Part 1: White Clouds
In the following days leading up to my move-in, I don't notice any other odd events. Creepy McCreepface doesn't show his mole face again, and there's no more randomly being yanked to a knockoff Medieval Europe. When my hand brushes against my Falchion charm it does turn dark for a moment, but this ends when I let go of it. I keep the necklace off my body and on my desk. I don't know if it's superstitious to avoid something I've seen with my two eyes, but it still reminds me of my father and all his idiosyncrasies designed to prevent omens.
I call Lucina every day, but the end of her line is as dead as it had been for the past seven years. Worth a shot, at least. The more time I spend on an empty line calling her, the more I think back to her final goodbye to me. It was right after my parents split and my mom was in the process of moving me and her into a grimier apartment in a shadier part of Seattle. When Lucina announced that she was leaving too, I broke down into tears.
I prodded her for details, and she only said that she was going somewhere far away, further than the rural Pennsylvania where my dad was going, and she didn't know when she could return. That was when she gave me the Falchion charm.
Why didn't she come out and say where she was going? And what was up with the mark in her eye? She said that her father called it the "Mark of the Exalt" and made up some story about how they were descended from faraway royalty. The way she talked about her heritage and the way she announced her departure made it sound like she was humoring a child by implying that she was going off to a fantasy land. Except this was when I was old enough to know better.
And her Falchion charm, if I could believe my own senses, seems to have powers that are considered magical or fantastical within this world. Hmm.
I don't have anyone to talk to besides coworkers (blegh), so these thoughts jumble in my head until it's move-in day at Garreg Mach High School. Don't ask my why they named a Catholic school in Iowa "Garreg Mach."
Thankfully, I live light and our rooms come with beds, desks, and chairs. Which means that besides toiletries, electronics, and my hydro flask, I really only have my clothes and my bike to transport, the latter of which goes in a separate rack. I'm still annoyed at my mom for throwing out random books and trinkets in an attempt to prevent me from getting attached to material objects, I'm thankful at this specific moment. I'm able to take my backpack and unload the smaller objects in one trip, locking away my bike in the process. I walk back to my apartment and drag my suitcase over after calculating how much money I have and realizing I can't afford an Uber.
It's a twenty-minute walk both ways, so it's good that they're giving us all day to unload and get settled. I meet my roommate on my second trip when I'm tossing my suitcase of clothes in my closet and deciding to worry about it later. He's a wiry-thin kid with glasses who introduces himself as Ignatz. We exchange the usual pleasantries.
"I'm looking forward to all the classes we get to take this year," he says. "The ones last year taught me so much. It's hard to get an education this good around here. I don't think I've seen you around, though?"
Oh, right. The school has scholarships for kids living nearby. I doubt Iggy here knows all the people in the few nearby towns, but he'd probably have heard about someone like me who's brown.
"Yeah, this is my first year here, and I'm not a local."
"But you also don't look…" He glances at my small pile of belongings in the corner of my room.
His mom walks into the room at this point, scolding Ignatz about not judging people. His face flushes like a cherry, and he apologizes profusely. I say it's fine, which it is.
"I'm in a bit of a weird situation," I say. "I'm from Seattle, but I'm not as rich as the other out-of-towners you probably know."
"Ooh, the Northwest." His face lights up. "You'll need to tell me about the Pacific Ocean sometime. It looks beautiful in all the pictures. I'd love to draw it sometime."
So I guess the Space Needle and the fish markets don't mean anything to this guy. Though it does get annoying when visitors harp on the same damn landmarks every time, so maybe I should appreciate 'ol Iggy. Ignatz's mom introduces herself to me, and we exchange pleasantries.
"So are you an artist?" I ask Ignatz.
"It's his passing fancy," his mother says. "He's studying hard to become a doctor."
She rubs his head like he's a puppy, and he flushes again. He looks kinda cute when he's blushing, and shy guys are totally my type, but he hasn't given off any gay energy yet so I'm going to assume he's straight for the time being. Besides, it's probably a terrible idea to try and kindle something with a roommate.
After she leaves the room to use the bathroom, I shoot a glance at Ignatz.
"A doctor, huh?" I say. "Sounds miserable."
"I, uh… do really like painting. How about you? What are some of your hobbies?"
Shit. What do I like to do, again?
"I work a lot. Gotta pay for groceries, you know? Besides that…"
"Are your parents not letting you eat their food during the summer?"
"They don't, and I'm also not living with them. My mom thinks it will teach me to be 'resourceful.' It's a whole thing." I pause, and Ignatz blanches. "Don't worry about it. Let's see… I like going on hikes and stuff."
"Oh, how are the hikes in Washington?" Ignatz clasps his hands together. "I hear you have trees taller than ten-story buildings."
"Yeah, the largest ones can get up to 300 or 400 feet. The air is nicer, too. A lot less humid than here."
"What about birds? I bet you see bird's nests all the time. I love the meadowlarks here, but it would be great to get some more variety."
Iggy proves to be chattier than I expect, and we go on for a while like this. Eventually, I excuse myself to go check out other parts of the school. He offers to take me on a tour since he went here last year, and I decline. Better to scope out the lay of the land myself.
Yeesh. I'm starting to sound like my parents again.
#
The hall where I'm staying has little cutouts with the names of the people in each room like we're kindergarteners. They cutout decorations are different colors and animals that I don't especially pay attention to. I type all the names in my phone and make a mental note to Facebook stalk them later when I'm bored and want to make sure they're not only posting stuff about how everyone who disagrees with them is going to hell. I'm sure most people are fine, but you can't be too sure at a Catholic school when you're brown and queer.
It doesn't take long, and I'm about to open the door to the staircase when someone swings it open into my face. I stumble back and fall on the ground.
Perfect. I guess my life really is a teen drama.
"Oh my gosh I'm so sorr-" The voice cuts off.
I blink away the pain and hop to my feet. A blonde girl with her hair tied in braids looks at me, cocking her head.
"Hi," she says. "Sorry about the accident. I haven't seen you at the school before."
"The name's Claude. Yeah, my mom transferred me over here this year."
"Claude, huh?" her gaze narrows. "Where are you from?"
"Seattle," I say. "I miss good salmon."
"But like…" silence hangs between us. "Where are you from?"
Well, that was fast. Turns out rich kids from around the nation are more racist than the Iowan farmers everyone loves to make fun of.
"My mom's ancestors are from Ireland and Germany," I say. "Don't ask me why she gave me a French name."
"And what about your dad? Where is he from?"
"Seattle. I was born there because he and my mom were living there."
"He was born in Seattle?"
"Okay, he was born in Tehran, but-"
"I knew it." She flashes a triumphant smile. "There's no need to hide who you are from me, Claude. I don't hate your people, and I'm sure you're one of the good Arabs-"
"You're aware Tehran isn't in Arabia, right?" I say.
"Yo, Ingrid," comes another voice. "Who are you talking to?"
A guy swaggers through the doorway, looking about the same age as me and Ingrid. He scratches the back of his head with one hand and tries to pass it off as cool by showing his muscles. I can't believe I have to deal with frat boys in a place with no frats.
"Oh, I see what's going on," frat boy says. "Hey Ingrid, why don't you go help Dimitri unpack? The more time we leave him alone, the more Felix is going to bully him."
"Why don't you go?"
"Ugh, that sounds like so much work." He slouches his shoulders. "I don't wanna."
Spoken like a true frat boy.
"Fine," Ingrid says. "Since you're useless as always, I'll go pick up for your slack. But you'll need to take those bags to my room for me."
She opens the door to the staircase, glaring at frat boy before she shuts it behind her.
"Phew, Hurricane Ingrid decided to pass around us this time," frat boy says. "Nice to meet'cha. I'm Sylvain. And you're…?"
"Claude."
"Nice, nice. As you may have noticed, Ingrid doesn't have an especially enlightened view of…"
I raise an eyebrow. "Brown people?"
"She's fine with Latino people." Sylvain frowns. "I think. It's just that her dad was in the towers when 9/11 happened, and he-"
"Well first, that's a stupid reason for her to hold a prejudice. You Americans overthrew the government of my dad's people and put a puppet ruler, which set the stage for a violent revolution that killed thousands. And I don't hate the American people for that."
Sylvain shrugs. "Not trying to justify it. I agree that it's stupid to hate someone for what they're born with."
"And second, I told her I'm not ethnically Arabic. I think she has a problem with brown people in general."
"Eh, we're working on it." A pause. "Oh, how about you join us for dinner in the cafeteria tonight? Ingrid and Felix are already busy doing online ALEKS homework for their chemistry class, so you can chill with me and Dimitri."
Before the term even starts? Damn, chemistry is brutal.
"I'll consider it," I say.
"All right, well we'll be down at 6:30. Feel free to stop by and say hi. I know some of the other people are interested in meeting you, as well. We were all part of the same homeroom class last year, so we know each other a little too well, if you get what I mean. I can introduce you to all the hot chicks in our class."
Yep, definitely a fuckboi. Though a true fuckboi tries to fight other males to have control over the pussy (from the fuckboi's twisted perspective, anyway), so I guess I shouldn't be too hard on this guy. Not that I even identify as male, but I'm guessing he doesn't notice and doesn't care. Straight dude or no, Sylvain is doing his best to make sure that I feel welcome here. And despite all my father's lessons about how I should learn to only rely on myself, that does matter to me.
"On second thought, how about I commit to 6:30?" I say. "I'll be downstairs to meet you and your… friend?"
"Yup. I've known Dimitri since we were kids. Manhattan rick folks are a tight-knit bunch. But don't worry, the two of us aren't stuck-up assholes."
I already know what to expect from Ingrid, but I am curious about this "Felix" person that Ingrid seemed genuinely concerned about when left with Dimitri.
I survived a battlefield, but who's to say that feeling out political dynamics of teen social groups is any easier than firing arrows at bandits from a (weirdly short) distance?
#
The afternoon is devoted to exploring the nearby area, and it takes a surprising amount of time to pop into the nearby stores. Bubble tea, sub shops, pizza places, coffee shops, cheap buffets… the area around the high school almost resembles a downtown area. And since my mother can't charge me for rent and food because they're both tied in with tuition, I'm free to use any money I earn on eating out. Any permanent objects will have her railing against the waste of modern consumerism, and she'll offer less support next year if she sees I'm saving up money and starts to think of me as being independent. It's a tight balance to walk.
I arrive at the cafeteria a few minutes past 6:30, which is bigger than I was expecting it to be. Instead of the long tables from my public high schools back in Seattle, there are much cleaner circular tables for people to sit at and chat. There are even restaurant-style booths.
Guess my mother wasn't kidding when she said this place was swanky. I resolve not to hate that fact as much as she does, inefficient use of space or no.
I use the ID the school gave me to scan in at the entrance. For a private school that charges way too much money, they seem to keep a pretty tight hold on making sure we don't eat more meals than we're supposed to. They give us plastic utensils, and I'm guessing it's because people stole the metal ones.
Memories of my mother raving about the evils of capitalism pop into my head, and I ignore them as I serve myself a rice bowl with cooked spinach, carrots, cucumbers, soybeans, thin beef, a fried egg, and a spicy red pepper paste that the cooks call bibimbap. Apparently it's Korean. I'm not sure if Iowans are more open to eating non-American food than I thought, or if it's a rich private school thing. I start to miss the restaurants of different cultures we had back in Seattle. Not that my mom let me go to them more than a couple times a year after my dad left.
I spot Sylvain sitting across from a kid with blond hair, and I get close before he waves me over. The other kid turns around to look at me, and I almost drop my bowl of food right there.
He looks exactly like lance boy from that weird fantasy world. He's dressed in a polo shirt and khakis instead of a military uniform, but his face and bowl cut are the same. I shake myself out of my shock and approach Sylvian. He pulls out a seat for me between him and Dimitri, and I sit down.
"What's up with you, Claude?" Sylvain says. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
"I'm pale enough that it's not the first time I've given off that impression," the other boy says, smirking.
"It's nothing. Sylvain said that your name is Dimitri? I'm Claude."
He nods, and as we shake hands I see the golden cross hanging from a chain necklace around his throat. Of course there are going to be Christians in a Catholic school, but do I need to watch out for this guy in particular?
I use the tricks my dad taught me to size him up quickly without looking like I'm studying him. He immediately seems like less of a swaggering fuckboi than Sylvain. There is fear laced within his posture, but not at me, and it's hidden behind an outward aura of calm and confidence. And maybe fear isn't quite right. It's more of a tension in his joints. Anger, perhaps? It's more of an aura than something I can point to on a drawing of the human anatomy.
So I don't have any reason to suspect he hates queer people more than most Christians, but I'm curious about what's going on underneath the surface. Maybe I shouldn't care. It's not like I'm his therapist. But come on. Isn't there something alluring about someone with a dark, brooding aura?
Oh no. Am I letting myself get attracted to this guy?
"I apologize for how Ingrid treated you," Dimitri says. "We're working on it. It takes time to unlearn what she's been taught."
I don't especially care about seeing things from her point of view. No hard feelings from me to her, but it's best if I don't interact with her.
"Another one of your projects," Sylvain says, leaning back in his seat. "He's trying to get me to stop flirting with people. Like there's a problem with that. Oh, hey Dorothea."
His voice switches to being smooth as poisoned honey when he turns and addresses someone behind me. I look over my shoulder and see a girl wearing a casual dress that shows enough cleavage that I'm amazed none of these Catholics threw her out for impropriety. She wears a hat that makes her look like a train conductor from one of those black-and-white British film reels, but walks with enough confidence to be able to rock it.
Okay, she's definitely cute. Though given how she dresses like a popular girl and has the commanding aura of one, I'm surprised not to see a posse of friends surrounding her.
"Hey, Sylvain," Dorothea says. "You already sniped the new kid away, huh? Trying to get him to join your house?"
House? I frown at Sylvain, who lets out a snort.
"Nah, Dimitri can do that if he wants to. You know what kinds of people I want in my house."
And he winks at her. This might be the closest I've been while observing a fuckboi in its natural habitat.
"I wonder if there are fewer girls in your house because you're such a hopeless flirt." She twirls a lock of hair around her finger. "Now excuse me before you try to act smooth again and I vomit over our poor new classmate."
She puts a hand on my shoulder, smiles, and walks off. My heart flutters for a second.
Damn, she's good.
"I agree that your flirting is a little sleazy," I tell Sylvain, "But what was she talking about with houses? We all live in the same hall, right?"
"Did you notice how our door decorations had a specific combination of color and animal?" Dimitri says.
People say photographic memory isn't real, and that's probably scientifically true. But thanks to grueling memory exercises, I do have the ability to take in lots of details about a scene without really processing them, and recall them later on command. So even though I wasn't really focusing on the door decorations when jotting down names on my phone, I can remember what they look like.
"Yours were both a blue lion, right?"
"Yup." Sylvain puffs out his chest. "Holy students of honor. In our house, chivalry is not dead."
Not dead, but probably just as stupid as it was historically.
"We got to choose factions at the start of last year," Dimitri says. "It was a way for the teachers to get us into groupwork and encourage us to do better by competing with each other."
Right, because nothing says good stress management policy like encouraging Harvard-aspiring students to compete against each other more.
"I'm guessing the teachers will make you join the Golden Deer, since they're short a member," Dimitri says. "Though I'd certainly be happy if you decided to become a part of the Blue Lions, and I hope we remain on good terms regardless."
"Dorothea's part of the Black Eagles," Sylvain says. "Maybe I should join their house."
Golden Deer and Black Eagles, huh? Thinking back, my outfit in fantasy land was yellow, Dimitri's was blue, and axe girl's was… well, red instead of black. There goes that theory.
"Does she not hate your guts?" I say. "Because it sounded like she did."
"Ah, girls get like that sometimes. It's a temporary thing."
I glance over at Dimitri, who sighs and shakes his head. I'm grateful at this moment to not go through all the shit female-presenting people are subjected to.
"I wonder if we could introduce him to Annette, Mercedes, Dedue, and Ashe," Sylvain says. "Do you think they're around?"
"Dedue is busy tonight," Dimitri says. "I haven't talked to the other three. But I don't imagine joining a house with Ingrid is your preference, Claude?"
"Yeah, that doesn't sound good for anyone involved. Where can I go to meet these Golden Deer?"
"Behind you, bitchboy."
Well, this was going to happen sooner or later. I take a full bite out of my food first, and when I respond I don't bother turning around.
"Nice to see you too, Hilda."
"Damn," Sylvain draws out the word. "You're gonna let her treat you like that?"
"I've considered vehicular manslaughter as an alternative," I say, "But I hear Juvie is especially nasty around here."
Dimitri drops his fork on the table and blinks at me. He does know that I'm joking, right?
"Bitchboy and I go a ways back." I feel Hilda's hand on my shoulder. "We dated in middle school, actually. How'd you end up here at a Catholic school? I thought your dad's a Muslim."
"Yeah, my mom was the one who sent me here," I say.
This time, I turn around and see her reaction. She only offers a raised eyebrow.
"Is she still a Satanist and an anarcho-communist?" Hilda says.
Dimitri's face blanches further. "A… what?"
I nod. "She sent me here because she had to go through Catholic school, and it was what shattered her faith in religion forever. She told me outright that she's hoping the same will happen to me."
"But you're not religious, right?"
"Do we have to talk about this in front of Mr. Cross-on-his-necklace?" I say.
"No, keep going," Sylvain says, failing to suppress a smile. "I'm having a blast."
"Claude." Dimitri leans forward. "Is your mother okay? If she needs help, I know people she can call."
"'Is she okay' is a separate question from 'will she accept your help.' And don't worry, she's different the image of Satanists that you probably have in your mind."
"Her rants about how Satan is misunderstood were surprisingly interesting," Hilda said. "I should message her about offensive jokes I can make to these Catholic snobs."
I raise an eyebrow point a finger at Dimitri's cross. Hilda ignores me.
"Oh shit." Sylvain's eyes widen. "Seteth's right behind you, Hilda."
Hilda yelps and leaps back, her body twisting in midair. She crashes into my chair. Seeing nobody behind her, she turns back to Sylvain and balls her hands into fists. As her face twists in anger, Sylvain breaks into laughter.
"Don't scare me like that," Hilda says. "I thought Seteth was going to-"
"Seteth?" I say.
"Oh, he's the worst," Sylvain says. "Duck out of the way whenever you see him."
"He's quite a kind and considerate person," Dimitri says. "As an authority figure and teacher, he is… a tad strict."
"I'm sure I'll learn enough to make my own judgment," I say. "Hilda, what house are you a part of?"
"The Golden Deer." She frowns. "But you're probably part of a whole separate system since I'm guessing you don't live on our floor."
"He does," Sylvain said. "Ingrid bumped into him a few hours ago and called him 'one of the good Arabs.'"
"Thanks for reminding me," I say.
"Why don't you masquerade as Mexican?" Hilda says. "That's what other Arabs do."
"One, I'm much happier when I don't hide who I am, and it's not my job to protect the egos of racists to make them feel secure. In fact, you're part of the problem if you tell other people to do shit like this."
"Not other people. Just you."
"Second, you know I don't have any Arabic heritage."
"I don't think she's going to feel better about you being Iranian, with them chanting 'Death to the US' and all that."
I exhale. "You're an asshole, Hilda, and we can talk later about how to make you not come off as a racist asshole."
"Aw, thanks bitchboy."
"See, focus on insults like that. Now, I want to meet with the other Golden Deer. Dimitri says that I'll probably be joining you, and I want to make sure that not everyone is as insufferable as you."
"Your relationship must have been interesting," Sylvain says. "How long did it last?"
"Seven months," Hilda says.
"Seven months too long," I say.
"And to answer your question, bitchboy," Hilda says, "I have no idea where the other fawns are."
"Fawns?" Dimitri says.
"Golden Deer students." Hilda whips out her phone. "Get with the program, Boomer."
"Boomer?"
Sylvain pats him on the shoulder. "I'll explain later."
"All right, you've outlived your usefulness now that I know you aren't keeping tabs on the people I'm interested in meeting," I tell Hilda. "Are you going to scram, or do I need to chase you out by swinging a bowl at you?"
"Hey, hey, not so fast." Sylvain runs a hand through his hair. "Lovely Hilda, would you like to join us for dinner?"
I glance at Dimitri. "How do you feel about her eating with us after those comments she made relating to various aspects surrounding what I'm guessing is your faith?"
"I… am trying to be open to people who have other ways of thinking." His face still looks somewhat pale. "She's welcome to join us. But your mother, Claude…"
"So Claude," Sylvain said. "You okay with your ex crashing our party?"
"I feel like if I say no, you're going to kick me out."
Sylvain ponders for a second, then nods. Dimitri elbows him, and he bursts out laughing again.
"Kidding, kidding," Sylvain says. "I know what it's like to deal with exes. No judgment if you two wanna repel like two electrons."
"I'm fine if she joins us," I say. "So long as you're okay with us launching casual threats at each other."
"The backbone of our relationship becomes the backbone of our friendship," Hilda says, putting on a dainty smile.
Working with her in the Golden Deer House might be kind of fun, actually. It's nice to be able to vent all my frustrations on someone who absolutely deserves it.
Hilda drops her stuff off and goes off to grab food. I consider stealing something from her backpack, but decide against it. No need to freak poor Dimitri out more than Hilda and I already have.
#
We spend dinner talking about general life at a boarding school in Middle-of-fuck-nowhere, Iowa, and I do my best to get Dimitri into the conversation when Sylvain and Hilda start shouting over him. I see him clutch his cross and pray a few times during the course of the dinner. And as cute as he looks when he's embarrassed, he also looks cute when he's focused.
This could be a problem.
After dinner, Ignatz goes to bed at 10 like a goody two-shoes freak, and I have nothing left to do without my usual work shift so I start stalking people on Facebook. Axe girl from the fantasy world is also here at this school, and her name is Edelgard. I find her Twitter, and her bio includes the phrase "values reason and despises those who do not" next to her status as an atheist, which is the exact opposite sort of "yikes" moment I was expecting from a Catholic school attendee. Though she's also bisexual like me, which I guess is neat?
Hilda's social media is full of posts about positivity, which I snort at. Only a couple more catch my eye. First is Hubert, who posts creepypastas enough that I'm not sure if I can pass it off an edgy kid thing. Also, he's definitely too old to be attending this school. The second is Marianne, who makes most of her posts about how to avoid the wrath of God with captions like "I'm not sure I can do this." At least she also posts cute animal pictures.
I do go to bed before midnight, yet I still wake up tired the next morning for classes. After getting ready for school and eating breakfast, I go to my assigned homeroom classroom. Everyone from our floor is supposed to be present, and most of them are already there even though I'm ten minutes early. Dimitri is sitting next to a kid I recognize from my Facebook stalking as Felix, who I remember posting videos consisting of him whirling around a katana and replying to everyone who called a weeb in the comments with "blocked". Ingrid is two seats over, which is enough space for me. I approach Dimitri and wait for him to nod before taking my seat.
I look up at the front of the room and see the person who must be our teacher staring at the board. She wears a trench coat with slits in her sleeves wide enough for her arm to fit through. As a result, her entire lower arm is uncovered, and the empty sleeve sorta flaps around whenever she moves. Talk about impractical. She turns around, and I feel my muscles tighten up when I see her face.
Byleth.
Bibimbap is delicious and y'all should try it at least once.
One of the challenges about writing an FE fic is the sheer number of characters I need to deal with. On top of that, each character behaves differently on Earth compared to Fodlan. The easiest way for the story to tell a lot of stuff about the characters is for Claude to be an outsider and learn everything along with the reader, so that's why I'm having him transfer in when all the other students here already know each other.
Notes:
-My headcanon is that Nader is Claude's dad, and Nader is a Persian name (he's also coded as Middle Eastern). So it made sense to give Claude Persian/Iranian ancestry
-Claude being bisexual is also a... I want to say meme, but that doesn't quite encapsulate it. People were (are?) legitimately outraged that he isn't bi in canon, and I'm doing my part in correcting IS's mistake. :)