Trailer II: The Painter
"And the winner of the 47th Annual Vacuo speed-painting competition is... Neven Verde!"
The painting was a beautiful work of art, if perhaps relatively mundane in its subject matter. Throughout the rest of the week, Neven often returned to it, stared at it, and contemplated everything which had led to its creation. The years theme had been a perfect one for him; "the beauty of effort." Naturally, his painting was a picture-perfect recreation of his competitors, as each worked on their own pieces, as from the perspective of one staring down the line. It was impressive not only for its artistic merit and skill, but also for its speed, which had left all previous record-holders in the dust.
Of course, the whole affair left some people suspicious. While none could deny his skills, prior to this day, Neven had never been considered anything more than a somewhat skilled painter when it came to improvised work; that, combined with his choice to work only while the proctor was occupied with other artists, made his new-found talent all of the more mysterious.
A week had passed since then, and Neven stood alone, carrying nothing more than a large book in his hands, on the docks of Vacuo. He was a simple looking boy; plain red shirt, surprisingly tidy blue jeans, a tan travel pack, and an overall plain appearance which easily blended into the crowd. He was marked only by his distinctively green eyes, and the dirty blonde hair so characteristic of his country.
The minutes seemed to flash by. One moment, there on the docks. The next, on one of the ships. The next, standing on the balcony, as the vessel achieved lift from the water's surface and began to rise. His only possession remained his pack and book, as he looked down from a balcony, to the great waiting hall which dominated the central portion of the vessel.
He reached into his pack and pulled out a small letter, dated a number of months back, which read quite simply:
To the Prospective Student, Mr. Neven Verde:
Despite your late submission of forms, you have been accepted into Beacon Academy. The
faculty would like to make note that your tardiness very nearly cost your admission, and were it
not for the transfer a Signal Academy graduate out-of-kingdom, you would have been dropped from
the waiting list. This is a rare opportunity, so prove that it was in fact earned, and not merely
lucked into.
We look forward to seeing your attendance at the start of the next semester. Please send any
living materials in advance, and take with you only vital equipment such as your weapon, combat
attire, and anything else required for living. You will be greeted upon your arrival in Vale, and
provided sufficient living space for up to one week in advance of Initiation Week.
On Behalf of the Beacon Staff
Glynda Goodwitch
He fidgeted quite a bit as he stood there, before he quickly folded the paper and put it away. He then directed his gaze to the people below. It was, truly, a beautiful sight to behold; all of the faces, the colors, and the expressions of individuality striking out from the formless mass. Yet as he continued watch, he noticed something which seemed off. An elderly couple, relaxing by the window, and a young boy, perhaps a couple of years older than him and significantly taller; the boy slipped quickly past them, and, unnoticed by everyone except Neven, snagged a purse belonging to the woman. With a nonchalant expression, he wandered off as if nothing had happened.
Neven raised an eyebrow, and faint wisps of energy, matching to the primary colors, began to float away from him. As he watched the boy wander off, he himself turned from the balcony, heading down the stairs and into the halls below.
When he got there, he found himself there just in time to see his quarry turning around a corner. With a casual air about him to match the boy's, he followed, and slowly began to gain some ground. Finally, after turning yet another corner, he found the boy reaching into the purse, and attempting to withdraw something. Neven gently rapped his hand against the wall, calling attention to himself; the boy was startled, but when he saw who it was that had found him, he seemed to relax.
"What are you doing here, kid?" the boy asked. "Shouldn't you be off playing some games in the arcade? Or... reading that book, or something. Kid things."
"I just like wandering the halls. You?" he replied.
"Heh... trying to get back into... my room. Damn this keycard..."
"Usually, I just carry mine on me. Most people who have pants pockets generally do. Though I suppose I don't usually carry a purse either." he said, giving a slight chuckle. "No offense, of course. It's not up to me to judge."
"It's not mine..." came the boy's irritated reply. "Damnit!" he cried, throwing the purse down.
"Not yours?"
"Yeah, not mine. It's... my mother's."
"Your mother?"
"Yeah, my mother. What, you don't have a mother? Look, just beat it already."
Neven instead came closer, approaching the wall next to the boy. "Of course I have a mother." he replied, now putting his hand to it. "And a father, though that's pretty much a given. They used to be Hunters, back in the day. Saving the world from monsters, up until they retired to the academy, and became teachers. But you know what always perplexed me about their words? That more often than not, the job put's you at odds with other people. Not just monsters."
The boy began to rub his neck and glance past Neven, while slowly backing away. As he did so, Neven advanced, turning about the corner and dragging his hand along the wall. Where once there had been simply blank, cream-colored space, an imaged had now formed – a picture-perfect replica of the thievery taking place, as seen by Neven just a few minutes earlier. The faint wisps of color began to vanish from his eyes, as he turned to the boy, book still held firmly in hand.
"You should take that back now, I think." he said, in a calm, pleasant tone. "Stealing someone's property is bad enough. But from the elderly, in plain sight? Why would anyone do such a thing?"
The boy, knowing the gig was up and that he was backed into a corner, was forced to make his fight-or-flight choice; having heard the threats, he went with the former, and advanced upon Neven. "And how, exactly, do you plan on doing something about that?" he asked. "Even if your parents really are Hunters, as unlikely as it sounds, so what? You're not; you're just a kid."
"So you're not just gonna give the bag back?" Neven asked, putting on a show of seeming confused.
"Who cares about the stupid bag? You shouldn't have followed me here, let alone been watching people, you creep. And you're going to take that threat back, right now. Because if you don't, then I'll give you something to feel threatened by."
"Just do it, then." was all Neven said, shrugging his shoulders.
The thief pulled back with his fist, and delivered a quick and powerful jab directed to Neven's face. But Neven was far quicker, and easily raised the book in hand to catch the incoming blow. Before his opponent could launch another attack, Neven delivered a retaliatory uppercut, clocking the boy in the face and forcing him to stumble back.
As his opponent fell back, Neven opened the book. The boy lunged forward once more, as the book unfolded into the shape of a large shield, with a marigold emblazoned upon its front. The would-be-thief had no way of stopping himself from colliding directly into the shield, with Neven adding his own weight to make a bashing attack; the boy was knocked aside, with a large bruise across his face.
For a few moments, he lay there on the ground, stars dancing about his head. What shocked him back into reality was the thump of the purse he had stolen striking the ground next to his face.
"Don't worry, it's only a few light bruises. I'm only a kid, after all."
Once more, Neven stood atop the balcony, and watched as a new event took place. The thief once more was present, now returning with bag in hand to the elderly couple. The guilt was obvious in his eyes, as well as the embarrassment, as he spent some time discussing with them. As far as he could determine, the couple seemed to be quite forgiving.
He smiled, and returned to surveying the whole area. In only a few hours, they would be landing in Vale; after that, to Beacon Academy. But where to go from there?
The trip was only a few hours, but that thought would keep him up at night for the next week.
Finish: The Painter
Next Up: The Writer