As soon as the Kirklands left the plane, their world was completely different. The air was hot yet pleasant from the Medittereanean Sea, no longer the constant frizz of moisture that hung in the clouds of their old home. Somebody actually smiled back to Oliver when he decided to risk it and wave at a stranger. He did not push his luck, though. Once they reunited with their luggage with minimal issues, and once out of the airport, Marionette hailed a taxi. Two cars almost crashed into one another to attend to her.
"Off to a good start," she muttered, and casted a glance down the impossible traffic flow before opening the back door for her son. The driver started spouting what Oliver guessed was Italian, but his mother stammered, politely asking him if he spoke English.
The man let out a dry laugh and nodded, claiming, "Si, si, Inglese."
"Is there anyway you can take us to the Warden's Youth Hostel from here?"
"Si, si! Safety belts," he warned. Both checked if they were secure, but the driver already whipped away from the curb, into potential death. The quest should have taken over an hour, but they were staring at large, wooden double gates within half that time. Despite being strapped for cash, Marionette paid the cab driver more than enough. People smiled more in the face of money.
The taxi was already down the street by the time they dragged their luggage onto the sidewalk. Marionette turned to her son, and emphasized with a wagging finger, "If and when you decide to start driving, make sure you find somebody who is not an Italian to teach you."
"Yes, Mum."
Marionette lifted the latch to the gate, and pushed open one door, taking in the long expanse of the yard stretching until what must have been the hostel started. The many windows and wooden paneling were not as squalid as the places they previously browsed, already inviting the Kirkland's closer. Oliver glanced at movement from one of the panes on the second floor, just above the roof hanging over the front porch. Two boys peeked at him, looking curious as he was, until the brunet bared his teeth. Oliver dropped his gaze, mashing his eyebrows together as he followed his mother into the building.
The most glaring feature was even more ugly paneling, matched with wallpaper, which sent the Kirkland's a few decades back. The front section had a desk angled to face the front door, so their entrance was not a surprising one. Oliver stood on his toes to whisper to his mother, "It is like Grandmother's house."
Marionette giggled, prompting the elderly woman sitting behind the desk to rise to her feet and tower over the both of them. She pushed up her small reading glasses, scrutinizing the newcomers, and made them feel even more smaller. "Would you happen to be Marionette Kirkland?"
"Ah, yes, that is me! This is my son-"
"Oliver Kirkland," the old woman curtly nodded, her rigid posture never easing as she took her seat again. "Set your bags down, and sit," she told the duo, jabbing a bony finger to the two chairs facing the worn desk. They immediately complied at her commanding voice. "I have been expecting you since your first call."
Oliver glanced to his mother, but she had her eyes trained on the elder. "Yes, ma'am. I came as soon as possible."
The other woman dug around in her desk drawers a bit, producing a thick binder with multiple, frayed tabs sticking in all directions. She cracked it open, grabbing a pen, and flicked to a page that was halfway filled with names. "You said you had copies of identification."
Marionette jumped slightly, but then shoved her hands in her purse for her wallet. She surrendered several papers. Oliver leaned forward to get a look at them, but the sheets were exchanged so quickly, he did not catch anything. He flopped against the back of his chair, and the material huffed against his back. His mother pressed her lips in a thin line to suppress a bout of nervous giggles, opting to fiddle with her outermost skirt as the old woman scribbled in her book. Several more personal questions went by, and her son started to wiggle around in the stained cushion.
The elder rose again, holding out her hand. Marionette lunged forward to shake it. "Thank you, ma'am!"
"I suppose," the old woman's stone gaze drifted to Oliver. The boy had his eyes on his mother. "Do you two need a private moment?"
"Yes, please," Marionette whispered. She clutched onto her child's hand, and urged him outside. The door closed, blocking the elder from seeing her throw her thin arms around Oliver.
Oliver's voice was weak as he hugged her back with equal vigor, "You will be careful, right, Mum?"
Marionette loosened her hold so they could speak face-to-face. "I can handle myself, dear." She tucked her son's shirt tags that were sticking out. "So can you, Oliver. You are growing to be a fine young man. You would do well to stay like that."
Oliver took in the details of his mother's face, so similar to his. The flurry of freckles splattered across her perfect nose, the long lashes bringing out her bright teal eyes, and her mouth always turned up in a smile, despite the happenings around her. The boy could feel the sting of tears plaguing him, but he swallowed the lump rising in his throat. He did not want his mother's final moments to be of him pathetically sobbing over something he could not help. He said, "I will do it for you."
"Do it for the both of us," his mother murmured, and gave him another firm embrace. "My little boy," she whimpered, running a hand up and down his back. "Take care of yourself. I love you so much."
Despite squeezing his eyes shut, the tears still leaked out, silently running down his cheeks. Marionette started to pull away, telling Oliver to get inside, but he clutched the back of her dress in pleading to not let him go. "You will come back, right, Mum?"
"Oliver," Marionette whispered. "You need to let go. Come on, dear."
"Will you..." His mother ran her hand to the back of Oliver's head, and pressed a kiss between his eyebrows. At the sound of her sniffling, the boy slacked his grip in horror. "Mum?"
"Please forgive me, Oliver." Marionette yanked away, and flung herself down the porch steps.
"Mum?" Oliver called, but she did not stop to look back from her stiff gait across the yard. "M-Mum..." he wheezed, jumping when there was knocking on the door behind him. Just as the front gate closed, taking the sight of his mother from him, the hostel's door swung inward, revealing the old woman. She did not say anything, and instead waited for the boy to make the choice to come inside. He whispered, "Thank you," to her as she shut the door behind him.
The elder went for a drawer in her desk, jingling against something until she produced a silver key with a tag dangling off of the hole. "Get your bag," she pointed to the back pack still by the seats. "I will take you to your room."
Oliver scrubbed at his leaky eyes for an angry moment before grabbing the straps to his luggage. The old woman watched him grunt from the unexpected weight, and flop it onto his back. "O-okay."
She turned on her heels, approaching a stair case between the rear entrance, and what Oliver caught to be a dining hall to the other side of glass doors from the few tables in the adjacent room. Her drilling voice echoed around the narrow steps, "You are not a guest. You have responsibilities during your stay." Despite the boy keeping quiet from silent terror at the stairs creaking beneath his feet, she continued, "You are to keep your room clean. I do not want roaches and rats running all over the place due to neglectful children not throwing their trash in the bin."
Oliver darted away from the steps, and feverishly nodded when the woman stared him down. "That is reasonable."
"You will share a bathroom with your neighbor, but only with them. It is both of your duties to carry out the same expectations in there, as well."
The corridor stretched to the other end of the building, but halfway through, another hall cut across, leading to other rooms, and a wooden balcony. Just pass the double doors, the elder stopped suddenly. Oliver's shoes drug against the wooden floorboards to stop from bumping into her, and he stepped back as she jammed the key into a door knob. She swung open the door, stepping into the room without a look to see how the boy was faring.
A bed ordained in simple covers pressed against the closest wall, overlooked by a window facing the back yard. Oliver walked up to it, but spun around to scan the cheap wood paneling posing as walls. A dresser was the only other thing in the room except the door leading to the bathroom. He faced the elder, trying his best to keep a nonchalant demeanor. "Thank you," he said again. "It is rather quaint."
"You have manners," the woman noted. "I would expect you not to start fights with the other children. However," she sharply sighed, "altercations will break out. You are to solve your own problems, and mind your own business. If it grows too big for children to settle, the police will do it for you, and perhaps you will need to spend a few nights on a metal bed behind bars."
Oliver stared at her with wide eyes.
The elder made a noise of thoughtfulness, tilting her head the slightest way. "Although, those are problems for undisciplined children."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Call me Miss Warden."
"Yes, Miss Warden."
"Food will be dished out in the kitchen at nine in the morning, and six in the evening. Whether you are there on time, or have another method of obtaining food is on you."
"Another method?" Oliver tugged on the straps of his back bag, wanting to drop it to the floor with a satisfying thump, but remained stiff before the elder.
"Outside the property, there are plenty of shops. You are free to leave the premises at anytime. However, you will not longer be under the privileges and protection of the hostel. Are there any other questions?"
"No, ma'am, ah, Miss Warden."
"You may make yourself comfortable now."
Oliver blinked rapidly in disbelief before a raise of her thin eyebrows prompted him to slide his luggage onto the bed. He rolled his shoulders, and took a big sniffle, still groggy from crying. The old woman gave the teen a slight frown, and turned toward the door, "You ought to make that comfort last. You will be here for a while."
She closed the door behind herself before Oliver could take a breath and ask her questions she did not have the answers to. He listened to her thick boot heels clack further down the hallway, before silence seized the bedroom, save for his shallow breaths. The boy reached out to pat the bed, and tested the springs with a sturdy push before settling on the edge of it.
Oliver stared at the scuffled floorboards, wondering about the room's previous inhabitants to distract himself. A door snapped close from the bathroom, which startled his distant thoughts. He saw the light beneath his door flicker on, and an awful groan of pain come into his room. Whatever the restroom's occupant was whining to himself was interrupted with a spew of retching sounds.
"Oh, that sounds absolutely lovely," Oliver grumbled. He hopped off his bed, cautiously approaching the door was if it were going to fling open from the sickness. He knocked lightly, and pressed closer to the wood. "Excuse me? You all right in there?"
"What do you think?" A snappy voice barked, followed by more gags. "Ugh, my stomach..."
"I-I have medicine, if you need some!"
The door to Oliver's bedroom swung open, almost clipping him in the face. Another dark haired boy about his age propped against the frame, panting, and smacking his lips from his sickness. He crinkled his nose, which was already bent to the side. The wound must have been definitely painful when he received it. "Who are you?"
"I am Oliver. I just came here a few moments ago."
A snort from the gnarled nostrils, "I do not need your medicine, Oliver." The other boy grabbed the door knob, and then yanked the door closed. At least he stopped vomiting.
Oliver trudged back to his bed, and pulled the back pack away to flop himself on the stiff comforter. It smelled clean, and the sheets beneath it did not have any noticeable stains, so he kicked off his shoes, and shimmied beneath the covers to hide himself from the sunset. His eyes stung again, but by then, the boy was tired of crying, tired of traveling, and tired from being pulled away from his quiet life.
Even so, he had tossed and turned on the unfamiliar bed throughout the night. Oliver awoke the following morning with a parched throat and disorientation as he sat up, looking around the wooden panels wrapping around the room. His bag slipped from the edge of the bed, thumping loudly on the dark floor.
"Oh!" Oliver squeaked. He cleared his throat, and slipped from the covers, reaching for the back pack. The boy glanced to his day clothes, realizing he had not changed out of them before falling asleep. He dully noted, "Already off to a lovely start."
The scent of his old house drifted from the clothes inside the bag. The boy stared at the light garments for a few limping moments, but snapped himself out of it with a shake of his head. He had enough time to mope, according to his rumbling stomach. He stepped into the hallway, uncertainly glancing both ways. Just as he tucked the collar of his polo to a presentable fold, his bedroom door closed behind him, and he realized he forgot his key.
Oliver snatched the silver trinket off his dresser, closing the door quietly, and twisted the lock. He decided to keep the key in his short's front pocket, patting it through the soft material as he padded down the hall. The doors to the balcony were open, and two kids were bickering back and forth about the third one, a light blond, who glanced behind himself, and gazed at Oliver with curious eyes. The boy kept walking, continuing to the stairs.
Miss Warden sat at her desk positioned at the front entrance, sipping on a dark liquid in a chipped mug. She picked up her head when Oliver crept over to her, but did not take her cup away from her aged face until she was finished. "Hello, Oliver. Many say they have trouble sleeping on the first night, but you look well pressed," she noted with a quick sweep at his clean outfit. "Go get yourself something to eat and feel the sun on your skin. You are pale as paper."
"Yes ma'am," Oliver quipped, and spun around toward the food hall. A set of double wooden doors opened to a large room with a low ceiling. There were not many other children at the tables around the support beams, but he had caught his neighbor sitting by himself. He drew up to the bench at the other boy's table, calling a greeting.
His neighbor picked up his head, snarling permanently with his old injury. "What do you want, Oliver?"
"Are you feeling better today?"
The other boy dropped the purple strawberry he was chewing on. "Why would you ask that?"
Oliver furrowed his eyebrows, dumbfounded as his neighbor. "Y-you were sick last night..."
"It happens. That is none of your business."
"If you say so," Oliver sighed, and dropped the subject to pursue his own breakfast. A short buffet table offered fruits and pieces of bread. He wondered if Miss Warden had done it, but he was too hungry to worry about trifling matters. He snatched a brown apple from the tray of bronze, blues, and amber, before whisking out of the cafeteria. His neighbor had slate eyes that dug into his back.
Oliver used the rear door, his feet swishing across the thick grass spreading all the way to the back gate. He stopped halfway toward it, taking a bite out of his apple. The late morning was already hot, but the quiet was more concerning. It was too quiet; the absence of any creatures was blatant. Since nothing interesting was in the back yard, he spun around to investigate the larger front lawn, but jerked to a stop when the branches above his head clacked against each other without a breeze. The boy slowly craned his head back, catching a large ball of white fuzz slink through the twigs as if it were made of liquid.
He faced the tree trunk the creature was edging down, causing it to pick up its head, and stared at the boy with wide, dark eyes on its feline face. It circled around the tree, a long, fluffy tail twitching as the teen followed its movements. Oliver gulped down another mouthful of his fruit. "Hello!"
The creature froze, peeking from behind the trunk at eye level. It hissed, "You say hello to me?"
Oliver giggled, and nodded. "Who else would I say it to?"
"It has been a considerable amount of time since I was able to talk to a human that would listen."
Somehow, Oliver was able to relate. "Where are the other creatures? I have yet to see any fairies, and they are all over the place."
The cat-monkey surveyed the human before him, and then pointed at the apple with a small, clawed hand. "Surrender your fruit, and I will tell you."
Oliver shrugged, walking up to the chimera with his palm open. Its rump wiggled eagerly as it grabbed the apple, and launched up the tree to take large chomps from it.
"I will give you the reason why you cannot see any light beings. They are not here. That is all."
"Light beings?"
"You can see them, but you do not know what they are?" The cat-monkey spat out several seeds. Oliver took a step back. "Pixies, some other chimera, fairies, even those little lights that can be floating around. Those are all light creatures. There are dark creatures, as well, like coal tars, but they are not all dangerous."
Oliver beamed, "Fascinating! Mum never told me about that!"
The small chimera gazed down at him, twitching as if nervous. "Your mother was able to see us?"
"She still can!"
"She is around?"
The boy excitedly nodded. "She has to do some things, but she will be back soon to pick me up. Maybe you can talk to her then!"
The cat-monkey let go of the nibbled core, momentarily distracting Oliver. He glanced to where the center landed, and back up, but the chimera had vanished without another word.
A.N.- Miss Warden- OC. Oliver's neighbor- OC. I guess the Italian taxi driver is an OC, too.
