{Surprisingly not dead. Chapter five finished, be up sometime later on.}
He was mad. At the same time, he was all too… blank. Some sordid blend of red and grey; mahogany or some other lesser known color. Abel, at this point, was no better than the streak of mud burned across his once-pressed white shirt. Dammit, he liked this shirt, now he was more annoyed.
An awkward sight awaited this most vexed individual just outside the boy's dorm; a figure pacing back and forth like some wind-up soldier armed with dual briefcases. Eh, stranger toys were in production. Abel walked up on the nervous wreck of a being only to spy a familiarly familiar face. Really, why was this surprising him anymore, Abel Delamar and Tsukune Aono crossed more often than a chain link fence.
Rather than add that to his list of grievances, the red head embraced circumstance. After all, with the state of anxiety the kid was in, Abel may have just found the one person on campus worse off than he was. Nothing to make one feel better than to watch another doing worse; that's what Abel told himself in his head at least.
"What's your boggle then?"
Aono just managed to avoid tripping over himself at Abel's "shockingly sudden appearance." His presence seemed to perplex the jittery kid, enough that he stopped that incessant pacing. Mr. Delamar found himself just as confused, wondering why he'd elected to speak out rather than sit back and enjoy Tsukune's marathon of stewing in his own stress-pool.
The synapses finally found time to fire; Tsukune realized he'd been asked a question. He answered accordingly, "What?"
"Problem, issue, what the hell is wrong with you?"
Awkward pause, no more than twenty seconds at max. Enough time for Tsukune to come back to earth. He set aside his luggage, plopping his rear onto one of the over-stuffed cases. Abel flashed through the myriad of possibilities explaining just how his estranged comrade had gotten that much swag over the course of one day, rapidly losing interest in the endeavor.
Thankfully, Tsukune broke that train of thought, "I'm not cut out for this sort of place."
His dedicated listener leaned in, hunching his shoulders, asking him to press on.
"I… I think I want to go to a human school."
Though stable on the outside, that really threw Abel for a loop. A human school? What, did he get off on abuse or something? No, if that were true the earlier dealings with that meat-head of a student would have had a degree more "color" to it. Talk about mind boggling.
"Really," he came with a scoff, "you sure about that then?"
Aono gave him that odd smile, the kind that hides some forbidden knowledge, an inside joke. "Yeah," he returned, not quite so sure of himself anymore, "I think I'll be better off there."
For all his claims of apathy, Abel offered his peer a grin. The clasped hand on Tsukune's shoulder would have furthered the brotherly-effect if not for the fact that Abel only used it to prop himself to a stand.
"Well , good luck."
Tsukune stared after his marked-up classmate, not sure what to make of his half-advice and nonchalance. He wouldn't have long to think on it, the next player had already appeared. He caught her shock of pink hair from the corner of his eye, her body stiff and unmoving. The youthful Akashiya now had a very dead look about her, one that reflected wholly in her hollow voice.
"Tsukune… why would you want to punish yourself in a place like that?"
In that moment, the boy's world seemed to shrink in around him.
Moroha Kubo was the alpha male; the provider, the hunter, the leader of the pack. He liked this position of his quite a bit, having loyal underlings had its conveniences after all. More than simple hierarchy though, what Moroha truly reveled in was the feeling that accompanied such prestige. He was the elite, the flaunted ace of the group; sure, he was small-time now, but this power of his would grow in infamy. Moroha Kubo would see to that.
"Geez-us dudes, what's with this sack? Fricken bottomless man!"
Moroha bit back his annoyance with amusement, smiling peacefully at his oh-so articulate colleague. Said kid was currently rifling through the abducted green duffle bag, leaning in all the way to his shoulders. Every moment or so, something else would be flung carelessly from the mouth of the sack. Floss, a water bottle, painkillers, a water bottle, comb, toothbrush, a water bottle, an empty water bottle…
A third figure in the room sat idly by atop a pile of rubble, twirling a ring of keys around his pointer finger. He tipped his gaze up, freeing his face from the shade of his Fatal Fury baseball cap, settling his sights on the boss. "Magic, ain't it Moroha?"
The teal-haired leader nodded, his smile stretching slightly, "Right you are 'Terry', this kind of enchantment isn't all that uncommon. Makes for the bigger score when we steal it, ya know?"
The jingling of the swinging keys ceased instantly, snatched within their holder's grasp. The kid in the baseball cap dropped his head, shaking it in veiled rage.
"My name's not 'Terry', asshat," he spat just above a whisper.
Moroha couldn't help but let loose a good laugh at that. Really, what did the kid expect people to do when he paraded around as the "False-Wolf"? Sheesh, he'd even torn his undershirt in the right places; sometimes his little lackeys simply proved an ample source of entertainment. And how happy he was at the sight of his mook, quiet and submissive; the status quo wasn't going anywhere any time soon.
"Whoa, I got a big one here!"
Attention was again diverted to their recon man, now drawing something of considerable weight from the stolen duffle. His boxy features strained with effort, veins running up his forehead and receding behind his blue wool hat. "Beanie-boy's" wrists crested over the mouth of the sack, hauling up what could only be described as a black sphere. The object had no other defining feature.
Once clear of the opening, the snow-capped kid's strength instantly burned out, the black ball smacking into the weathered earth with a solid THUD. Moroha quirked an eyebrow at the sight as "Terry Bogard" swung off his perch to inspect his downed associate. The teal-topped leader's mind was working a mile a minute, dashing through shelf after shelf of memory; there was something about that thing they'd yanked out that was sending off a dozen warning lights in his head.
"Hey," came the oh-so caring call of the false Terry, complimented by a swift kick to the side of his prone friend's torso, "whazza matter, you just pinch in another hemorrhoid?"
Snow-cap politely responded through his fit of labored breaths with a flipped bird and a fresh wad of spit. "Terry," showcasing his extensive kingly fighter skills, caught the latter crotch-on. The two were soon consumed in a comically toonish struggle cloud which failed to attain both the humor and the acknowledgement of Moroha, still wrapped up in his own head.
Now would be a prime opportunity for an exit…
The esteemed leader of the three-man band snapped to attention moments later, mouth and eyes drawn wide in sudden shock. Moroha's view panned methodically over to the rounded crater, gazing at the modest hole for a full minute. Over and over again, the message repeated in his mind, "Something should be there, something should be there, something should be there!"
He jumped to his feet, immediately halting the rolling scuffle of his cohorts. In a flash, the soles of his hi-top sneakers were all their sight permitted as he crouched above them, driving each of their faces into the dirt. With a fury barely contained, Moroha seethed out, "Where the hell is the sphere?"
"You know, I've never been in a situation quite as stupid as this one."
The speaker's voice was foreign, made more so by the minute detail of it coming from clear across the other side of the decrepit warehouse. The figure stood a silhouette against the faint glow of the moon, his head oddly reminiscent of a preschool-drawn sun.
"Well enough, I do hate repeating myself…"
So back again she went, idly kicking the same small stone that served as her only companion since leaving the academy grounds. The dead forest was an eerie sight to most but its relative silence made it a welcome venue to the little vampire. Salted trails ran along each cheek, the long dry paths of shed tears and drained emotion.
She was a fool. For so long she had wanted a person beside her, someone she could truly and faithfully call her friend. Tsukune Aono was that person, the first who heard her "wild" claims of magics and monsters and didn't immediately dismiss them as some freakish bid for attention. He accepted her beyond her strangeness, beyond even her title as the most supreme of all monsters; she was simply Moka Akashiya and that was all she ever wanted.
The irony of it, that her own prejudice towards those "hateful" humans would shatter her first honest friendship. It was disgusting, a fact that she would never allow herself to forget. There was some hope, she could still hurry and perhaps catch Tsukune; he was only human and lugging around those briefcases wouldn't help him any in eluding her should she pursue. Moka wouldn't have it, she didn't deserve forgiveness from him.
In a moment of brief anger, she struck fully, with all her strength, the front of her brown shoe digging a nice trench through the dirt path before launching her tiny pebble into orbit. Good, even a rock was too much company for her to keep. This was her way, she deserved as much; deserved to be alone.
"Well, Moka Akashiya, fancy seeing you so far from school grounds."
But it seemed her day was not through being as rotten as possible.
She could offer only a shaken breath and choked response to the wall of muscle from whence the slime-coated statement came. "S-Saizou…"