Title: Isle Fractions
Fandom: Rave
Disclaimer: Umi-chii still can't make Hiro Mashima sell Rave.
Author's Notes: I found an old unbeta-ed file of this chapter with a bracket saying unfinished, typical of some of my Rave fics. When I reopened it, I found the chapter reaching up to the part where King found the Winchester.
1. Look Up, Not Down
Up in the attic of the huge mansion, Lucia swore he could hear the cracking of backbones. He had been fiddling around the uppermost level of the manor, looking for stuffs to throw out. Along the way, he had encountered not so friendly housemates; the rodents.
"Oh, go away." He pouted when the little mouse blinked at him, its whiskers twitching, prompting Lucia to pluck the rodent from its perch on the wooden crate in front of him. Before the rodent could voice its protest in its squeaky voice, Lucia threw it out of the attic, through the small hole serving as a door just beside him.
'What's with house pests nowadays anyway?'
He grumbled lowly, cursing the existence of house pests—dust bunnies included. The sound of footsteps coming from below woke him up from his rant, and quickly sitting upright, Lucia turned his head expectantly at the hole. Then the hole's wooden door pushed up, and up came King, still wearing that ridiculous fur jacket of his.
"Look't what I got, kid," The father settled himself on the attic floor, ignoring the dusts littering the entire place. "An authentic Winchester that literally packs a bullet."
Lucia could feel a corner of his cheek twitching in annoyance, as if wanting to sneer at his father. But he resisted this, and decided to ignore his father. Sadly, the other took notice of this. "What? It's a gun. Don't you kids like guns?"
Lucia turned away and snorted.
"I'm not some seven-year-old who plays 'Cowboy', dad."
King stared at his spawn, as Lucia continued unpacking the box in front of him. Maybe growing up without his mother had taken a great toll on the kid more than he had thought. Setting aside the gun, King went to the other corner to leave his son alone. He had already come to realization that there are times when Lucia would want nothing else but solitude. It had made King proud, albeit a little bit, that he's one of the few who knows when to step away when he's son is in need of his own place. The occasional flinch, the twitching of cheeks or eyebrows, the frown… sometimes, his son would just stay quiet in his own corner and ignore him. That was when King would take his cue to leave.
So much like his mother. Only a pity he never grew up knowing her. Yet no matter how many times King had allowed his son to fight his own inner battles, it made him sad that he couldn't do anything but watch in the sidelines, silently encouraging him to go on, because he knew that in the end, his son would always look so forlorn, so hopeless… so sad on his own. King didn't know which one is the right word anymore, in fact.
Silence stretched on inside the attic as Lucian fumbled around closed boxes and locked chests while King began lifting white cloths covering old, worn furniture to see what he can use and what he can throw away. When the father came across a huge mirror hanged on the wall, covered halfway by a dirtied cloth, he stared at it before pulling the rest of the cloth away.
"Hey, dad. I found something…"
The younger blonde stopped when he saw his father staring at the mirror with wide eyes, at the empty reflection the mirror made. Neither of them dared to move an inch or speak a word. So they stayed in their position, stilled.
Until curiosity got the better of Lucia. He left his own corner and approached his father, staring at the mirror as well. Just like his father, Lucia saw no reflection of his own. The only thing he could see coming from the mirror was the portion of the attic behind them, boxes and trunks opened halfway, olds of dirty, white cloths littering the dusty, wooden floor.
When King didn't acknowledge his presence, Lucia tried calling out for his dad again, laying a hand on his shoulder. As if snapping out of a trance, King blinked rapidly, body tensing then slouching as he rubbed his eyes, headache a few steps away.
"What…"
"You okay, dad?"
When Lucia heard a soft 'yes', he pulled away slowly before covering the mirror again with its cloth. "That was weird…" his father said.
"Maybe that's why it's up here."
He didn't wonder further and went back to his corner and forgotten box, even if King left the attic with a pain, contorted face, hand cradling his head. Lucia decided he'll ask questions before going to bed. Or during dinner, whichever seemed right. He just hoped they had managed to pack aspirins along.
Opening the lid of a box, stamped with 'Fragile' on all of its sides, Lucia peered inside it, hands flipping the lids away. Inside the box were a lot of picture frames, envelopes, letters, and what Lucian could guess, a journal along and a few broken shards of mirror and porcelain glass.
Settling into a much comfortable seating position, crossing both of his legs, Lucian began removing the items one by one. He would occasionally stop to study the unknown faces in the pictures or see if any of the envelopes were open. When he had finally reached the journal, brushing away the shards of broken glasses, he stared at its worn leather cover and at the large insignia engraved on it. His fingers padded softly as in awe over cold, faded brass, some portion already black in age. It was in a shape of a cross with two swords crossed over it. He was about to open the journal, until a loud bang bellowed from floors below.
With the journal and its other old companions cast aside, Lucia left the attic and ran down to wherever the sound came from; a voice tells him that the kitchen was the best place to start with.
Back in the attic, candlelight flickered before it disappeared completely, cold wind killing the flame, plunging the room in complete darkness, moonlight never reaching the windowless room. Only the faded brass shines amidst the darkness, as wandering souls fleeted around in their endless gowns of whites.
That night, before Lucia went to sleep, with his father beside him in a shared camping bed, he complained loudly of the cold wind and the dark aura never leaving the insides of their new house. When his father only snored in response, Lucia knew it would definitely take more than the usual to consider this place as a new home.
Lucia woke to the smell of fried eggs and toast breads, fresh strawberry jam seducing him out of the sleeping bag and into the kitchen just a door away. With the house barely cleaned, father and son decided it was best for them to sleep first in the living room in their sleeping bags and not on dirty mattresses nested by dust bunnies and wandering spiders or other bugs.
After fixing the sleeping bags, he put on his shoes before heading for the kitchen. He was blasted head-on by the smell of waffles and pancakes, maple syrup and some berry jams mixed together in a huge mass of weird concoctions. Lucia lost his appetite in an instant, and guessed it wouldn't return anymore when King greeted him a 'Good Morning' in a 'Kiss the Cook' apron.
"I made some blueberry waffles for you, kid! Better eat it while it's hot. I also made some toasts and eggs, in case you'll like some extra cholesterol and calories."
Lucia ignored whatever words that came next. He had learned it since child that a happy, breakfast-making father is the only thing any son in the world can't stomach, even if said son is the world's strongest gangster. When Lucia sat with his back turned on his father, it was for extra safety measures.
After some silence of Lucia munching his waffle and King washing the pans, the younger blonde stared at the city of cobwebs and spiders on a corner of the ceiling.
"Dad, do you think we should hire some cleaning people to help us out?"
"That'll put a dent on our savings, kid."
"Yeah, but it'll speed up the cleaning process. They have a huge ant mountain here."
King clucked his tongue, sitting down in front of Lucia who's still staring at the gathered cobwebs.
"I bought some anti-bug body suits back in the hardware store, so don't worry much. In case anything happens, we have a ton of aspirins and bug repellant spray. Pesticides too, so stop worrying."
Conversation ended with King taking away the rest of the dishes. Lucia didn't pay to wonder how his father can eat so fast. Instead, he stops watching the spiders and focused on a rather huge black dot staining the varnished, wooden table. Lucia called or his father again.
"Dad, don't you think we should go and give back this house? I really think we should just go for an apartment."
"Don't be stupid, kid," Both father and son stared at each other, the older blonde frowning as the younger one tried to show his unease through facial expressions. This time, King decided to ignore sentimentality for the sake of logic. "We've paid millions of Edel on this. I know it's too big for just the two of us, that's why I've decided to turned half of it into a hotel. Or dorm, whichever sounds better."
Lucia only frowned at this. He didn't argue any further though, and left it to his father to do whatever he wants with the house. Lucia wanted nothing more than a roof over his head with a solid ground below the soles of his feet. And warmth. That's the number one thing his body would always yearn for.
After breakfast, father and son decided to wander around the mansion separately. King went for basement, something about looking for more candles and generators while Lucia decided he'll prefer to bask in the sun while it's still up. So, he went for the garden. He would have thoroughly enjoyed the morning, if only the view isn't so obscured by wild, untamed vines that insisted on clinging to every inch of his body.
After a few minutes of braving crawling floras and evading aerial fecal bombs, Lucia finally arrived in what used to be a garden. A wall of thick plants and intertwined vines surrounded the garden in a circle as a pathway made of solid earth stretched out in front of him, dividing in the middle before stretching even further, on to left and the other to right before it met again on the other side in a circle. In its center is a huge, previously grand fountain made of rock, now cracked with age with moss and vines creeping from the insides.
Although every flower around him is vibrant, made of the sweetest color and emits the sweetest smell, it was the fountain, the figure of the fountain that caught Lucia's breath, leaving him standing before it in a stupefied manner.
It is, in a way, breathlessly beautiful beyond comprehensible belief.
Circling the fountain in slow, steady steps, Lucia stared at it, eyes raking over the carved figure in awe, absorbing every detail to mind. He pretended no cracks existed, that there's still clear freshwater pouring out from the vase with intricate spiral designs, that there is no broken or chipped feathers on the wings. He also pretended that age hadn't crept up on the stone figure, its angelic, probably porcelain-white cheeks now stained dark and charred. Bringing his eyes down, Lucia imagined the billowing flow of its dress, pure, virginal white folds fluttering with the wind as snow white feet dipped on the clear freshwater.
Lucia had never felt so awed from watching a still, stone figure of an angel worn by time and wilderness. As he was about to lay a hand on the cold stone front, somewhere on the still folds of the angel's dress, his ears picked up the sound of bushes shuffling loudly, twigs crunching under heavy weight before—
"OOF!"
"MEOWR!"
A pair of paws smacked itself against Lucia's eyes, sending the boy crying out loud, his own hands trying to pry the paws away. Wrong move though, as said paws suddenly released its deadly claws, scratching his tender skin bleeding red.
"ACK! GET OFF OF ME!"
"MEOWR!"
Another scream and a flurry of claws and tail before Lucia fell to the soft ground, mud staining his orange shirt brown. Happy with its victory, the feline previously wrestling him on his head jumped down and landed on his chest, staring him down with burning green eyes, as if daring Lucia to fight back.
Lucia wouldn't have cared if he'll be maiming a cat (after getting his face sliced to ribbons, he wouldn't even bother feeling guilty for killing an innocent cat) or at least kick it across the garden, sending the feline through some broken window and down into the sewer. If only the scratch wounds didn't sting so much, Lucia would have enacted revenge against the wild Maine Coon bristling its fur at him.
Bringing his head up while covering the three pairs of vertical slashes across both sides of his cheeks, Lucia mustered his best and deadliest glare ever. Then again, he's going against a wild Maine Coon, a really large cat that had just sliced his face. Lucia doubted raising a hand against this cat is wise.
"What the hell is your problem, damn cat?!"
Maine Coons are considered to have intelligence above the norm, so he guessed the animal might be able to understand him. Even if it might not be able to understand proper English, it'll probably understand the point Lucia's trying to point.
"Seriously! Jumping at people's head like that! I ain't a ball or some stress reliever!"
Lucia had the distinct feeling that if his father starts hearing him ranting at a cat, who didn't move from its spot, glaring harder while whishing its tail side to side, Lucia would never hear the end of it. But Lucia didn't care at the moment, since he's more bothered on how to get the cat off of him. It's freaking heavy, and it's getting hard for him to breathe when there's a 15 pound of catbones and catflesh, not to mention very hairy (Lucia has to admit though, it's cutely fluffy) tail curling rather threateningly on his thigh.
When Lucia tried to sit up straight, hands pushing himself up, the cat 'Nyah'-ed at him before leaving his chest and instead sat on the patch of grass beside the boy. Lucia only stared at the cat with a pout, as if asking it what its problem really is while rubbing the stinging on his cheeks away.
Sighing, he stood up and turned for the trail he had come from, sparing the angel statue a last glance. But when he felt the tug of the cat, pawing at his knees (it seriously is a huge cat) with a sad, kicked look (Lucia wondered again if this cat is the same cat that had nearly killed him), Lucia suddenly felt like picking the cat up and cradling it into his arms, gushing over it andandand—
"You are one annoying, hopeless feline—OW!"
A scratch on a bare leg is enough to send Lucia hissing and limping his way home, cat (who Lucia decided to call Katzchen, although it completely betrays the entire features of the cat) leading him back to the mansion. Lucia even asked himself why he wore board shorts, only to answer himself that it's hot, it's summer, and it's so hot he believes even his lower body needs ventilation.
By the time Lucia was back at the mansion, King was already in the porch with heaps upon heaps of old, ruined and useless stuffs his father probably found in the basement. He then also noted the moth-eaten couch previously taking the space of the living room thrown to the side.
"Hey, dad."
"Oi! You're back! How's the—Oh dear lord."
Lucia pouted, his eyes narrowing as the cat, Katzchen, did the same on King. The rest of whatever King is going to say got lost in the wind as King laughed weakly, scratching the back of his head. The sudden twitch of the feline's tail advised King it's wiser not to question its presence and probably, its stay with the two Leagroves.
An hour later, a large delivery truck arrived and the two, along with the help of the delivery man, started throwing the broken pieces of furniture into the back of the truck. After they're done, they watched the truck leave the manor ground, tires leaving a pair of tracks behind. King then noted to himself to put cement on the trail.
Behind them, Katzchen purred loudly and scratched the back of his ear. The two Leagroves turned their heads and stared at the cat. There has got to be something they could do to get rid of it. There has to be.
Sharp green eyes pierced at them directly, and when they both met Katzchen's deadly gaze, the father and son fell quiet and decided that it might actually be a better idea to have the cat around.
At least they now have a new company, even if it comes in a mane of striped black and other colors with the deadliest, most piercing and sharpest green eyes ever. Nothing could go wrong, right?
"Eh, Blue is back…"
A gust of wind entered the empty room, a window pane cracking as frost began to gather on the corners.
"Didya get it?"
A wardrobe door opened and closed with a soft thud, a black kettle rolling down onto and across the floor. It stopped as it rested against a leg of a desk.
"The damn guardian got me."
A dry inkwell on the desk shook, as the quill's feathers inside it bristled suddenly.
"Heh. Tough luck, Blue."
A clothe fell down from its perch on a standing mirror, revealing the reflection of a destroyed bed, springs protruding from the torn mattress.
"Leave him alone, Red. Guardian's smarter now."
One of the bed's four wooden posters snapped, old wood breaking, sending the canopy falling on the ruined bed.
"Ushishishi… We'll get him next time."
The mirror's faded glass shattered as the cold gust of wind threw the windows off their hinges, sending shattered glasses flying across the room. Laughter left the room as the specters wandered off, going back to their own room.
TBC