Just name it! Do you want my wife? She's still so young, beautiful! Your friend seems to like my little girl! You can have her! Please! Don't kill me!"
The blue complected man watched him, disgusted at his words. He said not a word, snatched him by the neck, and threw him onto his muscular shoulder. The shock from being tossed around so casually fortunately shut the fat man up, and his captor walked down the hall to retrieve his partner. When he reached the doorway, he rested his unused shoulder against the wall, but instead of a happy smirk, the frown that people get when they've just seen something disgusting and astonishing plastered itself onto his face.
The teenaged mass murderer the muscular man wanted to retrieve sat cross-legged with his back against a little bed with pink sheets, holding a yellow stuffed kitten in his hands. Sitting across from him was the toddler, kneeling in front of him with another stuffed kitten made of denim.
"Sunflower," she explained, pointing to the doll in the fourteen-year-old boy's hand, "doesn't like Meowie because she thinks Meowie gives kittens a bad name. Sometimes she tries to kill Meowie by snapping his neck in his sleep, or poisoning his food, and I always have to stop her. But sometimes Sunflower gets smart and tries to kill him when I'm not here, then I have to take him to Doctor Hootie," she picked up a stuffed raccoon, "He's actually a really good doctor. I named him that because he wants to go to Hooter's with my Daddy some day, but I won't let him. I wish Sunflower would stop hating Meowie, because they would have cute kittens. It would also be much easier for everyone because they have to live together, but cats will be cats. Maybe they'll grow out of it."
The man at the doorway didn't know whether to be shocked about his partner having that sort of patience with the kid, or about the impressive complexity of that toddler's thought process. He didn't have to marvel for long.
"He doesn't have what he owes?" The boy was looking up at his partner with stoic dignity, as if the dolly was not in his hands.
The mercenary visibly tensed as he realized the other, "Ah! No, 'e don't."
The teenage stood then, doll still in hand, "We have to go now, okay? Your Daddy's coming with us. Say goodbye to him." His voice was light, but firm.
She looked up at him with confusion as she stood, and when she saw the condition of her father, her eyes grew wide.
"It's okay," he put hand on her shoulder and bent towards her, "say goodbye to Daddy, he's leaving with us." He kept the same tone, but the touch added comfort to his persistence.
She looked up into the teenaged boy's eyes, and to her father, as he watched in horror, she said, "Bye-bye Daddy, come back home safe."
The teenager smiled, "that's a girl," he gave her doll to her, "here's Sunflower. Take care of your mommy, okay?"
The girl gave no reaction other than taking her dolly back, and she watched unmoving and transfixed upon them as they left the room, heading out, tears welling up in her round little eyes, she appeared to fully understand exactly what was going to happen to her father.
The younger stopped his coworker in front of the woman, poor thing still frozen in horror since her husband had been brought in, and he turned the large man to face him. The teen opened his partner's cloak and thrust his hand into a pocket, finding a bundle of bills. He tossed them to the stunned woman, closed his companion's cloak, and led the way out.
As you can tell, I challenged myself to write at least the first chapter of a fan fiction without using the characters' names ONCE. I think I can remember starting this after reading a bunch of fan fictions where the authors used absolutely no character description- they simply used the characters' names and let that give you the image in your head of how the character looks and acts. I considered it really lazy, and somewhere in there it got into my head that I should write a fanfic that wasn't so lazy. XD So basically, what I consider my best work was started in an act of pride and anger.