Ed was going on about something, had been for the last fifteen minutes. Usually she would have been freaking out about his fight with him, maybe exaggerating his finesse a little to boost his ego, but tonight- Isabel tightened her grip on her bag. Ed wasn't her concern; the looming threat of the monsters were. She gazed down at her shirt, which she was sure was covered in dried ectoplasmic mixture. It wasn't blood. She wasn't going to let herself think that. Because then Spender had killed somebody, not a spirit, not a ghost-
"And it never saw me coming when I…" Ed trailed off beside her.
-somebody like them, a human, and there was no telling what path thoughts like that would lead her down. "Cool, Ed."
"Yeah…"
Master Hashimoto looked the same as Spender remembered him. His beard still hung to his chest, grey like the warmest sweater, eyes deep and dark with knowledge Spender had never truly felt he'd inherited, even as well-read as he was. Hashimoto didn't teach the way Guerra did- when you failed, he always seemed to know why, but never would he tell you he knew, or what he thought the problem to be. He gave riddles, thoughts, and though learning from him had been mind-bogglingly irritating, it was also greatly satisfying, if Spender was remembering correctly.
Guerra raised a hand and stroked his beard. "BL must already know, right?"
"No," Hashimoto caressed his beard just as Guerra did, who glanced at Hashimoto and scoffed to himself, letting his hand fall from his chin. "And we would be right not to tell her."
"What? But, Master, that's-!"
"We have no way of knowing how she may react." Spender fell silent and Hashimoto nodded to the students in the yard, blasting spectral shots at each other. Usually Guerra would be out there with them, grunting to himself and yelling obscenities at the older students, but Hashimoto insisted they have the conversation inside. Now, Spender assumed it was to get away from eavesdropping ears. "BL is an unpredictable woman. Should she choose to go to war, I fear for my younger students."
"Perhaps you fear for yours," Guerra muttered, and Spender could see the growing grin, smug and malicious. "But my students are more than ready for war."
"Including your granddaughter?"
Guerra fell silent again, eyes falling to the yard as though he hadn't heard Hashimoto. Spender frowned and turned to the second floor, eyeing the doors he knew lead to Ed's room, black paint coating the outside as a small child would use stickers, and the door to Isabel's room, the more humble of the two. There was a small wooden plaque resting a few inches above the handle, reading "Isabel's Room" in bolded, rounded font, a lighter red than her aura from years of hanging in the same spot.
"If the monsters have escaped, it's because an agent set them free. It is her peers under suspicion."
"BL does not have peers, Guerra, she goes unchecked, which is why we must keep this to ourselves."
Spender sighed. "I suppose… but if she finds out-?"
"You will leave it to me."
Guerra laughed and cocked an eyebrow in Hashimoto's direction. "You think she will let you take all of the responsibility? When she is done with you, she will come for us, as well."
Hashimoto's dark eyes narrowed. "I said she is unchecked, not merciless."
"Enough." Guerra raised both hands before crossing them under the sleeves of his robe once more. "What did you originally wish to speak with me about? I know it disgusts you to step into my dojo. What is it you want?"
Hashimoto raised an eyebrow, and Spender thought that perhaps he hadn't been done discussing the monster situation, but he nodded and smiled and said: "Your school is overflowing, Master Guerra. I would like to take a student off your hands."
"You want an impressive one. You called for a negotiation."
Spender scrunched his nose and stuck his hands in his pockets, balling them into fists; that was why he had to be there. Hashimoto wasn't just asking Guerra, he was asking-
Hashimoto stood straight. "Isabel."
Guerra glanced at Spender from the side. "My granddaughter stays here." Spender frowned and shook his head from side to side. I swear I didn't know that's what he wanted. Still, he was thankful Hashimoto had asked for Isabel. Any other student Guerra may have been willing to part with…
"But I do have another idea…"
Spender froze.
"I just- I don't understand!" He wasn't going to cry. He wasn't going to cry. Isaac repeated the mantra in his head because, and he was sure of it, he was walking on the very thin line between sanity and losing himself in grief. "I was- I was covered in blood! I was looking for help, for- for something! And they all just turned away!" His hands wrapped around an old, dusty vase, and he could feel the dirt inching underneath his nails, sticking to his hand and coloring his palm black as he was feeling, black as the future he saw for himself, black as a home with no lights on-!
He tossed it across the room.
He wanted to see it shatter, wanted to see it hit the wall and break into thousands of pieces, fall to the floor like snow and sound like bells. Doorman caught it in one hand. "Young Master Isaac, perhaps it would be for the best you" he paused and set the vase to the side, on a table so covered with grime that what might have been wood once then looked like mud. "... you put some distance between yourself and the others for a while."
Isaac blinked and took those words and juggled them around in his mind. The thought had occurred to him, so why…?
He scoffed and turned to the side, crossing his arms. "What? And be even more alone?"
"You must think, Young Master Isaac, what makes you feel more alone- being alone, or being alone in a full room?"
Isaac faltered. Maybe…
Home versus School. Being alone versus feeling alone. The difference had always been there, he'd just never wanted to think about it. He always thought he'd look pathetic without the club, but he must have looked equally as pathetic clinging desperately to people he hated just to keep appearances- just to pretend that he belonged somewhere. What self respecting kid would stick around where he wasn't wanted?
"I'll think about it."
Wednesday
He'd lost track of how many days it had been since Isabel had walked to school with him. She'd intentionally started taking longer in the mornings, at least it sure seemed like it. At the beginning he always ask when she'd be ready to go, and time after time she'd wave him off and tell him to go without her.
Eventually Ed stopped asking.
There had to be a way to get her to talk to him again. They'd been friends since they'd learned to talk- they couldn't end over one small mistake, right? Their friendship meant something, maybe everything! It was supposed to transcend time itself, follow them to the afterlife! Carry them through the entirety of their lives, never faltering!
He had to become a man, he knew that, so he'd started talking himself up to her.
"Hey, Izzy, did you see that move earlier?"
"Hey, Izzy! That was pretty cool, wasn't it?"
She'd been significantly less enthusiastic every time, if she acknowledged him at all. So he tried to protect her in battle, help her, but more often than not that only upset her more.
"Ed, get out of my way!"
"Ed, what are you doing?"
At this point he was starting to think she hated him, or was well on the way there. He just wanted things to go back to normal! She had to forgive him eventually, right?
Ed sighed and inched the door to the clubroom open. He was the first one in, per the "new" usual, aside from Spender. He'd walk in, wave, and Spender would wave back, and then they'd both sit there in silence for twenty minutes while they waited for the rest of the club to show up. The order in which that would happen was up in the air; sometimes Isabel and Max would walk in, and Isaac would walk in a good twelve minutes after, and other times Max and Isaac would come in with Isabel lagging behind by five minutes. Then on the rare occasion, like yesterday, all three would come in at the same time.
"Ed, please sit down."
It seemed the routine was thrown off.
Ed raised an eyebrow and took a seat on one couch, sitting squarely in the middle. Spender stood at his desk, one hand raised to massage the bridge of his nose, glasses falling up and down as he did so. Ed tilted his head. "If you don't tell me what's going on I'm gonna tear these couches apart and eat them right in front of you."
Spender huffed and finally met Ed's eye, brows furrowing under unruly bangs. "I tried to stop this, but Master Guerra wasn't listening…"
"I can already taste the cotton."
"Ed," Spender straightened up, but Ed could see his hands clenching the edges of the desk, as though he was debating breaking the white wood. "An old master of mine, Master Hashimoto, wants to take over as your Master."
