Riddel opened her eyes and saw moonlight.
Another dream had ended.
It took a moment to realize that. Whenever she awakened, there was always a moment like that- a moment where reality struggled to win back her mind. Her eyelids fluttered, blurred, and then fluttered again to restore clarity. Riddel squeezed them shut, incredibly tired and even more relieved that what she had been seeing was simply a dream. Images of people moving around in darkness faded away, followed by the unsettling music that had visited her. A Spatvark piece, it had been- the Nether Ballad, a very famous song of woe. Fitting, in a way, for what she had dreamt.
It was being played on the piano. I was in a house, dark, run-down, small. A child was in the corner…beaten all over. Shivering- I could see blotches on his skin. He had his arms up over his head, but I could see one of his eyes between them. It was wide open…too wide. Too wild. Too crazed. Like a stricken eagle's, wide open and full of horror. I heard…screams. Children were screaming, and everything was hot. The walls were crumbling…
Then that child…burst into flame…
Riddel realized her heart was pounding. She swallowed tightly, a flush running through her body beneath the blankets of her bed. She was hot, her window wasn't open. That was why it had felt so terrible and real in the dream, to see that child slowly combust and feel the heat. She wanted to think that was why, at least, and not that it had actually been real. What was she thinking, of course it wasn't real.
"Thank the gods," she whispered. Her dreams had not gone well for a while now. She hadn't had nice dreams in a while, and all the bad ones were wearing her down. She smiled to herself, sadly- out of every part of her life, dreams were the tools that supplied her with the most pain. Memory could be shunned, but dreams were not subject to control. Given the last few dreams of hers, that was a sad truth. If only happy dreams could be chosen before her eyelids closed.
Her clock in the corner of her room tolled. She turned her head over her pillow, opening her eyes to peer past the clear silk curtain that hid her bed and window from the rest of her room. She found it was three o'clock in the morning. She also found her skin was damp with sweat. Sighing, Riddel reached an arm from under her blankets and pulled the top two down, leaving only the sheet over her body, and then turned to rest on the cool, dry part of her mattress. That felt much better.
Her hand stroked along the empty space beside her. Only three weeks more, and perhaps Dario would have been lying there beside her. Her fingers would have been on his side or his chest, rather than nestled against the light blue mattress cover. The second pillow beside her should have been his. The bed would have been more than enough to hold his chiseled body beside her. Happiness had only been three weeks away. It was no surprise that only demon claws could have shut out that bright future.
Riddel's eyes narrowed, tired and exhausted of all tears. Again she rubbed that space- she would have liked to sleep beside him as his wife, just once. She wanted to know what that was like. She felt that it would be insufficient with any other man. Any. No matter how open or loving, she doubted any could compare to Dario.
Maybe I'm being childish. It's better to be childish than to disrespect the memory of the man I loved.
Now she wasn't hot anymore. Her legs were cold. Riddel leaned up in bed, hugging the sheet against her breasts, and tugged the middle blanket up to her waist. Sighing, she slowly lowered back to her pillow, brushing a damp but drying purple lock from her forehead. She wished Steena were around- Steena always understood this. Hers was the shoulder Riddel felt brave enough to cry on. Steena would have held her, wept with her- she had done so, when Dario's empty urn was lowered into the grave at Termina. Riddel remembered not having the strength to look at the Einlanzer sword, stuck in the ground like a cross above the remains of the only man who had ever won her heart.
She took her hand from her chest and covered her face with it. For the Emblem's sake, why am I still pained? It was so long ago. My memories of Dario…they are faded, dulled. I can just barely remember what he looked like. Every time I remember him now, I think of his hair tossled and spiky, and a cross scar etched down one cheek, and a white headband around his forehead. But he looked nothing like that. Handsome as that is, he was nothing like that.
Riddel took a moment and turned her glazed eyes over her body. Thoughts of Steena had led her to picture the woman, and realize how similar she was. Steena was her age, only slightly taller than her, with her hair a shimmering white and her eyes the most beautiful hue of green when last Riddel had seen them. Steena had a likewise curve to her hips and only a slightly larger swell to the chest, but the last was far from sensual. In Steena's case, it was proud, full of life. Her heart beat with faith. Riddel had always thought that had led Steena to Guldove, to serve the Gods in every way, to be their oracle and their messenger under the tutelage of the Shrine Maiden.
At times like this, she missed her friend so, so sorely. Steena…she'd met her when they were only children. Riddel imagined it had been twenty years earlier, when they were both four. All through childhood it was the two of them surrounded by all the boys- Dario, Karsh, and their old friend Wayne. Glenn had come along later, but Riddel still remembered playing Fantasy in Karsh's yard. Steena had always snatched Dario's sword away from him, though. She said she would make a fine swordswoman…she was brave from the start. Haha, half of the time, it was her who protected me from the imaginary dragon, not Dario.
Dario again. Looking at her body, Riddel paused and reflected on what might have been. Keeping her body pure just for his touch- that was what she had told herself earlier. Her dark maroon bandeau and gerries were different, though, than what she had used to wear. Three years prior, she never would have dreamed of wearing what she did now. Why she had switched to the garments she wore tonight, she knew not. They were comfortable, but then, she'd never had a problem wearing a corset or brassiere. Freedom required a sense of physicality to it, perhaps…or maybe it was just another way of mourning for him.
Maybe not. Maybe it's just that I've…never paid this kind of attention to my sensuality. I was always modest, even with Dario.
She wondered for a moment what her mother had told her about this. Riddel sighed, though, remembering that her mother had died before she had reached adolescence. "Maybe…that's it," she said, musing aloud. "Maybe I've just…put it aside, for awhile." Ironic that only now, when Dario was three years dead, did she look at herself and take the title of "pure." She would probably die that way, she supposed.
"Mmf." Riddel grunted, turning her eyes away from her body. The dead of night was no time for vagaries of childhood or sensuality. She felt tired enough, and now she was hot again. Sighing, she tugged the sheet and blanket all the way down, her rumpled bandeau providing all the heat she needed. She turned her head and stared out at the window, towards the moon. Letting the moon's scarlet rays strike her eyes had always helped her to sleep.
She mumbled a bit, feeling the heat spread to her leg- to the inside of her thigh. Her birthmark again- it grew hot sometimes. Her thighs pressed together, but that did not quell the heat. Already that was getting to be a nuisance. She pulled herself up enough so that she could lean on her arm, and reached in the darkness to her leg. Hotter than usual…irritable little dots, why aren't you behaving tonight?
Her fingers reached the skin, and she stopped. She pulled down the sheet past her waist, looking at her thigh with growing alarm. The birthmark was alight- glowing, like two little white fireflies. Everything around her went cold; her ears seemed to flex and her forehead creased. Karsh had once told her something about the innate power in everyone, the elemental attribution they were born with. Something about a reaction when someone or something of the opposite innate was close by.
…oh, gods.
Riddel turned her head. In the still darkness, her eyes locked onto the transparent curtain that separated her bed from the rest of her room. Hesitantly, she peered through it, her sight wandering over each corner. Her little frog still lay on her desk, its arms playfully tugged behind its head and its legs crossed in a bit of a P- she'd set it like that earlier. But right behind it, beside the golden lamp that hung in the center of the desk, was a light. Two lights. Green, and small, and with black slits carved down their centers.
She froze, her brow creasing now from the widening of her
eyes. Realization had gripped her, the
soft but icy breeze adding a physical counterpoint to that horror. Her skin puckered, her sweat ceasing as
though frozen. Those two little lights
had not moved once, but she moved back, shifting on her mattress until she was
at the far side of the bed from them.
Her lips parted, and her throat tightened as though to scream, but only
a little whimper came out. "Oh…"
The green orbs darkened a moment, then lit up again. The slits were still there.
They were eyes, and they were blinking.
Something's watching me…something's been watching me. Those horrible eyes, they're like- oh, gods, they're like the…the…the child's, just before he…
"Wh…wh…who's
there?" Riddel asked, her breath hastening.
"Who are you?"
The eyes remained motionless, but not enough that their essence could
fade. Real and eerily sylvan, they
followed Riddel's head with every tremble, every sway her body made. No escape- that was what they said to
her. She could swear she felt a breath
stream over her face. Her face froze in
the picture of stricken fear, the warmth of her clothing and blankets utterly
powerless. The eyes had her. Her fingers uncurled, turning her clenched
fists back into palms. Her lips
quivered, and again she tried to scream, but still the sound was kept to only a
whisper. "Help…help…"
The curtains billowed, abruptly. A
different breeze swept through the room.
Without any warning, the green eyes became narrow slits. Riddel fearfully hearkened to the awful
sound of something bumping against the floor, clashing and banging and rending
her nerves with panic. Then it was like
something scurried across the floor, and then her ears popped and rung with a
sharp note. It was painless, but the
effect of the events on her heart was not.
Horror gripped her even as the eyes drew into the wall, flickered once-
and then disappeared.
For a long moment, Riddel was held in stasis by that horror. Her eyes stung, her throat was tight, and she shook all over, but she could not move. Something had been watching her. Someone had been in the room. Her shudders became so great that her teeth started to chatter. Words formed on her lips, but she dared not speak. She did not know if she was alone anymore.
Finally, she broke, and her head fell to her chin. The fear mixed with unexplained grief, ripping her apart from the inside. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and turned away from the darkness and the curtain, towards her window. She slumped against the windowsill, her hair flashing with the light of the moon as it touched her. She pushed her hands into her face and made a tortured sob, already trying to fight it back. The tears were coming. The tears were too strong to hold back.
Ghost…by all the Dragon Gods, a ghost. The eyes, dark and green, broken free of the sepulcher's bounds…I'm being haunted. Gods…why is this happening? Has what I seen…actually been here? Have you sent me these nightmares, these terrors that are given freedom in the absence of sunlight? Why…why…are these things happening to me? Riddel's chest heaved, sucking in another choked breath. Why am I not strong enough against these images…? What is it that always sends them away, when I cannot? I…I want to be brave again…I want to be brave again. I want to be brave again. I want to be brave again.
Riddel drove that through her mind over and over again. The nightmares and the sensations were breaking her. The anguish was too much. She fought back her sobs all the while as her mind turned the thoughts over. Minutes ticked by as she rested there, huddled against her windowsill, the moon's shine bathing her in comforting light. It brought her head up at last, her cheeks flushed with crimson as tears caked against them. Sniffling, Riddel gazed out the window, towards the moon. There were two moons, actually, but it was the red one that drew her attention. Its darker, smaller twin was bright with radiance tonight, and yet it could not quite dwarf the eerie, calming crimson glow in the sky. Riddel kept her eyes on it and nothing else- not even the trees that hung close to her balcony, not even the beautiful dark ocean that could be seen in the distance, not even the pretty balcony off to the side that clung to her father's room.
Dario, Steena, Wayne, Karsh, Glenn- she wondered, fleetingly, if she would ever have them all again, and be brave. She'd played out in her mind what she would do, should the occasion ever arise when they were all gathered, and without fear. They would swear under the red moon that they would never part. Nothing would ever change- none would walk away or leave someone behind. All walked together, or did not walk at all. Courage…Riddel had found it in them. Under the holiest of moons, a vow like that was destined to be immortal.
"But," she said to herself, "he died…before we could do that." Taken by the same demons that now haunt me…
Her window was not shut all the way- she could feel a draft coming in, tickling her neck. She forced a smile at her own forgetfulness, then reached up for the window to pull it down all the way. Her hands grasped the top, but she was not strong enough to pull it down from her position. Frowning, she lifted herself up an inch from the bed, pulling further-
-and stopped. Just that slight shift in movement turned her eyes to her father's balcony, and Riddel was rendered silent again. Someone was…dancing?
There was. At the very end of the balcony, a petite but supple figure danced, spinning and writhing in a strange rhythm. It was obviously a woman, with an odd but familiar headdress. Her legs shimmered with thin blue garments, akin to Riddel's curtain, but her upper body occasionally glinted with hints of red and gold. Veils and cloths hung at the ends of the dancer's arms and legs, spiraling about her in a peculiar display. There were bells jingling- Riddel could hear them. Yet her focus remained on the movements of the dancer, and how they seemed to attract the very light of the moon. A lunar dance…
Riddel's eyes sharpened. That figure was familiar. She pulled herself up a little more, shifting onto her knees and leaning on the corner of the mattress. Craning her head, she got a better look at the dancer. The gold came from two little plates on the chest, and the headdress was a jester girl's-
Jester
girl. Riddel gasped. "The harlequin…?"
As soon as the words had been spoken, the dancer stopped. She turned towards Riddel, and her face
could be seen for all of a moment.
Smooth, snow-white makeup covered a childlike but beautiful face, the
sparkles of dark glitter gleaming under red light. Her eyes were all Riddel could not see, but she knew contact had
been made. They were staring at each
other. Riddel's breath caught with that
awareness, and an inexplicable lump formed in her throat. Even with that choking sensation, however,
Riddel remained motionless. She was
transfixed, once again, by a ghost.
The dancer gazed at her a moment longer. Then, as though sensing something, she stirred, but did not take her eyes off Riddel. Still watching her, the girl nimbly strode to the end of the balcony- and leapt from it. Riddel's breath caught, thinking for a moment that the jester had fallen, but it was indeed a jump. A powerful jump, one that still made Riddel's breath catch with awe, for it carried the dancer up and out of sight, towards the roof of the manor. And then there was only the radiant red moon to be Riddel's company.
She watched the area where the girl had disappeared. A thought stirred, then. Was it her, who sent away those eyes…?
Riddel shivered, still very cold, and hugged her arms over her chilled midriff. The eyes were the last things she wanted to contemplate at an hour like this. Yet, that dancer just now- she had not left her with the same feeling. The weight in her throat was different than the one that had choked her when faced with those eyes. This one…didn't hurt. It just felt like it had to be rid of, at some point.
That was the harlequin, though…have I forgotten her name already? I will have to ask her…
Riddel's arms eased away from her belly and fell to her lap. She felt warmer now, strangely. She looked back at her pillow, then swallowed. She wasn't so sure she wanted to sleep after what she had just seen, inside and outside. If the eyes came back, or that harlequin returned to dance again…
Then my dreams will simply not go well. That will be nothing new.
Her eyelids felt heavy. "Tomorrow…Glenn will take me to Termina," she said drowsily. "Everything will be better, then…much better…" She closed her eyes and lowered herself back to the bed, her hair a damp halo around her head. Everything was dark and tired again, the mixture of heat and cold lost to her. Her breathing steadied, her small fingers relaxing with the rest of her tired muscles. Everything was just dreary again. She wanted to sleep.
She drifted off only minutes later, but in some indiscrete moment, Riddel thought she heard that bell jingle once more.
-------------------
I'm hearing bells.
That was Serge's first thought on waking up. The next was that it was pretty dark, and when he opened his eyes, he found he was in his room again. His bed felt nice and soft, just as it always had, and even without the blankets, it was toasty warm. The circle-shaped room had not changed either, except for the lack of the little palm trees he'd like to plant in pots around the place. But his walls were wooden and glossy, and there were a few stands for little island sculptures and even a rack of lion shark teeth on one end. The curtain on one wall was wide open, baring the dark blue light that told him it was just before dawn, and outside he could hear the waves rushing for the shore.
It took a few blinks, but Serge remembered it wasn't his home anymore. He squeezed his eyes shut again, his face pulsing with pain. Damn, no wonder I'm hearing bells…Karsh almost broke my jaw. Ugh…I think I swallowed a molar. Where's my Swallow? No, wait, hell with that, how'd I get here?
He thought about that. He remembered so little of the hike from Cape Howl to Arni, but he did recall his entire body burning with pain and heat, hearing Exeter say something about how he'd forgotten his robe, hearing a woman gasp when they finally reached Arni…and all the while, Kid had held him very closely. Way, way too closely. It could have been his imagination, but he swore he'd felt her cheek brush against his, once, as he'd stumbled along with them. The white paint there had still been wet, and part of it had touched the corner of his mouth.
…ehe, Sergey, it's morning. Do you really want to think about girls?
He knew what that thought entailed and frantically pushed it out of his head. "Ah, for cryin' out loud…" He turned onto his side, now both groggy and irritated. Damn, but he didn't feel good. His arm still hurt from where Karsh had hacked him with the axe, and his ribs and legs ached from the Deva's kicks, and to top it all off, his bandana was nowhere to be found. Where he'd tied it on his right arm, there was only a white bandage now. He sighed; he'd be pissed if it had fallen off along the trek to Arni.
Serge looked towards the open curtain, thankful that it was dark- his eyes stung enough that he didn't need to have sunlight blaze into them. Still, he didn't quite want that curtain open. He moved his right elbow gingerly to grab the cord at the head of the bed, and then jolted as it bumped something next to him. Someone gasped- Serge recognized who it was, even before he found a dark blonde crown of hair resting against the side of his mattress.
Kid
turned her head back and gave him a tired smile. "Nice to see you're up, mate."
Serge
blinked. First she's there when I
dream, now she's here when I wake up…what the hell? "What the…um…morning, I guess." He coughed sheepishly. "H-how long have you been down there?"
She smiled, stretching her arms along the sides of the bed- that let him see
the blanket draped over her legs. "Ever
since me and yer buddy dragged ya up here," she said. "Oi, but he didn't wanna leave his coat back there…he went back
in the middle o' the night to get it. I
dunno if he's back yet, but I told him to watch his guard anyhow…"
"Oh,
hehe…yeah, that sounds like Exeter."
Serge tucked in his right arm, touching the white bandage wrapped around
his bicep. Finding the pain had faded,
he smiled some. "I, uh…I'm sorry you
had to sleep on the floor…"
Kid snickered. "Been waitin' for ages
to hear a guy say that, hah! Mate, I've
slept on so many things, that bed sure looks an isle of joy, it does…but,
you're the one that got hurt. I ain't
gonna let you sleep on the floor."
So nice to me and I almost screamed at her not to touch me…geez, that's real
mature. Well, that ain't happening
again…wait, "ain't"? Is she already
going to my head? Serge lowered his
head until his face touched his pillow.
Damned if she wasn't getting into his head- she'd been doing that ever
since the day before. Or was it even
the day before? Serge felt like a week
had passed since he and Exeter had gone out looking for those stupid
scales. Shaking his head clear, he
pushed up on his left arm, hugging his right to his ribs. It hurt to do that, and Kid didn't seem too
pleased, but Serge was fed up with being periodically unconscious.
"Come
on up here," Serge said, smiling. "You
shouldn't sleep on the floor. I'm all
right now…"
Kid's lip quirked, then curved up.
"Ain't you a gentleman, hah," she said.
"I ain't tired no more, mate…ahh, really ain't!" She stifled a yawn as she spoke. "I'm comfy where I am."
Serge shook his head. "This is…was, my
room. I don't want anyone sleeping on
the floor."
"Eh? Was?" Kid blinked, then her head jolted back. "Oh…oh, right…your friend told me more on the way."
"Heh. So you know." Serge hung his head. "I'm…not from here. Not this place. I mean, I am from this place, but…something's…wrong. There was this wave on the seashore, and I
heard someone calling my name, and then…then I heard something else-"
Come to me.
The voice resounded in his skull. He closed his eyes and parted his lips, a shiver running through him. That was messed up, seriously messed up. A voice just wasn't supposed to sound like that. It wasn't possible to have that much menace, that much malice behind words like that. He couldn't fit a face to what could have possibly spoken. If he didn't know better, he'd have said that was the voice of…of an animal. A hungry, evil animal.
His fingers found the scar on his palm. It tingled.
Kid
had tilted her head, her blue eyes narrowed.
"Mate…?"
Serge shook his head. "S-sorry…but, my
point is, I don't want you sleeping on the floor. Come on…please? Just as a
way of saying thanks?"
She smiled wryly, sighed, and then pulled herself up. She kept her blanket
around her legs, and he noticed just then that she wasn't wearing her
jacket. It left her shoulders bare and
drew attention to spots that didn't help his situation. Serge sucked in and turned his eyes away as
she sat down on the mattress beside him.
Kid
didn't seem to mind. "Well, if this'll
make ya happy…but we ain't got much room this way." She cocked an eyebrow.
"You ain't tryin' any of that funny stuff, now, are ya?"
Serge brought up his hand and shook it eagerly. "No! No no no no no NO,
no, no, no, no! I'm not like Exeter,
believe me- ugh!"
Kid slapped his back, giggling. "I'm
kiddin', mate! Ahh, you nice
guys…you're always so fun to tease."
She smiled and tugged her knees in, draping the blanket over them. "Brrr, it's cold," she said. "Damn island weather…it's hot durin' the day
but I freeze my arse off during the night and mornin'…"
He grinned. "Better get used to
it. The mornings are nice, though,
especially at this time…the cold actually makes the coconut milk cool and
fresh." Serge raised his finger and
pointed to a tree that was swaying just outside his window. "Yeah, that tree…I used to climb up it and
grab two, maybe three coconuts. Tasted
so good…"
Kid was quiet, gazing at the tree he pointed to. He wondered if he'd said something wrong, but after a moment, she
giggled. "Coconut milk, eh…?" She hopped up to her feet, suddenly, and
turned to him. "Want me to get some for
us?"
Serge
blinked. "W-wait, I wasn't trying to
imply-"
"I like coconuts, too, mate! Just be
glad yer friend isn't around, though- I couldn't do it in fronta him," Kid
said.
Serge
tilted his head. "Why not?"
Kid scuffed her foot. "Ahm, tell me,
mate, what do these coconuts o' yours look like again?"
"Well,
they're brown, hard, kind…of…" He
trailed off, his eyes growing wide.
"Oh. OH."
Kid grinned, then reached over and gave his head a really hard swat. He yelped.
"Ow! Hey, I wasn't thinking of
anything like that!"
"Oh,
sure ya weren't." She winked. "So, want me to get yer nuts?"
Serge clapped his hands to his ears.
"I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this, I'm not hearing this-"
Kid held her stomach as she laughed.
"Haha, sorry-dorry! I just can't
help seein' ya all flustered and whatnot."
She stretched again, and this time he just had to look away. "Ah, well, I'll get to fixin' some
breakfast, how's that? I usually don't
cook for nobody but me, but you still look a bit tired…"
He sighed. "Save
my ass at Cape Howl, march me all the way back here, watch over me in the
night, now you want to cook me breakfast…man.
Are you this…nice, to everybody?"
The girl crossed her arms behind her head.
"Well…not 'specially, I don't suppose.
I ain't really the pillar of innocence I look, y'know- probably figured
that from the getup, eh?"
Serge twisted his lip. "Well…"
"Nah, go ahead and say it…everybody else does." Kid shook her head. "I
dunno. I don't nab from the rich 'n
give to the poor or anythin' like that, but…you know, mate…the funniest things
have been happenin' for a couple days now."
He frowned. "Funniest things?"
"Yeah. I didn't see no moon the night
before last, and there've been some funny sounds coming from Fossil Valley,
too," Kid said. "And…ah, hell, never
mind, it's crazy…"
Serge brushed his hands through his hair- damn, he missed his bandana. "As crazy as me saying I come from another
world…?"
"In a way. I've been hearin' your name,
Serge."
His head cocked back. "Hearing my
name…?"
She nodded. "Mm. While I was hangin' around Cape Howl, I
heard something whisper into my ear…'Serge.'
Like it was calling to me…oi, but it sounded so sad." She hugged her arm to her side. "Like the person sayin' it was hurt or
somethin'…dunno why it got to me, but, hah, truth be told, mate, I
kinda…cracked a tear or two." Kid
forced a chuckle. "But, that's a secret
'tween you and me, kay?"
"Oh…yeah, sure," Serge said, idly. His
name being called…hadn't he heard that too, before leaving Leena at the
harbor? And once again at the shore. If Kid had been hearing the same thing…
Detrimental or not, what the hell is going on? Scarred-up but good-looking fisherman kid gets ripped out of home world and planted in another world where he's supposed to be dead, meets up with a spunky, cute girl, and gets attacked by a bunch of weird-looking bad guys. Wow. My mind is…blown. Ah, maybe there's a book on this somewhere…
He
scratched the back of his head. "I
believe you…I've heard the same thing.
My name being yelled out, but…I don't think I heard the same thing you
did."
Kid frowned. "Why not?"
"Because the voice that called my name said…a lot of other stuff." Serge swallowed. "Stuff I…don't want to say out loud."
"What'd the voice sound like, then?" Kid asked. "Maybe it was the same as mine, who knows?"
Serge thought for a second. "I remember
it was…kind of deep, accented? Not
gravelly, actually pretty…hmm, what's the word? Eloquent. The kind of
voice you'd hear coming from the bad guy in a fairy tale, but, well…there was
something in there that was even…even different from that. Gods, it's just…I've heard that voice
before. I have, I really have. It clicks in my head when I think about it,
and I can just barely make out this outline in my mind, but then it just fades
away. It's hard to tell…"
He looked towards her eyes again. They
were settled on something he couldn't see, and for a moment, he thought he saw
a flash in them. There was a pause,
then Kid shrugged. "Heh, that is a
little out there for even me, mate," she said, smiling regretfully. "But, hell with it all, it's bound t'make
sense sooner or later."
Her face betrayed something, but Serge wasn't sure what it was. Almost like she was hiding something, but
then again, he had just told her he was hearing voices in his head. Maybe he belonged somewhere a little cozier
and with thick padded walls. Shaking
his head, Serge put his hands on his knees and forced himself up. "I guess it will. Ah…tell you what, let's forget those coconuts for now. I'm sure this place has something to eat in
it."
"If you say so, but I ain't averse to climbin' for coconuts if that's what you
want," Kid said. "Hehe, maybe I can
grab a spare to chuck at that blonde bugger when he gets back!"
Serge let himself smirk. "I think that
if there's one thing Exeter's not good at, it's handling other people's nuts."
Kid put her hand over her mouth and laughed into it. "Ooh, I'll remember that, mate!"
Serge
winked, then uneasily slid his hands into his pockets. "So, uh…what happened to your jacket?"
"Ah, I took that ol' thing off when I got here- had to patch this up." Kid gestured to her arm, which had been
bandaged at the forearm and shoulder.
Then she looked at him and tilted her head. "Why do ya ask?"
"Huh? Oh, no reason, you just look, uh,
different, without it," Serge said. "I
guess I'm used to seeing you in red and yellow, already."
Kid smiled, putting her very bare arms over her sternum. Her shirt tightened. "Or you wanted to see more o' the
merchandise, eh?"
Serge gaped, then shook his head violently.
"No no no no no no! Really, I
ju…oh, you're kidding, right?"
"Riiight. Ah, sorry, I'm a tease." She grinned, then put her hands behind her
back and leaned forward to look him over.
"Hmm…interestin' choice o' clothes yourself, Serge me mate. Black shirt 'n comfy blue slacks…what's the
deal with the fishnet…vest…thingamajig, though?"
"This thing?" He pinched the front of
the vest with one hand, fluffing it out.
"Oh, heh…this is one of my dad's old shirts. It's too loose for me, so I have to tuck it in." He smiled wryly. "He was a big guy…probably over six feet, close to six and a
half."
"Ohh." Kid nodded, then scuffed a foot. "He's…gone, now?"
"Yeah, he's gone," Serge said. "Died in
a storm…usually, that's how people die in my village. Too many fishermen…"
"Oi…sorry to hear that, mate." Kid
scratched the back of her head. "Can't,
um…can't say I know how it feels to lose somebody important…always been alone
'n all."
"I wouldn't want you to find out." He decided to change the subject while he
had the chance. His arm had begun to
ache again, so he touched it gently.
"Damn, that still hurts…"
Kid winced. "Oi, right- wish I had a
Tablet on hand…you gonna be okay? I can
change your bandage…well, if you want me to."
Serge knew what she was talking about, there.
"Hey, look, about the 'don't touch me' thing…I'm sorry. I'm just…I don't like being touched in a few
spots. Just this thing I've had for a
long time. It wasn't you or anything-"
He stopped. Kid was snickering. "What's so funny?" he asked.
"Haha,
nah, nothin'…just that I got the same thing," Kid said, hugging her wounded arm
to her side. "Don't really like bein'
touched. Got my reasons, just like you. Wow…funny.
You don't like bein' touched, you got blue eyes, and you've been hearin'
voices for as long as me- I don't feel so special no more!"
Common ground already. That's
disturbing. Gods, she does look
familiar, and not just from my dream…her face, it's like I've seen it somewhere
before. Where do I know this girl from?
Serge
opened his mouth to speak, then went
straight. He smelled something. He sniffed again, and his taste buds began
to tingle. "Huh…hey, Kid, you smell
that?"
"Grr!" Kid stomped her foot. "If I had
a gold piece for every time I heard that! Look, Serge, just 'cause we're surrounded by water don't mean
there's soap to boot, either-"
He waved his arms. "No, no, not you, I
smell something downstairs…"
Kid stopped, then tapped her head.
"Hmm, well, that Exeter guy don't look much like he uses the right
shampoo, himself-"
Serge slapped his forehead. "I smell
something el…well, actually, no, he doesn't…but I smell something that doesn't
stink." He took in another deep whiff,
and found his tongue rapidly dampening.
"Wow…it smells good, whatever it is.
I think…someone's cooking?"
She sniffed the air.
"Ooh…I do smell something cookin'!
Smells like a stir-fry, kinda.
Hoo, whee, this early in the mornin'…maybe Exeter came back?"
Daylight was already beginning to show.
Serge gave a full-body shrug.
"Whatever it is, I'm up for checking it out. I haven't eaten anything since the night before last…" He chuckled at that- the last real meal he'd
had was some of his mother's cooking.
Fried sea bass with pineapple and seaweed, he remembered. His stomach growled enough that he bent
over; his mom always cooked the best stuff.
Even that Termina squid gut crap wasn't on par with it.
Thinking of his mother, though, probably wasn't prudent. A hollow pang ran through his gut as Serge remembered what Leena had told him. His mother was dead…but, then again, so was he. And do ghosts get hungry?
He
rested his hand on his belt- paused.
"Hey, where's my Swallow?"
Kid blinked. "Your what now?"
"My Swallow."
"…uh…you mean you can't swallow? Is
your jaw still hurtin'?"
Serge slapped his forehead. "No, my
Swallow! The thing I hit people with."
"Oi, that!" Kid grinned sheepishly,
walking over to the nightstand by his bed.
She leaned down and rummaged a moment, bringing up his damaged Swallow-
as well as her red and yellow jacket.
She ran a finger along the edge that had been sliced in two. "I hung it over here so ya wouldn't fall on
it or nothin'. Damn, it got trashed,
though…"
Serge
winced. "I noticed…here, toss me it."
She did, and he caught it. "Heh, you
ain't thinkin' of attackin' our cook, are ya?"
"Oh, no way, not at all." Serge slung
his Swallow over his shoulder and smiled.
"But I always eat with my baby here."
Kid laughed, gesturing to the dagger fitted on the waistband of her skirt. "I know whatcha mean. Don't go nowhere without this bab- hey, your
eyes ain't on what I think they're on, are they?"
Serge went pink. "Huh!?"
"Kidding!"
Damn. Er, better not look anymore. Serge forced a grin. "You weird me out, Kid."
"S'what I do best." She whipped out her
jacket in the air, spun once, and slid her arms stylishly through it. She tugged the flaps forward and winked at
him. The display impressed him. He gave her a grin and clapped a
little. She raised both eyebrows and
put her hands behind her head, tilting her hips out with a sultry wink. He clapped more, but sucked in quietly- he
almost wished he had a portrait to take of her right then. The dawn light was hitting her back and gave
her dark blonde hair a brighter tone, her slender body in that cocky position
and a suggestive look in her eyes.
Serge
breathed. "Damn."
"Ah?"
She blinked. "What?"
He coughed into a fist. "Oh,
nothing…it's just that you're so hot and all."
The
white paint failed to hide the pink on her cheeks. "Wha!?"
"Kidding!"
She slapped her cheek. "Oi, you…I'm
gonna kick yer arse."
Serge grinned. "Before I 'kiss your
moons', you'll have to catch me!"
He didn't even wait for her to react.
Spinning, he bolted to his doorway and down the steps, as he'd done so
many times before. He heard Kid shout
"oi" and rush after him, her feet thudding loudly behind him. Serge grinned all the way, running down two
steps at a time. The stairs differed in
no way from the ones he knew; he counted each one as he ran by. Three, five seven aah I think she's
pulling out her dagger!
At the eleventh step, Serge hopped off, and the cooler air of the bottom floor greeted him. He skidded to a halt, glad to see his legs were feeling strong enough to outrun a scantily-clad wild girl-
-who tackled him to the ground right after that thought.
"Oof!" Serge went down under Kid and landed on his
stomach, wincing. "Hey, ow, that hurt!"
Kid giggled and sat up to pin him down with one arm on the back of his neck as
the other went to his side- and began to tickle. "Aha! Say uncle,
mate! Nah, on second thought, say 'Kid
is the greatest, beautifulest, bestest girl in the whole world, I'd kiss the
grass she walks on as soon as she kicked me arse, and if I flirt with her ever
again it'll be in taste, oi!'"
He was too busy squirming and laughing to say that. "Aaah, stop stop stop-"
"Well, look who finally decided to grace me with their presences."
Both he and Kid broke off at the voice.
Serge looked over with her to the kitchen counter, where the smell of
the food was strongest. He gaped, but
this time, it wasn't because of a girl's tight clothing. Beside the kitchen counter, her long hair absent
of the headband, looking tired as hell and with a sad smile on her face, was
Leena.
He blinked a few times- maybe it was a trick of the eyes. A lot of girls wore those haggard, beat-up dresses. Not all girls, though, had those gorgeous golden eyes that were rimmed with red from crying, or from staying up too late. That was Leena. The frying pan she'd turned on him just hours earlier now held sizzling vegetables and meat. She was cooking.
"What the…?" Serge narrowed his eyes. "Wh…why are you here?"
"And
who the hell are you?" Kid asked, not yet getting off Serge.
She smiled, and again, it was terribly sad.
"Just so you both know…maybe not for the first time…my name is
Leena. I'm sorry for the surprise, but
you two looked so exhausted last night, and…um…I thought I'd make you a bit of
breakfast…"
Seeing her was too much of a shock for him to totally understand what she had
said, but his attention was elsewhere all the same. With that eerily familiar sad smile, the simple way she held the
ladle, the glimmer of her eyes and hair in the morning light, and the kind of
voice she'd just spoken in then, it was like seeing something for the first
time all over again. His vision
flashed, and for a moment, he imagined his mother standing next to Leena in
that same position.
…cosmic. Serge shook his head,
lost in thought as he stared at a girl he'd never expected to see again. Oh, but, gee, Mom…I hate stir-fry.
