Tentative Title: No-Hoper
Full Summary: Merely a test-subject and researcher for the anti-Vampyre drug Denyxinil, a No-Hoper in the grand scheme, all that changes when he is Marked and forced to live among those he despises most. No identified pairings so far, takes place somewhere around a canon-changed 'Untamed'. Expect pride and a lot of prejudice.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor do I own the House of Night series, or the various mentions to various other products of modern and post-modern Western culture. Let me warn you that, while I'm sure the Casts' way of doing things works very well for them, I took the liberty to take what I hated about the series' narration and change it to suit my tastes. So just expect some changes to things, like narrative style and the competency of character development.
How is it that such a mother-daughter writing team can write something in such a wrong way, and yet make it so right? I don't know how, but once I find out, I can properly say that I don't need it.
Chapter VIII
Dead
After lunch, of course, was French class, the only one where I wouldn't be sitting with anyone I already knew. If I needed someone to work with at all, it would require making friends myself, and with the way things had been going for me so far, that looked incredibly doubtful.
If I needed to pair up with anyone in this class, then it would have to be by force.
Professor Morello, our French professor, was a blond-haired blue-eyed native Frenchman from Paris, having grown up in Paris Ouest until his teens, when he made the Change and began travelling the world to 'bed' at least one person in every country – even in every city – and con at least one mega-organisation or corporation in every continent along the way. When he'd realised that Nyx had gifted him with an affinity for languages – or at least the ability to charm anyone with his mastery of a mere ten – he stopped his mission of conquering the four corners of the globe, and settled down in America, to teach fledglings how to do the same, starting with French. Believing that language is more of an art than a science, he encouraged what he called 'flowing' in language-learning.
While I have to admit he's certainly ambitious, and he's easy to respect, I can only go so far without finding fault with his methods.
It's the same with all vampyres – if it isn't blood and murder, then it's certainly sex.
Having already had some background knowledge of French, the lesson seemed to go quite well. While the use of text books was prevalent, Professor Morello's method of teaching us all the important grammar before having us converse with each other without much guidance was well-played – in this manner, we'd be building our fluency and understanding than with the usual method of force-feeding. In short, he was getting our language to 'flow'.
By the end of the lesson, I was feeling better about the rest of the day, despite the unpopularity I'd already gained. By Professor Morello's policy of having us sit in different seats every lesson and working with the student to our immediate right, he'd ensured that pairing up and even making friends wouldn't be a problem here.
Equestrian class, which followed on straight afterwards, I found myself in not as clean a position as I would've liked: As it was my first day working with the horses, Professor Lenobia (who'd insisted that I just call her 'Lenobia') had me mucking out the stall of one of her horses, so as to ensure I knew the difference between a horse and a dog.
"You have fifty minutes to clean the stall." She'd told me as I put on a pair of mucking boots that she'd handed to me, "and I'll be here in forty-five minutes to inspect." Walking into the stall, and armed with gloves, a pitchfork and a wheelbarrow, I got to work.
Now, while I am no stranger to cleaning, I couldn't help myself from grimacing at the job, the Gaelic folk music playing through loudspeakers of very little comfort to me.
Nevertheless, that almost innate need to be in a clean environment spurred me on, and I was soon smoothing sawdust out on the floor of the stall. Barely minutes later, Lenobia came back, a large dark bay Arabian stallion in tow. Letting me pass to wheel the barrow out of the stall, she gave a slight nod. "Well done," she said. "Have you done this before?"
Taking the gloves off, I answered. "No, I haven't. I've never been inside a stable before, let alone mucked out a stall." Not to mention the fact that, in all honesty, I've never before expressed a wish to be near a beast that could easily kill me if it so desired.
She kept her grey eyes on me, practically studying me. "Well," she said, "This here is Ares, and you've just mucked out his stall. You won't have had much experience with horses, I expect, so you can spend the rest of the lesson getting to know him." Lenobia led the stallion into his stall, and I watched as the beast gave a large exhale, turning his head to glare at me with one brown eye.
"While the other are practising their canters, I think you should take this time to groom him, and get to know him – you'll be riding him tomorrow." She passed me a curry brush, and before I could object, she was already walking back into the main field house, and waving away my protests. "You should feel privileged," she called, "no fledgling has mounted him before."
Lenobia back with the fledglings, I looked back to the muscle-bound beast in the stall, his whole body turned to face me. His huge head bent down to stare eye-to-eye with me, and he exhaled air, puffing in my face. Feeling his warning of pain emanate from him, I took a step back, moving as far away from the monster as I dared.
What is this behaviour? Me, afraid of a pony? I should be ashamed of myself!
Sticking the curry comb in the pocket of my blazer, and slowly pulling my sleeves up to the elbow, I stepped slowly, daringly towards the stall again, gently opening the door to that stall. The whole time, Ares did nothing, willing to watch me, and stare daggers into my face.
The stall door fully open, I crossed the boundary, my hands up in front in submission. All I needed to do was give the beast a quick comb over, nothing more. As long as I knew that, he would get the idea too, and then he would know that I wouldn't even dream of threatening this big brute of a stallion-
A creak. He startled. Before I knew it, he was casting a shadow from above, standing high on his hind legs, rearing, letting loose a loud whinny as his front legs galloped on air, nothing supporting his massive bulk.
Suddenly, his hoofs were coming down in range of my head, ready to stamp down with his might. A hand touched my shoulder, pulling me back swiftly.
When all became clear once more, I was sat on a haystack opposite the stall, the mighty Arabian tethered by his rein. He wouldn't be coming loose for a long time, if Lenobia had any sense at all.
"Are you alright?" she asked, her white-blond hair hanging over her face as she bent over me. "You should be very gentle with Ares – he tends to feel threatened very easily. And he won't hesitate to fight back if it's in his best interests."
"But… but…" I tried to answer, but I was still shaken up from the ordeal.
Being gentle wasn't the problem.
"I suppose you'll be better off watching the others until the bell goes." She answered, "You won't get much of a response from Ares until tomorrow." Sighing, I got up from the haystack, threw down the curry comb, picked up my shoes from where they sat, and made towards the corral, almost certain that I would be ending my life at the hoofs of a demonic equine.
A scream suddenly sounded, almost from nowhere, accompanied with-
Blood. The smell of blood.
I whipped around to face Lenobia, but she'd already passed me into the corral, armed with a towel at the ready. Following her through the doorway, the sight that hit me was just…
A fledgling had fallen off her horse, the black mare now trotting away to the far end, as far away as she could manage with the other horses. By the time I had joined the crowd of fledglings, she was already surrounded by a large patch of red sawdust, her own blood. Tears of red were already tracing their way down her face, and her limbs were already shaking in protest, unable to handle the fast process of fledgling exsanguination.
All around, the other fledglings were helpless, crying and scared, themselves terrified of the sight of their own kind dying. The blood of your own, after all, is so much more different than the blood of prey.
As for me, I walked back into the stable again, found another towel, and was soon back by her side, handing the towel over to Lenobia, who was already clamping her own towel to the girl's mouth. Watching the girl's frightened eyes dart from her professor to me, it was only then that I recognised her: She was from the dining hall, one of the girls who'd shot daggers at me during lunch because he believed me to be heartless and cruel.
Barely seconds later a fledgling entered the corral, leading Neferet and three other vampyres in behind her. A vampyre I didn't recognise, a woman, certainly didn't gape like most of the other fledglings: Gesturing for some room, she came to the dying girl's side, muttering what seemed to be a prayer under her breath, watching steadily as the fledgling emitted a smile and grew peaceful, relaxing enough to allow the other two vampyres to load her onto a stretcher. Along with Neferet who walked beside her, she was carried away. We never saw from her again.
The lady vampyre stood up at that, her long maroon dress of velvet stained with fresh blood. Addressing us, she spoke, her voice richly accented – British, but not, Italian, but not so. "Dear fledglings," she said, her dark skin shining mahogany in the gas lamps, "while a fledgling has rejected the Change, I ask that you not bereave for her death. She is with the Goddess now, and staying in her fields. Her life here may have ended, but she is in a better place.
"While this is true, please remember that this could happen to any of you. It may be in three years' time, or during the next few months, but it is inevitable. It is a fact of your lives as fledglings that you will have to accept. Only nine in ten of you here today will make the Change, while the rest will be called to Nyx's side much earlier.
"Indeed. Do show appreciation for her short life here, but do not tarry: You cannot change what has already been written by the Goddess, and nor can you by dwelling on this."
With nothing more to say, she left.
Looking around at the fledglings, I saw that they were looking at each other too, some with grief, and some with guilt. Not one of them didn't seem affected by the sudden death of their classmate, not even Zoey, who probably understood the ways of their Nyx better than the rest of us.
As I looked at the stain of red on the sawdust floor, the print of the fledgling's body marked yellow in the centre, I couldn't help but feel the prickle of eyes on my back. Looking around, I found that the whole class, even Lenobia, was looking at me, assessing my lack of tears or symptoms of the usual post-death shock.
A girl I didn't know, her name whom I later found out to be Rebecca, came to my side, a hand on my arm. "Are you okay?" she asked, her voice nothing but a whisper, in respect for the dead, "This must be really hard for you – you've only been here a day, and already someone's died."
"No," I answered, my voice as steady and calm as it always had been, "I'm fine, really."
"You don't need to put up a front," said Drew, his eyes red, and threatening to spill over with tears, "everyone has to see this. You just had to see it on your first day."
"Honestly," I said, barely giving them time to cut in, "I'm fine. This doesn't bother me, I'll manage." With that, I made to turn away, to find a shovel or a rake to clean away the bloody sawdust from the ground.
They wouldn't let me. Rebecca grabbed hold of my arm tight, not letting me go. "What do you mean, this doesn't bother you?" her voice was harsher now, bordering hysterical, "Are you happy that Diana's dead? Is it because she didn't like you?"
"No, it's-" I began, but then I caught myself. "Her name was Diana? I didn't know that."
Rebecca puffed in deeply, angry. "Don't you care?" she yelled.
"Yeah," said another girl. Amanda, her name was, "what's wrong with you? What are you, some sorta psychopath?" \the fledglings, ignoring the stain, began crowding around me, grief turning them savage as they yelled rallying calls against me, Lenobia nowhere to be seen. I was sure they would've killed me for my insolence here and now, had Zoey not stepped between them.
"Please!" she said, her hands spread out, "This is Light's first day. Can't you just give him a chance? You don't know how he deals with this sorta thing – don't be so quick to judge! This is only the first one he's seen!"
"Yeah," said Amanda, "whatever. Are you gonna defend that psycho? He's probably so used to seeing blood that he dyed his hair the same colour just to have it around all the time! He should be locked up, the creep!"
"But, but," Zoey didn't know how to follow that up, by the sound of her voice. She would've struggled for a while with stringing a sentence together, had I not said anything.
"No, Zoey, she's right." I said, putting a hand on her shoulder. Zoey turned to look at me, as did the others, too surprised at my admittance.
"What?" Zoey's voice was quiet, disbelieving.
"It's true; I've seen this too often to be shocked by it anymore. It really doesn't bother me. Yes, I probably am a psychopath, yes, I probably should be locked up, but honestly, I don't care. You can say what you like about me; it won't change what just happened."
"And what's that?" Amanda asked, "Another day at the office for Light Asahi, the Japanese serial killer?"
I found it hard not to smile at the irony of those words, and yet I persevered, continuing my statement. "No, what I meant was that, five minutes ago, someone rejected the Change. It could happen to you, to me, even to Zoey, so you should deal with it. Move on with your life. You can't change it any more than Diana or even Nyx can. It's a natural process, so why treat it any differently than the others?"
"Oh," asked Drew, "so Diana's an 'it' now?"
"No, but she's not anything else. Diana's gone now, and her body's empty. You can't change that, so accept it." Taking the mucking boots off, I left them where they dropped and, with my shoes, I walked away, shaking off their attempts to restrain me.
Ignoring the sticky feeling of congealing blood on my socks as I walked through the stain, I turned to see them again, not stopping. "I already have." Leaving the scene of a girl's death, that was the last thing I said on the matter.
As I made my way out of the field house and back to the boys' dorm via the path, tracking red prints into the paving and unable to feel the cold of the ground against my soles, I searched my mind, looking for signs of sadness, regret, anything that said I was at all sorry for Diana's passing. Without even a flinch of disgust or shock, I found the answer, pure and simple.
There was nothing. Nothing at all.
Another short one, I'm afraid, but this is another chapter that I liked writing. It's a bit of a continuation of 'Enraged', in my opinion, and it's just quite cool. I really don't have a lot to say at all, so just take this as it is, since I've given you three chapter in two days.
Until next time,
Thank you and please R&R,
Ruin Takada XXX
