JunAegileus777: Here I am! I'm sorry, everyone, I'm so late! I had to grind the last bits of PoA outta mah brain. Now, I can focus on MonCor again. There's been a slight change in pace: There will be four "Arcs" instead of three, now. I'll treat this quartet like a four-part progression into the heart of Book I's storyline...as well as to hint at some future cameos. Also...
WARNING: Graphic language and ideologically sensitive subjects ahead.
CONTINUE AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Mon Coryphée
Book I, Mes Larmes
"Épisode IX" - Deuxième Arc
All Saints' Day was already a couple weeks back. November was a cold, hectic month for Wilhelmshaven Performing Arts Academy. Snow had yet to fall, and even if it did it couldn't detract anyone in the Fine Arts Sector. Not even Amy Rose. She wasn't a Fine Arts student, but in order to win Wave the Swallow over as the Print Press's "Proxy-Manager," Amy Rose had to enliven the young minds that were coming in that day. Near first semester's end, Wilhelmshaven's High School Division invited both its underling schools to an open house. On that day, Primary Division students were its first guests. Well-mannered and starry-eyed, schoolchildren from ages seven to ten were led into the vast foyer. There, waiting at the marble desk, Amy Rose waved at the children. As her trusty sidekicks, Tails Prower, Charmy Bee, and Director Vector were there, too.
First on the agenda was an introductory performance. The Primary Division students were introduced to the Comedic Muse, Thalia, and the Tragic Muse, Melpomene. Cream the Rabbit happened to be present, and was beheld by the sight of the White Rabbit perched on top of the White Wolf's head. Something about Thalia's blossom nibbling and Melpomene's indifference made Cream giggle. A cute little rabbit herself, the fieldtrip called for Cream to wear her school uniform. A tad different from the jumper-dress Amy wore, Cream's purple plaid skirt swished with her playful skips. The sleeves under her coat were much like Amy's, too, but they and her neck ribbon were a lot puffier in comparison. Twin sugar-plum fairy ribbons adorned her ears.
Entranced thoroughly, she and her classmates watched Wilhelmshaven Academy's Prima Ballerina, Blaze the Cat, move to a magical piano ballad. Relatively short in length, the feline's balletic movements were in total sync with the soft tinkling. Once it was over, a grandly gracious curtsy preceded the curtain call.
Through the day, Amy, Tails, Charmy, and Vector alternated tour routes. Tails was lucky enough to show the schoolchildren the Library and the Student Council room; at that time, the latter couldn't be accessed because a presentation was being given by his fellow Councilmen. Amy guided them down the Gulden Corridor, housing the Science Wing, where Chemistry labs and Biology specimens could be shown. With a sudden avidness, Amy went on to explain some assignments she herself had finished. However, a few kids expressed their boredom a bit too blatantly. Gritting her teeth at a snarky boy's remark, she huffed some steam out of her ears before spinning on a ball and pressing on. Once back on the first floor, Vector and Charmy teamed up to show their guests Urania's Conservatory and the Cafeteria. After snagging snacks for the kids, Vector led everyone outside. Chilled to the bone, Vector envied the mostly mammalian children and their stylish winter coats. He sneezed quite a bit as they paraded around the Administration Building to enter through the Rialto Corridor's main doors. His shivering and sneezing amused the kids, as well as Charmy. The bee's shenanigans caused uproars from both the "Boss" and the children.
Last but not least was the Gymnasium. Apart from Orchestra, Choir, and other Arts Foci, the High School also held classic sports. Archery was considered the most classic of them all, but other minor sports were growing in popularity due to recent times. Track & Field was one of them, and others were swimming and fencing. But a branch of the Band Focus had started to bud.
"Thanks to a certain someone, we'd like to introduce you guys to the newest craze. Unlike any band geek you've ever seen, this little lady's the spearhead to Wilhelmshaven Academy's brand-spankin'-new drum line! If you'd be so kind as to oblige us—by introducing yourselves?" Vector wiggled his eyebrows at the apparent authoritative figure.
In brand-new uniforms specifically designed for her members, Shade the Echidna and six other Corpsmen were ready to march. After a moment's worth of decoding Vector's eyebrow-wiggling, the eighteen-year-old huffed coldly but bowed courteously. At full attention, the six crewmen saluted her, then waited for her signal to begin.
Rat tat tat-tat ah-tatter-er rah-tat!
Expert drumming repeated in succession after Shade's signal. Drum strikes were sharp, excitingly so, but also stringently timed and choreographed. Body movement gave the tiny show life, animating it with a militaristic charm that rivaled Shadow's good looks. Still, with the intensity of a captain, Shade concluded the score with an echoing battle cry: "Striking with wills of iron—we are Wilhelmshaven's Drum Corps!" Her voice boomed with supreme command, with her men bellowing after her in victorious pride.
The Primary Division schoolchildren, in turn, clapped vivaciously. Vector couldn't help whistling to add to the revel. Charmy cheered, "Yeah! That was awesome! Now, I'm fired up!" as he pumped his fists and spun in the air. Cream was hopping up and down, before her feet decided to carry her over to the lead drummer. "Miss Shade! That was great!"
Upon sheathing her sticks like a katana, Shade blinked at the approaching 3rd Grader. Surprised, and by reflex, Shade knelt down and caught Cream when she jumped up. Cuddling the older girl's neck, Cream giggled. A bit embarrassed, Shade got to her feet and held the girl closer. "Yay! Yay!" the rabbit girl yelped, as if to stroke the echidna's ego. A proud blush dampened across Shade's face when Cream asked if she could play. She caved at her cuteness, and handed her one of her drumsticks. Cream lightly tapped the drum top. Even if Cream wasn't aware of it, her cute grin was enough for Shade to inwardly fawn over.
After Amy Rose passed guard duty on to Charmy and Vector, she ducked into the Cafeteria. By that time, Brunch II was midway of being over. She'd taken the initiative to be a good hostess to the Primary Division students under Wave's instruction. Her task was done, since she and Tails took care of the morning half. Now, all she had to do was report to the Print Press's office after school.
The pink-haired Freshman sank into a seat closest to her. Composed of the day's main entrées, a dessert cup, and milk, she set it down gently. She heaved a relieved sigh. She was so glad someone else could manage those little ones for the rest of the Open House. Weary blinks made her look dazed as a prissy trio snickered past her. 'I'm so zonked, I don't even care…' the remark muddled through Amy's brain. Another, rougher, sigh preceded her head's backward tilt.
"How inelegant."
"Indeed. Straighten yourself up, Freshman."
"Your slouching is disgraceful."
A vein in Amy's temple throbbed. Just as an air of dread fell over her, Amy reluctantly acknowledged the voice behind her. With the gloomy turn of her head, her eyes followed. "Please tell me you didn't circle back here just to say that to me…?" Her crooked smile twitched.
Flaunting styles unique to each one, the prissy trio sneered at Amy. Complete with Blaze the Cat and her two "lackeys", Salina Acorn and Elise the Dormouse, Wilhelmshaven's Princess Trio decided to give Amy a hard time. Collectively. Amy noticed Salina—whom she carelessly dubbed "Sally"—had modified her uniform jumper with golden belts and a neck ruffle; surely, against the school's dress code. Blaze had done something similar, except with lavender tulle puffing up her jumper's knee-length skirt and pristine stirrups sculpting her thighs and calves. Surely, with enough bribery to the Embroidery Club. Elise emphasized her coppery bob with a tallish faux-fur collar on her vest, a bell-sleeved blouse, and white winter boots.
Everything about the trio annoyed Amy. Their witchlike laughs always felt corrosive and sneaky. "So what if we did? You should feel honored that we even bothered to acknowledge your pathetic self," Salina spat out. "With a gross attitude like that, you've never be on the Print Press. A bad attitude equates a bad story. Badly written, badly summarized, and badly assessed."
"Manager Wave would have to be a complete moron to consider reading one of your stories," Elise laughed. "Your tabloids are crap!"
Steam was huffing through Amy's ears. And hurt tears were cradling her eyelids. She was still training, practicing, learning. She knew her works weren't going to be the "best things ever" right off the bat. But the Prima Trio laughed derisively, as if to pour salt on the wound.
"Nonsense, her tabloids must be pretty good if Manager Wave is allowing them to be published." Completely disregarding the Freshman's angry tears, Sally and Elise snickered while Blaze approached her calmly. An intense stare-down: Defensive viridians versus hopeless canaries.
"Forget those other projects you're working on. They won't get you any closer to your goal. If you want a real opportunity, get yourself down to my recital tonight. 6 o'clock sharp, in Orchestra Room II. I want good pictures—perfect pictures, for my career portfolio." A sneaky hand had stuffed something passed her blouse collar. "Don't be late, Freshman. This may be your chance of a lifetime."
Without another word, Blaze silenced her fellow princesses before they could object. They swaggered off alongside her, still wordless and not looking back.
With a quick flick, Amy brought the tiny dessert cup into her hand. But before she could throw it at one of the departing princesses, there was a catch on her wrist. Sharp, reflexive, and keen, Amy was surprised.
Rouge the Bat had caught it. "I thought you handled yourself really well, Little Rosy. Don't ruin it for me. Now then…" Tender like a bewitching mother, she took the younger girl's hand and held it in her own. She caressed it. "Are you alright? They didn't hurt you too badly, did they?"
"I'm used to stuff like that." Amy snatched her hand away. Huffing to herself, she turned her back on Rouge. "They can say whatever they want, 'cause I'm gonna prove 'em wrong." Glassy eyes looked to the crumpled bill she took out of her collar. She frowned at the "100" figure on a creased corner—"How dare that girl bribe me into doing an assignment…!"—and clenched it inside her fist.
"You don't have to take it, you know."
Amy's tearful eyes swapped from her fist to the Print Press's Manager, Wave the Swallow. Her arms in their notable cross, her beryline lens were a brilliant ice-blue, wary of the incoming snowfall. Rouge had sashayed back over to her side and leaned against one of her shoulders. After a sly wink, Rouge blew Amy a kiss. But the bill in the Freshman's fist had reappeared, coiled around the Senior's finger. Aghast by the magic trick, Amy blinked her wildly wide eyes.
"We'll take the Premiere off your hands." Wave unraveled the money from Rouge's finger. "Disregard her bribe completely, and consider this your first paid assignment…as the Print Press's Lead Photojournalist." The swallow smiled lightly after pocketing the bill. With Rouge clapping quietly next to her.
Stars and hearts broadened Amy's grin. Surely, hearing the news would make her Nikon, Piko, very happy. All those freelance shots, hours of volunteer work—favors, requests, penniless assignments she'd taken up: They were going to pay off. Really soon, too. And she was going to rub it in "Princess" Blaze's face when next month's newsletter came out.
"…Do you think he just acted out? Like he snapped?"
A transparent bag was planted atop the table; a small white bottle clacked against it. "Risperdal…He was supposed to be taking a single 5mg dose daily, just to keep his psychosis at a bare minimum. I interviewed him yesterday at the station, and he told me he'd purposely missed that dose…" Lieutenant-Sergeant Washburn didn't look too happy about it, either. "So he could 'liven up' the place."
"He skips a dose just to get some attention?!" Sergeant Kerrison was infuriated by the notion. "And winds up killin' his roommate for it?! What the hell is the matter with these youngun's today?!"
"I don't know if this'll become a trend or not, but we need to keep him detained—away from this school and all of its properties. His next 'fantasy' could involve something far worse than a ballpoint pen, next time around."
Officers Kerrison, Washburn, and Jung continued to discuss Silver. Truth be told, Silver had been diagnosed with schizoaffective disorder (specifically, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder combined). But there was something particularly harmful about his diagnosis. And it made Captain Russino very nervous. Besides the fact that Silver could retain enough cognizance and resourcefulness to carry out a murder. She remembered the face he made when he woke up: He'd found himself cuffed to the chair, his cheek padded and jaw wrapped, at a steel table under a steel lamplight. The officers ready to interrogate him, but Silver looked like he wasn't surprised to be there.
"Do you know where you are?" a lower-rank officer had started with a basic inquiry.
"…Yes. The police station. Because I did something terrible." There was no emotion; just blunt honesty.
"Do you remember what you did?"
The answer made her lip quiver: "I killed my friend. I rid the world of him. He was in the way."
There was a peculiar strain of mania in his diagnosis. His psychiatrist had been extremely reluctant to share it with them.
"I don't want this kid anywhere near Sonic and Shadow."
The lowness in the Captain's voice caught her three subordinates off guard. Even Sgt. Kerrison shivered a little, blinking wide eyes. Officer Jung heard her finger beginning to tap harder and harder as she hesitated to elaborate on the protective-sounding statement. He gulped a little, looking away. It made his Adam's apple shimmer underneath his pine marten throat and his tail quiver worriedly. In his hands were Silver's handmade idols. Each in an evidence bag, specifically labeled with numbers, locations, and a strongly advised "Do Not Remove" sticker that bolded the clear bags with authoritative red.
"There's more to his psychosis than just wanting attention and senseless killing. He wanted something to gain, something to get out of it."
"And to callously 'rid the world' of Jet could've meant his world, that Jet was in his way." The coyote paced as he fleshed out his theory. "Maybe he hadn't meant to kill Jet at all…more so, it played a part in his psychotic break, making him believe Jet wasn't a part of his objective."
"But he did kill Jet to get attention…just not ours."
Sergeant Kerrison growled under his breath. His memory went straight back to the paper Silver had slipped under the door. Bloodstained in more ways than one.
"But Sonic and Shadow's. Silver wants something to do with them, both of them. He knows both their weaknesses, now. And he's going to exploit them. Silver becomes a dark, calculating individual without his meds…" Captain Russino nodded once.
Lieutenant Washburn lowered his face. Officer Jung, absentmindedly and crestfallenly, smoothed over the dolls' heads partitioned by plastic. Red splotches had soaked into the Sonic plush's cheek, jacket sleeve, and shoe sole.
She bit down on her thumbnail, and closed her eyes. "But Shadow becomes a frightened lamb without someone protecting him. And Sonic becomes a relentless destroyer when the person he's protecting gets hurt."
The ultimatum was never answered; only captured as on-scene evidence. Sgt. Kerrison had seen a precinct detective taking notes on the crime scene. He had also spotted Amy Rose, on the other side of the gate, clicking away at the tape. She appeared to be taking special care as not to photograph any of the scene itself. The regret in her face made one thought flutter: 'Buck up, sweetheart, 'cause it's only gonna get harder from here.'
A master of stealth had become a fly on the door. Nowhere near it, in fact, Espio the Chameleon held his phone to his chest.
"Heh heh! Betcha can't beat Espio's time, Sonic!"
The touch screen was slowly brought to his fingertips, his face. That wallpaper freshened childhood memories: That infamous obstacle course-playground. That summer excitement. They didn't think twelve and thirteen were "too old" to go through the course. Sonic's competitive streak clashed against Espio's in young, harmless, hilarious fun. Shadow just watched him scramble across rope nets, ball pits, and monkey bars. Knuckles never picked favorites unless free food was involved—a precocious move on his part. Espio was silently skeptical as Sonic swung and crawled and weaved like a junior Marine.
"Betcha I can so! Nyeh!"
Suddenly, Espio missed the pier's ocean air. Sonic had stopped just to stick his tongue out at Knuckles. Shadow had shaken his head; an unforeseen thankfulness, gratitude, washed over the silent chameleon.
The phone was brought closer. Tears were building themselves up a tad too fast. Espio couldn't catch them from falling. Sonic's face wasn't as relaxed as it had been, lately. It looked more frustrated and less focused. And it was worrying the Costume Manager. A distinct sting made him realize that he couldn't speak the words Sonic needed to hear.
As one of the three buildings bearing a "prism," Wilhelmshaven Academy's Gymnasium was spacious. Large enough to hold half a professional track field, an exercise area, and a weightlifting room complete with barbells and punching bags. Nothing in that room exceeded four hundred pounds, but at the rate Sonic was going he may have well exceeded, by now. School was more than over, and the sun was growing nearer toward the horizon. The "crystal house" overhead sparkled in almost opalescent qualities, as the Conservatory's "crystal dome" and the Cafeteria's "crystal bays" surely did.
Sonic never considered joining a jiujutsu team, if one were to ever exist there at the Academy. But Knuckles, playing as his workout coach, was sure Sonic would be the team's fiercest fighter. Especially as heated as he was, now. Sonic blasted away at that bag. A basic black bag with metal supporting it, barred and chained. Bare knuckles, fingers, and wrists were gauzed. But Sonic had been at it for a straight hour, and wasn't planning on stopping. Knuckles held fast to the bag, so it wouldn't go flying off its foundation.
"Hey, man, it's time to call it a day…" Knuckles grunted with each furious jab. Their strength diminished slightly. "Gym's gonna close up soon. Let's go, man…—?"
"Not yet!"
But their fury soon flared up again. His jabs were faster, harder, more concentrated than before suddenly. Rage brimmed in its pot. Blood vessels clearly visible in Sonic's eyes, ready to dye them blind. Something in the blue hedgehog had reawakened, Knuckles felt. And if he lowered his guard, he might wind up getting punched by accident. So he held his ground, the bag, and his patience.
Sonic's low grunts were a bit unnerving. No one else was there, so they echoed throughout the immediate space. From beneath, left, and right, his jabs came. Straight punches came in emotional bursts, where his grunts were loudest. Sweat drenched his body: His shirtless chest and back were flushed with heat and burning from fatigue. His mind didn't want to stop, despite the aerobic conflagration. A sweatshirt peeked out of his duffel bag, its matching bottoms spotting with more sweat. Solid kicks were thrown in to balance the oxygen intake; sharper huffs denoted the increasing need to rest.
"Hey, man, let's turn in for the day. It's gettin' late, and I don't wanna be locked up in here witchu…?"
"Fine. Leave. You weren't obligated to stay," the blue hedgehog huffed in between jabs and kicks. His eyes looked hazy. "I'm still not done. One more hour—c'mon, body!"
"One more hour?! Your body can't take one more minute, dude!" Unbelievably swift, Knuckles bobbed around the overhanging bag and stopped Sonic's incoming jab. With a bare, but also bandaged, hand. A stalemate ensued. Bits of blood had splashed into Sonic's gauze. Knuckles grimaced, moving his gaze from them to Sonic's. An overwhelming madness had overtaken Sonic's face.
"What the hell?! Why did you stop me?!"
"Still pissed about Silver, I see. You goin' home like this, man?"
Knuckles' threatening candor infuriated Sonic. "I wasn't planning on it! That's why I came here, you retard!"
"Then chill the fuck out and sit yo' ass down!" He threw down Sonic's fist, snapped his fingers, and pointed down at the floor. Although there was a bench a few paces away, Knuckles wasn't going to tolerate Sonic's nasty attitude. Fiercely reluctant, Sonic gathered himself, padded in a tiny circle, and sunk to the floor. His windpipes were burning from lack of proper inhalation. He snatched a towel from his bag and pressed it against his face. Clacking wheels rolled in a familiar rhythm: Knuckles was rolling the punching bag back into its alcove. It made Sonic's ear twitch. Then, a wave of embarrassment overtook him; he didn't want to take the towel off his face.
Footsteps had stopped in front of him: "Stand up, punk."
"I don't wanna."
"I said stand up."
"I said no!"
"Stop actin' like a fuckin' brat and stand yo' ass up!" A vein threatened to pop at Knuckles' temple. His chin jerked with each emphasis. "I ain't got the time or patience fo' ya shit. I ain't gon' tell yo' ass again."
Sonic huffed sorely. "Everything is tired, so just gimme a sec, will ya?!"
"You weren't sayin' that shit five minutes ago. Don't you gimme that 'tired' bull. Lil' punk ass…!" Then, in a flare of anger, "You betta' not be tryin' to bitch yo' way outta this! Get yo' ass up—I ain't playin' witchu!"
Wobbly knees tried to keep balanced. Everything in Sonic's body was tired, like he'd said himself. But Knuckles wasn't having it as an excuse. Struggling a little from his bend, Sonic found the strength to straighten his back. He utilized it quickly before it could flee. And found himself chest-to-chest with the slightly taller echidna. Frustrated exhales puffed through the hedgehog's nostrils, but the echidna didn't seem to care.
"That's what I thought, punk. Who you think you talkin' to like that?"
"You ain't my daddy."
Such a juvenile move: Knuckles was aghast by it. "I ain't gotta be yo' good-for-nothin' bitch-ass daddy, punk. You're bein' a brat and I'm ready to beat that shit outta you."
"Then do it."
The echidna skulked even closer. "Cut that shit out. I ain't gon' beat you down 'cause I can and will. You ain't scared of me? Well…" Knuckles bit his lip a little before going on. "I'm scared. For you."
Despite the crimson dyeing their edges, Sonic's eyes watered. His breathing intensified, deepened, hastened.
"…The fuck's the matter witchu, man? You can't protect Shadow like this, you know that. I ain't gonna let you protect him like this, either. What happens when you get yo'self in some deep shit and can't bail yo' own sorry ass out, huh? And if you get yo'self in some real shit…and get yo' ass 86ed…who's gonna tell Shadow?" He could see guilt riding over Sonic's anger. "I ain't gon' tell him, 'cause I'm tryin' to keep yo' dumb ass from gettin' 86ed! Quit tryin' to pull this rebellious shit, motha-fucka, 'cause I ain't havin' it! Do you wanna die?!" Neither of their gazes moved away. Deadlocked, brimming with emotion. "I ain't gotta be yo' daddy to tell you that you're in the wrong. And you ain't gotta be in the 'hood to listen to me! You know you're in the wrong, now grow a fucking pair and stop actin' like a dumb-ass brat!"
Sonic's only chance to look away came, and he took it; apparently, his stubbornness made him do it.
"Apologize, punk."
"I'm sorry."
The response came quickly. A bit too quickly for Knuckles. He snarled, "Apologize properly, punk. Don't make me tell you again."
An irritated snarl. Clenching fists. Teardrops leapt from their perches. Sonic swiped a hand under his nose. Hiding a sniffle. "I'm sorry…big brother."
"Now calm down, punk." More relaxed after those tense moments, Knuckles ruffled a hand through Sonic's quills. "What's wrong witchu, raising my blood pressure an' shit…!" The reflexive "Hey, quit it!" sounded juvenile. Nostalgically juvenile. "Y'know, y'all never did tell us what happened in there." Elder-like amethysts caught regretful emeralds gazing back. "I'm sure it's 'cause the police ain't done questioning you guys, right?"
"Yeah. We're sworn to secrecy until everything's figured out, pretty much. But I can say that little bas—!" A snort denoted the blue hedgehog stopping himself. "…Silver got what was coming. I knocked him out, but I'm sure it didn't change anything in his heart."
"I knew somethin' was off about him. But…I didn't wanna think he was crazy like that—like, underclassman-obsession-with-an-upperclassman crazy! Damn…I'm sorry, bruh." He ruffled his hand over Sonic's head again.
A childish pout marked the hedgehog's face, now. Cheeks flushed with embarrassment and shame, he avoided eye contact with the eighteen-year-old. One of them had bubbled adamantly.
"Tch! Quit that, man, we good!" His hand sent Sonic bucking forward. "Just keep it together next time…or I'll make you. You got somebody to protect, remember?"
A few steps before reaching the exit, Sonic stopped. His grip on the bag handle slackened a bit. His heartbeat hastened slightly. Shadow's face flashed through Sonic's mind: None were too different from the others.
A janitor just outside peeked inside and opened the door before Knuckles could. "Time to lock up, you two," the tad-bit-older-aged beaver waved them out. He had to clean up before locking the Gymnasium down.
Knuckles nodded to him, but noticed Sonic had frozen up. "Hey, you a'ight? We gotta go, what's the matter?" He had gripped his shoulder and shook a little.
But then, Sonic dropped the bag. He screamed "Move! Move!" in his mind, but his legs didn't budge. There was a clock on the wall beyond the door. It read 5:58. Suddenly, the air turned dreadfully chill, like a gust from the outside had come in just for Sonic. Dread stagnated his eyes.
"Oh shit." It was the only thing Sonic got out before he bolted.
It wasn't too long before rehearsals that stars began to spangle the sky. They were outshined by a Baroque cupola, however. Gilded in historical elegance and glassed with rich veneers, the City's Opera House was much larger than the average house. A theater in more than one right, future audience members took some time to look around the vicinity. Poster boards advertised an upcoming performance: That year's holiday special, Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. Playbills lined a whole counter, so Shadow took the liberty of picking one up. He scanned through the synopsis and spotted the Dramatis Personae. He found his name, spaced by a multitude of periods, before reaching the premier danseur's role as Prince Siegfried. His role as Prince Siegfried. It would belong to no one else but him.
"Yes, he is ready to begin. He'll report to Rear Wing C in just a moment."
Shadow didn't need to turn his eyes to see who was coming. Impatient footsteps stopped beside him. A taller hedgehog in a winter coat, similar to Shadow's, had come over. "Get going," said the man's voice. Nothing else followed because he had continued in the same direction. It came out in stark contrast to the gentlemanly suaveness just a few seconds ago.
Carmines were nervous. They looked up through the cupola in doubt.
"Sorry, Sonic. I was waiting for you, but the limo came earlier than expected."
Sonic rushed back to the dorm so fast, Knuckles struggled to keep up. Their duffels slung across both shoulders, Knuckles' jog failed to keep up with Sonic's rip. But he knew where the dorm was. He didn't stress it too much. Sonic had thrown his key into the lock, thrown himself inside, and found a handwritten note that matched a previous text message almost perfectly.
As he read over the note, Sonic scolded himself for forgetting such an important event. His phone lowered upon his desk's top. Tenderly, he took the paper slip into his other hand, as well. "Aw, Babe…?"
"I'm heading to rehearsal at the Opera House downtown. I should be back around 9. Don't wait up, just eat without me."
"Shadow, I…?"
Knuckles plopped Sonic's bag in front of the night table. He stepped inside, calm and quiet, as he eyed Sonic at his desk. It was surprising to see it so orderly and clutter-less; much to Sonic's admonition. Shadow insisted it, since he couldn't stand seeing papers sticking together in hectic fashions. Always emphasizing how much it "made his skin crawl." One piece of paper was in Sonic's hands, and somehow making his lower lip quiver. "Hey, man, you a'ight?"
But prolific tears flourished from Sonic's eyes. They were almost too prolific to be taken seriously. Specifically with that quivering lower lip becoming more pronounced. Knuckles suddenly found the hedgehog glued to his leg. "Mah Baby weff wiffout me~!" Accompanied by babyish bawling.
Snap.
KICK! KICK! KICK! KICK!—came relentless curb stomps to Sonic's face.
"That ain't my problem, dude! Now get off me, goddammit shit!"
The broad stage was naked of props and scenery, but the ballet company rehearsing there was beautiful even in their practice attire. A multitude of ballerinas far outnumbered Shadow and those other few males featured in the titular piece. Despite the uncomfortable number of females, Shadow prioritized his attention to the choreography. The director and his crew were there as faithful familiars to the well-dressed men sitting in the mezzanine. Under the main house lights, six black suits glistened. Their accenting gold ties made Shadow want to throw up; all he could do was ignoring them physically and mind them mentally.
Only one of them was out of place, with a reddish-orange tie. Clamped with a gold swan-shaped clip.
It felt like a single pair of eyes watched, scrutinized, judged and graded him. It always felt like that: Suffocating, draining, paralytic and scary. Whether it was first, second, up to fifth position—those eyes never lost track of him. If this pressure had tangible weight, it would surely crack Shadow's foundations. The only foundations he was permitted to have.
On tiptoe, as previously directed, Shadow scuttled toward the proposed Odette character. It was off-looking to the director, but he never made the call. The man in the colorful tie appeared pleased. But it was an unreceptive, mild approval. Feeling the Prince's character, Shadow danced with Odette's ballerina, who was a lovely young chinchilla close to his age. As if to reconcile for past mistakes. As if to beg for that man's forgiveness. Indirectly swaying the others working with him in hopes to influence him. To Shadow, it felt like he was digging for water—a life-sustaining resource only that man could provide—and running into bedrock, and animal bones, and fossils, and useless ores, diamonds, other minerals that could not directly sustain him. Enough had long been enough. But the seventeen-year-old had no voice: He never did. What made him think he had one, now?
'Just empty successes…' the black hedgehog's mind spewed out from its dismal inner spiral. 'Just empty praises. Just empty pleas. Just empty promises. Just empty opportunities. And more empty successes…'
On that unfortunate loop, Shadow's eyes glazed over. He ran through the choreography of the entire scene, at the director's every command, without any hesitation or uncertainty. Heeding that ever-watchful eye.
"Remember, you are merely my tool, Shadow."
Every spin. Every toe tap. Every bend, and sway, and bow. Accounted for—but all for what, exactly? Well, if Shadow asked, he wouldn't like, or expect, a different answer. The sashes signifying Prince Siegfried flowed with Odette's. A flawless romantic tiptoed waltz, but it wasn't enough for those scrutinizing eyes.
"You are a puppet, my Protégé, and I expect you to exceed whatever outcome I preconceive for you. You will do well by exceeding that wellness. You will outperform everyone I put forth against you. You will not fail. You will not reconcile yourself to weakness, Shadow."
A twinge of sadness.
"You will do as I say."
'My head hurts…!' A stumble.
"Respect your superiors, but obey only me."
The lead ballerina gasped, unsure of what to do. Her partner had tumbled to the floor so swiftly. She'd thrown her hands over her mouths, and soon her sister-dancers flocked over to see if she and Shadow were alright. The director threw himself out of his seat and beckoned a medic. One was on-standby, thankfully, and raced over to Shadow. Too dizzy to decipher what was being mouthed, Shadow's eyelashes flittered before blackness forced them down. A doleful moan came in a passing whisper.
"You will not address me by any other name…than 'Father'."
From afar, the vermilion tie rose in a briefly streaking band. Its clasp's golden flicker was undeniable. And so was the man's displeasure in overlooking the scene.
Épisode IX, Deuxième Arc Set…