Hey guys! So I realized it's been a month since the last update, but the delay can be summed up in one word: school. School work comes before fun work, unfortunately. I'm writing whenever I can.
I have Good News though! So, I have no idea how many people check an author's profile for updates, but if any of you care to check, there are five "little" surprises in-progress.
Notes - So if you do simple math, Dickson is "twenty" while Dunban and Mumkhar are four. If Dickson seems a little more... "immature" at some points, it was completely intentional. Also, I'm not around kids a lot, so I kinda just winged their perspective. I know four year olds aren't stupid; they just see the world differently from adults (as Jean Piaget proved). It's not going to be perfect, but yeah.
PerfectFlyer: I really liked writing Reyn. He's a character I can dig deeply on. He's so much more than the comic relief of the story. You can't give up on life! You haven't gotten to chapter 8 yet ;) (But no, in all seriousness, it's okay if you haven't read chapter 8 fully yet. I understand. Just know that I kept most of the heavy stuff implied, or sort of glossed over it. It ends happily). Dickson is amazing. Thank you for reviewing!
OnePirate96: Gunblade! That's what it was called! Oh, I feel dumb now:) Yeah, Dickson got the short end of the stick, didn't he? As for Fiora's score, let me just say that in the game, there's a small tidbit that says Fiora was considered for the Defense Force as well. I'll let that spark your imagination. Thank you for the review!
Glassdrop: I have no doubt I would've failed too. Let's fail together!:) Reyn does have his deep moments. I wish I could update more often, but school comes first. Thanks for the review!
little miss saigon: I was taking a risk doing the montage/stream of consciousness, but I'm glad it worked! Thanks for the review!
Xervail: No, no, it's okay. I like long reviews:) I'm glad you're having so many "my favorite" moments (speaking of which, I'm going to have so many "I'm glad" moments by the end of this, aren't I?). At some point, when we get further in, maybe I'll ask what everyone's top 5 are. I'm glad it's relatable. I felt like a weight had been lifted when I wrote that. I would probably be more of Shulk too, but I have also been in Reyn's spot before. I didn't even know about those heart-to-hearts, so thank you for telling me! When you wrote that Dickson had his own point on your list, I started laughing really hard. Of course Dickson gets his own bullet point. Ha! And you wrote a list for this? I feel warm and fuzzy at that. Oh! And I shall attempt to bring the detail! Some of these one-shots might still be short, but I try to make every word count. Thank you for reviewing!
Guest: I'm not sure what you're referring to.
SuperCalebX: I'm glad you laughed. I try varying the humor when the situation calls for it. And Egil x Shulk will so be a thing! Eventually... I have evil plans for those two. Thanks for the Follow and the review!
SubZeroChimera: Dickson is surprisingly easy and quite fun to write. I don't know what that says about me as a person, but yeah! :) Shulk and Egil interactions are the best interactions. Thank you so much for the Favorite and Follows. And thank you for the review!
MysteriousGreek2345: YAY! I'm corrupting people! Mwhahahaha! I'm rolling around so happy that you like the series so far. Don't worry, I have A LOT of prompts to go, so you'll have more:) Thanks for the review and the Favorites.
And thank you KittenMacha, P.T. Piranha, JustAReader240, theunspokenprophet, Button Masher Pot Smasher, and ColetteJH for the Favorites and/or Follows!
Enjoy!
978. Kindergarten (Dunban, Dickson, and Mumkhar)
"Have you lost your mind?!" the screech echoed off the walls.
Dickson put a pinky in his ear in an attempt to stop the ringing. It didn't help. Sighing, he kicked his feet up on the principal's mahogany desk, crossed his legs at the ankles, and watched the exchange. He grinned at the irate woman, strands of brown curls coming out of her normally neat bun, hands placed on her hips as she glowered. "I don't think the people in Colony 6 quite heard that. Care to repeat it?"
The frazzled woman shot him a glare. "You be quiet!" she snapped, pale green eyes scorching. Dickson admired them for the brief second they met his. It was a pity glasses hid them, the light overhead bouncing off the lenses.
"Ms. Grayson, please."
Burning eyes returned to their original target. Ms. Grayson huffed, "Principal Wells, with all due respect, I have every right to be concerned!"
"Be as that may-,"
"So you admit it!"
"Ms. Grayson!"
"Jeez, what's got your panties in a twist?" Dickson muttered, tipping back his chair so it stood on two legs.
"Excuse me?!" she hissed, shooting him another venomous glare. A slow smirk tugged one corner of his lips up; Dickson was amused. He could feel the lazy pump of blood in his veins pick up the slack; this was a fight he could enjoy. Wetting his bottom lip, Dickson answered the scowl with a challenging stare.
Green eyes faltered, no doubt catching the brief feral slip. Then they hardened.
"Principal Wells," she gritted out, never taking her eyes off what she perceived as the threat in the room. Smart woman. "I really don't think this man," it was spat out like a curse, "is qualified to substitute for kindergarteners."
"Aw, that hurts right here," Dickson whined, placing his hand over his heart dramatically.
"Good."
"You're a real piece of-,"
"Dickson!" the principal snapped.
Dickson rolled his eyes, and broke the staring contest first, turning towards the middle-aged man. He held his hands up defensively. "I was going to say 'work'."
Wells closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dickson mentally cheered. He was going to do shots when he got home. The count was how many times he could annoy someone. It was hardly 8 AM, and his shot count was currently well into the twenties. Not too shabby.
Getting wasted was definitely on his schedule.
He couldn't wait.
"Regardless," the principal said, "Dickson is a fine soldier of the Defense Force; he's the perfect candidate for watching your class for the field trip coming up." Wells paused uncomfortably, clearly sensing the female rage building. "He was also the only one available."
"Don't you feel the luck?" Dickson drawled. He didn't want to be stuck babysitting brats any more than Grayson wanted him to substitute. Nevertheless, it was endlessly amusing to see how many buttons he could press without getting maimed.
Grayson looked torn. She took a deep breath and let it out shakily. "I don't have to visit my mother just yet. I can wait a few days until someone better suited is found."
The principal's eyes softened; Dickson was going to hurl from the mush.
"Ms. Grayson, this arrangement is only for two days. You are one of the most hardworking individuals in the building, and I can tell your students adore you. But even the toughest person needs a break from time to time. Go visit your mother."
"But-"
Wells held up a hand. "If it makes you feel better, I'll check in on your class every once in a while."
"Alright…" the tone was highly reluctant.
"Don't I get a say in this?" Dickson asked, raising his hand mockingly.
"No!" they both barked in unison.
He slumped in his chair. "So much for democracy."
Something slammed onto the desk, startling Dickson awake. "Huh? Wha?"
"No sleeping on the job."
"The tykes don't even show up for another half-hour," he whined, "Have mercy, woman." He eyed the stack of files that so rudely interrupted his snooze. "What are those?"
"I've compiled profiles for every student in my class."
Dickson stared. "I suddenly understand why you need this vacation."
"Oh, shut up," Grayson huffed, "It's mainly for making sure you don't accidentally poison my students during snack time. Some of them are allergic to peanuts, so you'll have to make sure there are no mistakes from the cafeteria. Cindy and Josh have trouble tying their shoes. Caiden will need to go down to the nurse for his medication. This is-,"
"-Going in one ear and out the other." Dickson sifted through the files. One caught his attention. "What kind of name is 'Dunban'?"
The file was taken out of his hands and flipped open. Big brown eyes stared owlishly, lips curled in the beginnings of a smile; Dickson surmised this photo was taken by surprise. Tousled brown locks fell loosely around the kid's face, framing it.
He was going to be quite the looker when he grew up and lost all that baby fat; Dickson could tell.
"Dunban is the classroom sweetheart. He won't give you any trouble. In fact, he'll probably try to help."
"Great." Whatever took the load off his back was welcome to it.
Grayson closed the file and set it to the side. "One more thing before I leave."
"Hmm?" Dickson wasn't really listening.
The files were pushed to the side. Hands planted firmly on the desk, Grayson leaned forward and murmured, "If I find out about any incident involving my students, I will make your life hell."
Dickson clucked his tongue and wagged his finger. "A kindergarten teacher shouldn't curse. What if the kids pick it up?" he asked mockingly.
"I'm more worried what they'll catch from you!"
"I'm clean as can be, sweet cheeks."
"That's not what I meant! And don't call me 'sweet cheeks'!"
"What are you going to do about it?" he drawled, leaning back in the chair. He watched in fascination as Grayson's pale eyes burned angrily, a hot flush on her cheeks. Then abruptly, they calmed, the raging inferno contained behind cool green glass.
She spoke slowly and clearly, "If my students have been corrupted in any way, shape, or form, or if you call me 'sweet cheeks' again, I will disembowel you with a pair of knitting needles."
Once again, he found himself staring. "Is that even possible?"
Grayson smiled sweetly, tilting her head. "Would you like to find out?"
"You make a compelling argument."
"I thought so."
Several pairs of eyes stared at him, some curious, some bored, some confused. Dickson stared back warily.
Principal Wells cleared his throat. "Children, this is Dickson. He will be substituting for Ms. Grayson. I expect you all," he glanced pointedly at Dickson, "to be on your best behavior."
"Yes, Principal Wells," the class chorused.
The principal raised a brow at him. Dickson rolled his eyes. The principal glared. Dickson sighed in exasperation, resisting the urge to throw up his hands.
"Yes, Principal Wells," he muttered.
The minute the older man turned his back, Dickson made a face, sticking out his tongue.
Some of the kids giggled.
He was the picture of innocence when the principal looked over his shoulder. It was Wells' turn to sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Best behavior," he repeated, walking out of the room.
Right…. Dickson rolled his eyes again, using his hand to crack his neck.
There was a brief pause as adult and children eyed each other. Then a little girl with blonde pigtails raised her hand. "Do you like turtles, Mr. Dickson?"
What?
Before he opened his mouth, before he even processed the random question, a boy cried out, "Turtles are stupid and slow."
"You're stupid and slow!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
"Am not!"
"Are too!"
Another girl, brunette and freckly, leaned over to her friend. "What does substitute mean?"
Her friend replied sadly, "It means he's replacing her."
"Ms. Grayson isn't coming back?!" the brunette gasped, eyes welling up with tears.
"I don't think so, Amy."
"But I like Ms. Grayson," Amy wailed.
From there, the whole room dissolved into chaos. Dickson's jaw slowly dropped. Normally, he thrived on chaos, especially if he was the one who started things. This time, he hadn't started anything and this chaos was headache-inducing.
A particularly loud sob made his shoulders tense, left eye twitching.
Through all the turmoil, he noticed the eye of the storm. Dunban sat quietly on the alphabetical carpet, calmly observing his classmates.
Wells burst through the door. "What is all the commotion?" he snapped, "Dickson!"
"For once, I didn't do it!" Dickson snapped back, digging his fingernails into the palms of his hands.
"Then how do you explain this?!"
"Demonic four year olds!"
"You should know better-"
Dickson wasn't paying attention. He watched from the corner of his eye as Dunban crawled between his classmates, shushing them. In Amy's case, he stroked the girl's hair until she stopped crying hysterically and dwindled into sniffles.
Dickson started forward, wrenching his arm away when Wells made a grab for him, and crouched in front of them. He fished a handkerchief –more like a rag- out of his pocket, and deposited on the girl's lap. "Look kid," he started, and then raised his voice so everyone could hear him, "I ain't replacing your teacher, and I sure as heck don't want to either. Grayson can keep you lot."
"It's Ms. Grayson," Dunban corrected with narrowed eyes as Amy blew her nose loudly.
"Yeah, yeah," he waved the short stack off. He grimaced when Amy tried handing the rag back and shook his head. "Just throw it away."
"O-okay," she mumbled, scurrying off.
"Kid," Dickson prompted, turning to Dunban.
"My name is Dunban!" the boy flared.
Dickson didn't blink though his head tilted ever-so-slightly back. "What are you guys working on this week?"
"We're making scrapbooks," another boy piped up before Dunban could respond.
"It should be in the lesson plans on her desk," Dunban added, "Duh."
Dickson raised a brow, hearing a distinct snicker behind him. He stood up, towering over the kid. "Go find the lesson plan for me." There was a tiny frown on Dunban's face, but he complied. Dickson looked over the small crowd of kids. "Well? What are you waiting for?"
"Directions," Dunban's voice was muffled behind the desk.
Dickson twitched. "Yes, well, you all sit tight while I have a word with my esteemed colleague," he said, dragging Wells out into the hall. He rounded on the older man. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
The principal failed miserably at hiding a grin. "Seeing you get snubbed by a four-year old? I don't know what you mean." He clapped the blonde on the shoulder heartily. "Cheer up, Dickson. I'm sure you'll find your place soon enough."
"In the ground six feet under," he muttered.
The classroom door clicked open. Dunban walked out, a piece of paper in his hand. He pushed it into Dickson's hands. "Here you go. It's not that long, so it shouldn't be hard to read." He smiled at the principal and waved. "Have a nice day, Principal Wells," he said before he went back into the classroom, shutting the door behind him.
Dickson stared. "Did he just help and insult me at the same time?"
Wells laughed. "Looks like you've found your match."
For once, he didn't respond.
Classroom sweetheart, my ass.
It wasn't even mid-day, and Dickson was ready to tear out his hair.
The brats were out to get him.
As soon as the principal left, angel halos were all but thrown off; devil horns were put on. Amy, despite his reassurance, still sniffled every now and again. One boy decided to paint on himself what a rainbow looked like in a puddle. The same boy had to go to the nurse to get his daily medication, and Dickson had gotten an earful about the dangers of paint ("Far be it from me to prevent creativity!" he'd retorted defensively). Another boy had to go to the bathroom hourly, claiming that his butt was sick and had to throw up. Meanwhile, Dunban and a couple others colored, talking amongst themselves.
Dickson was pretty sure the kid was orchestrating the entire rebellion. It was equally impressive as it was annoying. He was also sure Grayson had poised them against him beforehand. It wouldn't be surprising.
Someone knocked on the door; Dickson looked up as the Wells popped his head in, face grim. He crooked his fingers in a come here now. Dickson groaned in exaggeration, thumping his head on the desk before standing and heading for the door.
"What do you want?" he grumped.
The principal looked just as reluctant, but gestured behind him. "Dickson, I'd like to introduce you to-"
Dickson interrupted, "If it's another munchkin coming in late, I don't want it." He crossed his arms forcibly and scowled.
Wells took no notice and continued speaking. "-to our new student, Mumkhar."
"Where is he?"
Wells looked down, then behind. He spat a word that made Dickson actually glad for shutting the door behind him. He raised a brow. The principal had the decency to look embarrassed. "He's tried running away twice."
A second eyebrow joined its twin. "Are we running a prison now?"
"Dickson!" the older man snapped. "I have no patience for your antics at this moment. The boy is in no condition to-"
"Alright, alright," Dickson waved his hands dismissively. "Don't get your panties in a twist. I'll find the tyke and bring him back."
"You don't even know what he looks like!"
"I'll make an educated guess."
"And you're supposed to be substituting!"
Dickson glanced through the door window. "I think you'll have more luck reining them in. Just be careful not to get caught in the glitter warfare."
Red gathered in the older man's face and his eyes narrowed to slits as he strode into the classroom purposely. Dickson snorted, hands shoved in his pant pockets. He strolled away, feeling smug and a bit vindicated.
He had a brat to catch.
Sunlight smoothed its calloused palm over his face as Dickson stepped out of the school building. A light breeze alleviated the heat for a brief, fleeting second. Sighing, he readjusted his bandana, and continued walking. He didn't need to look far.
At the gate, a tiny figure stood alone, a lost and confused air about him. Dickson approached silently.
The young boy wore a green winter coat that he must have been dying in and a dark blue backpack. His ratty dark hair was matted, and he clutched some sort of lump to his chest.
"Oi, kid!"
Small, petrified dark eyes flitted up, but oddly, the kid didn't make a break for it, only huddled closer to the bars of the gate. Dickson leaned on the wall next to it, and thought about how to approach this. Although the idea of throwing the kid over his shoulder, and carrying him back was appealing, the look he had gotten made him pause and reconsider. It wouldn't do if kid started screaming, and someone thought a kidnapping was happening.
Dickson slid down the wall until he sat on the ground, and patted his pockets for a cigarette. "You're not the only one who wants to go home." Eyes watched as he lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply in bliss. Dickson shook his head and whispered conspiratorially, "I don't blame you for wanting to run away."
The boy had yet to say anything, so Dickson settled back to watch a stray cloud passing overhead. Silence was a welcome change from the cacophony inside. "Name's Dickson," he offered lazily. "What's yours?" He didn't expect a response, and he didn't get one.
There was a pause.
"My dad smoked," a tiny voice shared.
"Hmm?" Dickson glanced over to see the boy looking at him shyly.
The boy nodded. "Yep, he'd do it all the time in the house. Mum didn't like it."
He grinned. "Did she make him quit?"
"No." A frown appeared on narrow features. Features that were a little too gaunt…
"Did he quit all by himself?"
"No," the boy said again, turning away. "The monsters ate him before he could."
Cold washed into Dickson though he kept a calm exterior. "Where are you from?"
"Colony 1."
The same colony that had been crushed by the Mechon months ago; its people forced to migrate from colony to colony, searching for a new home. It looked like the kid's mother wasn't taking any chances, coming all the way down here instead of opting for Colony 2 or 3.
"Are you a soldier?" the kid was asking.
Dickson banished his current train of thought to focus on the present. "I am."
"Do you fight monsters?"
"I do." Including demonic four year olds currently pelting arts and crafts at each other.
"Good." The kid nodded to himself.
"What's that you got there?" Dickson gestured to the lump he cradled. He was presented with a stuffed dog that had clearly seen better days. One button eye was dangling loosely, and fluff poked out of a tear in the cloth.
"Her name is Mindy."
"It's nice to meet you Mindy," he said solemnly, hand over his heart. The boy giggled. Dickson pointed an accusatory finger at him. "You never gave me your name."
"Mumkhar."
"Well, Mumkhar," Dickson said as he stood and brushed off his pants, "Are you ready to go to class?"
Just like that, the boy's expression shuttered, and he turned away. "I don't have friends here. They're all at home, but there is no home."
Dickson crushed his cigarette with the heel of his boot, and offered a hand. "Think of this place as a home away from home."
Mumkhar looked at the hand. Then, hesitantly, he took it.
Dunban wasn't in the best of moods. A frown marred his face as Principal Wells scolded them all for wasting art supplies. Their recess had been taken away as punishment, and it wasn't fair! Not everyone (including himself) threw stuff. Ms. Grayson would've understood that. The frown deepened. He missed Ms. Grayson, and resented Dickson for replacing her even temporarily.
"…very disappointed in you all," Principal Wells finished with flourish as the door opened. Everyone turned to look.
The blonde man sauntered in. "I found him."
The principal's eyes narrowed. "Why do you smell like C-I-G-A-R-E-T-T-E-S?"
"You stick me in a room of kids barely able to tie their shoes, and not expect me to pop one?" Dickson snorted. "I don't know what world you live in."
The two adults started arguing, but Dunban couldn't care less; his gaze was fixed on the boy shifting uncomfortably beside Dickson. Principal Wells grabbed Dickson by the collar, and dragged him out of the classroom, the door clinking shut ominously.
If the new kid seemed uncomfortable, he looked wary now, shoulders hunched defensively. Dunban opened his mouth, but Amy beat him to it. "Why are you wearing a coat? It's hot!"
The boy scowled. "None of your business," he muttered. He took in Amy's red eyes and asked, "Why are you crying, you baby?"
Amy wilted, lower lip wobbling.
Dunban got to his feet and crossed his arms. "Don't be so mean!"
"Don't tell me what to do!"
The boy mirrored his pose, which strangely annoyed Dunban. He was usually of "very calm temperament" Ms. Grayson had said once. He still didn't know what 'temperament' meant, but the boy in front of him definitely had a temper. And he was a copycat!
He opened his mouth to give the newcomer a stern talking to, but Dickson slammed the door back open, looking frazzled and angry. "All of you get back to work!" he barked. Everyone scrambled back to their seats, crayons scratching against paper. The new boy looked around, lost. "Mumkhar," Dickson sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He put a hand on this 'Mumkhar's' shoulder, and steered him around the tables.
Heading straight for Dunban's table. Dunban tried to think of a reason why the chair next to him couldn't be used, but it was too late, and Mumkhar was plopped into the chair. "You can sit next to Dunban," Dickson said. "Apparently he's the classroom 'sweetheart' or so I've been told." Dunban narrowed his eyes at the blonde man, heat flushing into his cheeks when Mumkhar snorted.
"You all are coloring for the rest of the day," Dickson announced, collapsing into the teacher's seat.
"Are you okay, Mr. Dickson?" Amy ventured.
Their substitute teacher looked up tiredly. "I just want to go home," he grumbled, fingers drumming on the desk.
"Don't you like us?" her voice became small. Dickson only groaned, and buried his face back in arms.
"It's because he has to fight monsters all the time, stupid!" Mumkhar cut in. "Of course he's tired!"
The classroom swelled with voices, each one trying to talk over the others.
"You fight monsters?!"
"That's so cool!"
"What's the biggest monster you've taken down, Mr. Dickson?"
"Alright, alright!" Dickson held out his hands defensively. "Tell you what, I'll tell stories after you do whatever it is Grayson-" ("Ms. Grayson!" Dunban snapped. His outburst was ignored.) "-wanted you to do. Deal?"
"Deal!" the rest of the class chorused.
His crayon broke.
Dunban cast his eyes around searchingly. Spotting a yellow crayon, he reached over, but it was snatched away. Frowning, he briefly locked eyes with Mumkhar before the other turned away to use the crayon. Dunban waited patiently. After a moment, Mumkhar set the crayon down on his other side, and reached for another. "May I use the yellow?" he asked politely. Mum always said being polite would go a long way rather than simply demanding.
"I'm using it," Mumkhar replied, reaching for the green.
Brown eyes narrowed. "No, you're not!"
"Yes I am."
"Nuh uh!"
"Uh huh!"
"Nuh uh!" Dunban reached for the crayon.
"Uh huh!" Mumkhar shoved his hand away, and held the crayon out of reach.
A shadow loomed over them both before they could finish their battle of wills. The yellow was plucked out of Mumkhar's grip. "Mine now," Dickson stated, tucking the crayon into his pocket.
"But sharing is caring!" Dunban protested.
Dickson snorted. "Depends on what it is." He gave them the stink eye. "Do me and your classmates a favor, and quit yakking."
Mumkhar shot Dickson a betrayed look.
"You're mean," Dunban said without thinking.
The class went silent. But Dickson didn't start yelling, only raised a brow. "Yeah, kid, that's the burden I carry." He ruffled their hair. "Now," he said, looking around the room, "who wants to hear how I took on a horde of giant spiders?"
"You're a natural storyteller."
Dickson groaned; it was after hours, why couldn't he be left in peace? "Please tell me you've come here to give back my cigarettes."
"Nope!" Wells was annoyingly cheerful. "They're staying in my desk until tomorrow afternoon."
He let his head thump on the desk. "I hate kids," he muttered. "Let the stars be good, and never bestow one on me."
"I think you did pretty well for a first time substitute."
"Never again."
"You-"
"Nope!"
"I-"
"Not listening!"
"Dickson-"
"I refuse!"
"…you made up the story about the spiders, didn't you?"
Dickson barked a short laugh with little humor. You have no idea, little man.
Dunban was cross. He'd woken on the wrong side of the bed. The last of his favorite cereal had been eaten by his dad. When Dunban complained and whined, his mother had said in a singsong voice, "Looks like someone is C-R-A-B-B-Y today."
"I don't have crabs!" he'd snapped.
His dad had chortled. "I'd certainly hope not." The response baffled Dunban, but it had earned his father a slap on the arm from his mum.
He was in a somewhat better mood now. He traversed the halls to his classroom, trying to step only on the colored tiles that alternated on the floor. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad. The field trip to Cliff Lake was something he'd been looking forward to for a long time. Yes, he thought nodding. Nothing would ruin today.
He pushed open the door to his classroom.
Most of the kids were already sitting on the alphabetical carpet. Dickson was looking out the window, frowning. As he approached his usual place, Dunban froze. Scowling, he stomped over to the boy in his spot. "Mumkhar, get off my D!"
Dickson choked.
"I can sit on the D if I want to!"
Dunban stomped his foot. "No, you can't. It doesn't fit you!"
"What do you mean it doesn't 'fit'?!"
They were both distracted by a bang. They stared as Dickson roared with laughter, belly heaving, tears streaming from his eyes. His palm thumped the teacher's desk in a futile attempt to regain control, but it was a lost cause. "I. Take it. Back," he wheezed. "This job. Worth it. So worth it."
The class stared in wonder.
"I think we broke him," someone whispered.
Their substitute finally subsided into snickers. "On that note, let's get going. I ain't getting any younger."
"You're like a fossil," Dunban muttered.
"What was that?"
"Nothing!"
Dickson squinted at the lesson plan. Jeez, Grayson, could your cursive be any smaller?
The kids were getting antsy, he could tell that much. It was a beautiful day. The sun reflected off the lake invitingly. Rocky ledges rose to the sky, standing guard over the valley. What troublesome wind managed to sneak past made the long stalks of grass whistle and sing.
Meh, he thought, throwing the paper over his shoulder.
He'd wing it.
"Bring back three pieces of nature you can put in your scrapbook. It can be anything. Go crazy." He waved his hand dismissively. "Shoo."
Everyone practically sprinted away.
Dickson wandered over to the shade of a tree, and plopped down, rolling onto his back. There were patches of sunlight that broke through the shade. Reaching a hand up, he closed his hand, blocking out one such patch. But there were too many to catch, and Dickson let his arm flop back down listlessly. A lazy day like this reminded him of simpler days.
Simpler days brought back simple nostalgia, and he breathed deeply, reconstructing his original home in his mind's eye. It was such a comforting exercise that he never noticed his lids drooping and his breaths deepening.
"That's such a pretty leaf, Mumkhar!" Amy cooed.
Mumkhar grumbled inaudibly in reply.
Dunban looked up from his search for buried treasure and snickered. "It looks like a toilet."
"Says you!" Mumkhar snapped, clutching the leaf closer. He peered imperiously at Dunban's empty hands and scoffed. "At least I'm doing the assignment."
Dunban scowled, crossing his arms. "I want the best, nothing less."
"What's that supposed to mean?!"
"You-"
"Stop fighting!" Amy cried, hands tugging on her pigtails anxiously. "If you don't, I'll tell Mr. Dickson on you!"
Their mouths snapped shut though they still glowered at each other silently.
"I already know where to get the best treasure anyway," Dunban boasted.
"You're lying."
"No, I'm not."
"Prove it, then," Mumkhar said, crossing his arms.
"Follow me. My dad showed me this cool place one time."
"I don't know about this," Amy said doubtfully, staring into the mouth of the cave.
"It's perfectly safe. My dad says so, and he's a Defense Force soldier. That means he knows everything," Dunban replied, inching closer.
"Well go on then," Mumkhar said impatiently. "Go get that treasure!"
Dunban started forward confidently. He was two steps into the cave when something cold landed on his neck. Gasping, he slapped a hand over it, turning in a panicked circle. It took him a moment to realize it was only water dripping from the roof of the cave.
Heat sprang to his cheeks as he heard Mumkhar bust a gut laughing. "Scared of a little water?" he teased.
"I'd like to see you do better!" Dunban snapped, hands clenching into fists.
"Oh please…" Mumkhar rolled his eyes, but Dunban had caught the flicker of fear in muddy brown eyes.
"What are you, scared?" Dunban tossed the words right back.
"Of course not!"
"Then prove it!"
Mumkhar stormed into the cave until he was a pace further in than Dunban. "See?" he said, crossing his arms. "Nothing to it."
Dunban walked until he was a little further in than Mumkhar. "Doesn't seem like much," he drawled.
"Fine!" Mumkhar threw his hands into the air. "I'll go with you to find that so-called treasure. You'll need as much protection as possible."
"If anything, I'll be protecting you!"
"As if!"
"Guys, I really don't think this is a good idea. We could get in trouble," Amy said, chewing the ends of her pigtails.
"He never said we couldn't go here," Dunban tried reassuring her. When she still looked uncertain, he added, "You can keep watch."
"O-okay."
"C'mon, Mumkhar!" Dunban chirped, linking arms with the other boy and dragging him. "We gotta go find treasure!"
"Quit dragging me!"
Their arguing voices faded into echoing whispers that mixed with the ghostly wail the cave emitted all on its own. Amy shivered, and backed away. A drop landed on her head, startling her badly, and her head snapped toward the sky.
Dark gray clouds were rolling in overhead.
The sound of thunder shocked him awake.
Dickson shot up; his eyes were wild as they darted to and fro. There wasn't immediate monster danger, so he relaxed ever-so-slightly. The rain torrent was a problem; his sleepy mind tried telling him. The second clap of thunder motivated him into action.
He sprang up. Most of the kids had gathered under the trees where Dickson had been snoozing. Trees equaled bad shelter, especially with thunder and lightning. They wouldn't be staying out here. He gestured the kids over, and they scurried like frightened mice.
"Class!" he bellowed for the benefit of the stragglers. "Get your rumps over here now!"
The rest of the kids swarmed around him. Dickson attempted a head count, but the heavy curtain of rain didn't let him get far.
Someone took his hand. He looked down into Amy's pale face. Her lower lip trembled, and she mumbled something he couldn't hear over the thunder. She shook like a leaf in the wind, and it struck Dickson how fragile these brats were.
He closed his hand over hers, and squeezed reassuringly.
"Let's move!"
"So what exactly are we looking for?" Mumkhar asked to break the silence. The dark was getting to him; red eyes and mechanical monsters were going to pop out any moment. He shuddered, partly from the cold, dank air, and partly from fear. Picking up the pace, he resisted the urge to grab the back of the other boy's shirt to hold onto something attached to someone warm and alive. Dunban's voice floated back, sounding small in the cave's gigantic mouth.
"Treasure, duh."
"Yeah, but what kind of treasure?"
"Hmm…" Dunban abruptly stopped to think, causing Mumkhar to bump into him.
"Watch it-" Mumkhar began, snarling.
"I guess it could be anything," Dunban talked over him.
"So you don't have anything in mind?" he asked in disbelief.
Dunban shrugged. "My dad says treasure can be anything important to you. He always gives Mum this gross kiss after he says it too."
Mumkhar wrinkled his nose. "Gross," he agreed. There was a brief pause, which let his thoughts bounce around. What was important to him?
The cracked rough floor gave way to a sandy shore as the tunnel opened into a wide and domed area. Mumkhar guessed they were in the belly of the monster. He paused, hesitant to go further.
"What's wrong?" Dunban asked, looking back once he realized Mumkhar wasn't following.
Mumkhar bit his lower lip. "Nothing," he muttered, fiddling with his shirt.
"You look funny; are you sad?"
"No!"
"Are you scared?"
Mumkhar let his glare do the talking.
Dunban stared back, refusing to look away first. "Well?"
He looked down, lips twisting. Quietly, so very quietly, he whispered, "It's dark." He wasn't afraid, he wasn't afraid.
A hand grabbed his. "We can hold hands so we don't get lost," Dunban said seriously. He brightened. "Now let's go find treasure! I bet it's around here somewhere!" He dragged Mumkhar forward.
Mumkhar didn't protest. Instead, he held Dunban's hand tighter.
Dickson breathed a sigh of relief as he ushered his kids back into the classroom. He got towels from the closet, and passed them out, keeping one for himself. The naptime mats had been set out while they were gone. Dickson eyed the clock. Only forty more minutes of this, then he was home free.
He was drying his hair when he felt a tug on his sleeve. Amy looked up at him from beneath her bangs, eyes red-rimmed, and her towel dragged on the floor. Throwing his towel around his neck, Dickson reached for Amy's, and began drying her hair. "What's wrong?" he asked, surprising himself with the gentle tone. Amy opened her mouth, but only a squeak made it through as a lightning hit the ground right outside the window, followed by the loudest clap of thunder yet. "Is it the storm?"
Amy shook her head. "Dunban and Mumkhar," she mumbled.
Dickson narrowed his eyes, an odd feeling building in his gut. Turning his head sharply, he raked his eyes over the room, doing a mental head count.
Thirteen kids. Two missing.
He'd been wondering why things were so quiet.
"Amy," he said urgently. "Do you know where they are?"
The girl burst into tears.
There was no time. Dickson felt the minutes pick up the pace where they had been sluggish before. The clock ticked every second. His eye twitched.
He didn't want to be disemboweled by a pair of knitting needles.
Kneeling in front of her, Dickson placed both hands on her shoulders. He didn't yell, but kept his voice soft and firm. "Do you know where they are?"
Hiccuping, she nodded. "We wanted to find treasure, and Dunban said he knew where the best stuff was. He took me and Mumkhar to a cave."
The odd feeling turned icy. He exhaled to keep his composure; he had to make sure.
"Was this cave north?"
Amy gave him lost eyes. Dickson bit the inside of his cheek from impatience. Metallic filled his mouth. "Was the cave on the far side of the valley?" he clarified.
She nodded.
Damn it, damn it, damn it!
Shooting to his feet, he sprinted from the room. He passed Principal Wells in the hallway.
"Dickson, what on Bionis-?"
"Watch them!" he snarled, making sure his gunblade was strapped securely to his back.
"Where are you going?!"
"Hunting!"
"Look!" Dunban pointed with his free hand excitedly.
Mumkhar squinted. "What is it?"
"A stick!"
"A stick in a cave?" he asked doubtfully. They wandered closer. The stick in question was half-hidden by a couple of rocks, and embedded deep in the sand. It was dark brown with rings of yellow. "What kind of stick is it?"
"Probably a magic stick. I bet you could do lots of things with it."
Mumkhar poked it. It didn't feel like a stick.
"Let's pull it out." Dunban started tugging his hand away. Mumkhar held on tighter.
"You said we'd get lost if we didn't hold hands!"
"It'll only be a second."
Mumkhar shook his head furiously.
"Then what are we supposed to do?" Dunban asked angrily. "You just don't want me to have it for my scrapbook!"
"Nuh uh!"
"Uh huh!"
"No, I don't!" Mumkhar finally screamed. "I don't want your stupid stick; I don't want to be here; I want to go home!" He burst into tears.
Dunban stared wide-eyed. For a long time, Mumkhar's sobs were the only noise in the empty and uninviting cave. And despite being angry and frustrated, Mumkhar didn't let go of Dunban's hand.
"Stop staring at me!" he snapped/hiccuped.
Dunban hugged him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please don't be sad."
Mumkhar only cried harder. Dunban patted his head.
"We can share the stick," he offered brightly. "Then we can both have the bestest scrapbooks ever."
He could only nod mutely, tears quieting into sniffles.
Dunban continued, seeing that his words had effect, "Let's pull it out together!"
They each grabbed the stick with their free hands. Mumkhar adjusted his grip. "On three?" he whispered. Dunban nodded.
"One… two…"
The stick pulled itself from the ground, and other sticks popped from the sand to join it. Mumkhar looked, in dawning horror, up the leg he and Dunban were holding into yellow and orange eyes. Multiple eyes, four yellow, four orange.
Dunban screamed, and let go of the leg and Mumkhar's hand, scrambling backwards. Mumkhar was stuck in place; mouth opened slightly, eyes petrified, staring at the menacing pincers. It was… this was…
"Monster," he mumbled. His knees shook along with his breathing. "Monster, monster, monster…" Metal bodies, sharp claws, pinching, peeling, hurting…. He watched, transfixed on one of the pincers rising in slow motion.
The hood of his coat was grabbed, and he was yanked backwards. He fell on his back with an "Oomph!"
"C'mon!" Dunban was screaming. It pierced through the fog in his mind. "Run!"
Mumkhar scrambled to his feet.
They ran.
This was bad. This was really bad.
Rain pounded his head and shoulders, soaking his bandana and causing it to slip down his face. Dickson angrily ripped it off, and shoved it in his pocket. A knot was tightening in his chest that only had so much to do with heaving lungs and pumping limbs.
Snarling, he shoved the… the… feeling into a mental box that he hurled into the deep recesses of his mind. Succumbing to it was for the weak.
Like those two boys you forgot about… his subconscious whispered.
Dickson gritted his teeth, letting his anger and frustrations fuel his speed.
Out of all the places the brats could squeeze into, why did they pick the north cave?
The most trouble he'd been expecting today was Antols, but there had been no sign of them. They probably knew the storm was coming, and decided to stay indoors.
Their nest was in that north cave.
Their leader was the real threat. Remaining alive and enduring the multiple raids in its nest, it had grown into a Roguish Frengel.
Dunban and Mumkhar were in that pissed off Frengel's nest. His eyelid twitched.
When he got the two of them to safety, Dickson was going to ring their necks. Screw time outs.
Twin screams of terror propelled him even faster, and he unstrapped his gunblade in one fluid motion.
Mumkhar ran as fast as he could, but he still heard clacking of pincers and the scuttle of eight pointy legs right behind. His breathing wheezed in and out, one sob after another. Then the worst thing happened.
He tripped.
Crying out as his knee scraped against rough rock, Mumkhar tried crawling forward. A shadow fell over him, and he looked his shoulder into multiple eyes. He froze, trembling.
One pincer rose. He threw his arms up to protect his head.
The monster clicked furiously as a rock hit it in the face.
"Move!" Dunban cried out, throwing another rock. A pincer blocked it.
Mumkhar clambered to his feet, ignoring his small injury, and hurled himself clear. As he ran past Dunban, he grabbed the other boy's hand, and dragged him away.
The walls of the tunnel flew by as they ran.
Then they reached the entrance.
Through the scope of his gun, Dickson spotted two little figures burst from the cave entrance like demons were on their tail.
…That wasn't too far from the truth actually.
Antols didn't like the rain.
Their leader was clearly the exception. …Or it was too pissed to care.
It slid from the cave, big and brown and ugly as hell.
"Dunban! Mumkhar! Get down!" he roared as he fired. His bullet clipped off the body. It hissed angrily, looking around for its attacker. Dickson didn't give it a chance.
He tackled it.
Not the smartest move some people would say. Others would call it downright suicidal.
Dickson didn't care what other people thought.
He drove his elbows, feet, and fists anywhere he could reach. The pointy tip of a leg scratched his cheek. If he hadn't twisted his head away in time, that same leg would've impaled him. The Frengel managed to roll them, so it was on top. It raised its pincers for a killing blow-
-And exposed its weak underbelly in the process.
Dickson smirked.
Bingo.
He raised his gun, and fired until the damned thing fell dead.
On top of him.
Well, it could be worse. Breathing was overrated anyway.
"Whoa," Mumkhar murmured, watching Dickson push up, and retract his gun from the monster. "He's so strong!"
The blonde man turned, red dripping down his cheek, and started heading in their direction. The anger and the wildness in his eyes made Mumkhar shy away, gripping Dunban's arm reflexively. Dickson would attack them now, he thought fearfully, stepping behind his classmate. Dunban shot him a concerned glance, lips tugging into a frown. Concern gave way to understanding, then determination.
Dunban stepped forward. "I'm sorry, Dickson. This was all my fau-."
Heavy hands fell on their shoulders. "Are you hurt?" Dickson asked gruffly, giving each of them a once over.
Numbly, they shook their heads. Dickson released a small sigh, the tension in his stance relaxing; he returned to the man that had sat with him at the gate yesterday, and Mumkhar was relieved.
"Great," Dickson said, giving them a push. "Let's get moving."
"But you're bleeding," Dunban exclaimed, twisting away.
"Just a scratch, kid."
"But-"
"Move!"
They moved.
"I really misjudged you, Dickson," Ms. Grayson murmured, eyes roving the napping students.
Dickson shrugged, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. "S'okay." He was so tired, and sweat made his shirt cling to his back uncomfortably. He had just barely, barely beaten the clock. The moment they burst through the door, Dickson had shoved Dunban and Mumkhar in the direction of a sleeping mat in the corner, and ordered them to close their eyes and shut their traps.
"But we don't have traps," Dunban had protested. Luckily, Mumkhar had read the tension in Dickson, saw that he wasn't amused, and had promptly dragged Dunban away.
Smart kid. Dickson would slip him a second cookie when they "woke up" for snack time.
"It's not okay," Ms. Grayson argued, "You did as well as any substitute teacher if not better; the children love you."
"Meh," Dickson grumbled. He should've been soaking up the praise like he was prone to do, but all he wanted to do at that moment was to grab a cigarette and nap like his life depended on it. Kids were draining. Who knew?
"I'm sorry."
His head snapped up. "What?"
"I'm sorry," she repeated, looking off to the side, "I was wrong about you."
From what he could see of her profile, a rosy flush crept up her neck to her cheeks. This was a woman who never failed to rise up and challenge him, pointing out his flaws at every turn. Yet here she was now, eyes locked to the floor, uncomfortably shifting from foot to foot. Dickson should've been rejoicing for making his enemy crumble and admit defeat.
There were a lot of things he should've been doing.
Instead, he leaned back on his hands, and stared out of the far window. The heavy gray clouds were receding, the sun playing peek-a-boo through the openings.
Once, he told himself, just this once.
"I'm sorry too," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, "I know I haven't made things the easiest for you." His head rolled back, and caught her eyes staring at him in disbelief and a flash of something unreadable. "Truce?" he offered.
"Truce," she agreed. Ms. Grayson held out her hand, expression wry. "I think we got off on the wrong foot."
Dickson snorted, "That's the understatement of the century." He took her hand for a firm shake, none of that hand kissing crap. "Dickson."
"Sofia," she said warmly.
The dim classroom lit up as shafts of sunlight shot through, bouncing off the walls. Sofia's face was caught in the glow, features soft and highlighted. There were gold flecks in those hidden green eyes that he'd never noticed before. He was also achingly aware of her warm, firm hand.
Dickson swallowed dryly.
He wanted.
But this was neither the place, nor the time. He decided to take a page out of Dunban's book.
"We should sweeten this truce," he mused, grinning widely.
Sofia's warm look switched one of wariness. "Which would involve-?"
Dickson looked through the hole in his crossed legs to make sure he was sitting on the correct letter. Yep.
He slowly looked back up, and snickered, "How would you like to seal the deal by sharing my D?"
A pencil to the forehead answered his question.
Dunban observed the two adults contemplatively. He reached behind him to nudge Mumkhar. The other boy didn't respond, only snorted and moved away. "Mumkhar!" Dunban whispered, rolling over and grasping his arm urgently, "I gotta tell you something."
"Can't it wait until after naptime?"
"No! It's really important. Please?"
Mumkhar rolled over so they were each lying on their sides facing one another. He scratched his cheek, yawning as his elbow cushioned his head. "What is it?"
Brown eyes stared soulfully into their muddier counterpart. Dunban spoke slowly as if pronouncing a solemn prophecy, "We can share my D."
Mumkhar's eyes narrowed, flitting up to look past Dunban's shoulder. There was a brief pause that felt like millions of years to Dunban. He shifted impatiently before demanding, "Well?"
The other boy finally looked at him again, the beginnings of a smile on his face. "Can I throw stuff at you too?"
Dunban couldn't resist looking. Ms. Grayson was silently and steadily chucking the pens on her desk at Dickson who had his arms raised protectively, grinning ear-to-ear. He mouthed mystery words that made her flush deep red, eyebrow twitching.
Dunban turned back. "Can we skip that part?"
Mumkhar shook his head.
"Please?"
"…"
"Pretty please?"
"…"
"I'll give you half of my chocolate chip cookie during snack time."
"I don't want your cookies."
"I'll push you on the swing."
"I don't want that either."
"Then what do you want?" Dunban asked, frustrated. Why did Mumkhar have to be so contrary all the time? Why couldn't he just agree?
"I want a promise."
His anger drained out, replaced by interest. "What sort of promise?"
"A pinky promise."
Dunban's interest spiked. Pinky promises were sacred promises; only close friends used those. He smiled.
He had a new friend now.
"Okay, what do you want to promise?" he asked.
Mumkhar fell silent, eyes dropping. He fiddled with their shared sleeping mat, making finger indentations and watching them inflate again. Taking a deep breath, he mumbled something under his breath.
"What?" Dunban leaned in closer.
Mumkhar sniffled, taking Dunban by surprise. "If we're friends now, you have to promise you won't leave," his voice was breathy and barely audible, yet carried an intense undertone. "If you do, I won't forgive you." He could feel the other boy's stare. Mumkhar shut his eyes, squeezing his hands into fists and crossed his arms. Face heating up, he withdrew into himself and shrunk into the mat.
What a stupid thing to ask for. Dunban wouldn't want to be his friend. They argued too much, and Dunban probably hated him. He…
A hand tugged on his arm. "How am I supposed to pinky promise if you don't give me your hand?"
His eyes flew open. "You'll do it?" Mumkhar asked in disbelief.
Dunban's brown eyes were confused, "Of course I will! We're friends." He held out his pinky finger. As Mumkhar stared at him, lips parted, Dunban was suddenly unsure. "We are friends, aren't we?"
Mumkhar's own pinky shot out, and wrapped around the offered finger before it was taken away. The lump in his throat wouldn't let him speak, so he nodded his head.
Dunban's smile lit up the room.
"I promise."