CHAPTER 36: WOLVES ON THE MEND
ME: Sorry this chapter took longer than usual. I literally just finished my provincial Math exam on Thursday—because my school divides up into two semesters and so we get four subjects each semester. I did a crap-ton of studying for it.
BLOSSOM: How do you feel it went?
ME: Fine, I guess. There were a couple of questions—like four—that confused me, and 60 questions can make your head swim after awhile. I took up nearly all three of the hours given for the exam.
BLOSSOM: Well, are you confident about the rest of the exam?
ME: Yeah; I did a lot better than what I would've probably done without tutoring and all that extra studying. I literally did so many Math practice provincial questions—more than 120 of them around the week or two before the exam.
BLOSSOM: If you had studied carefully before it, then you wouldn't have had that problem, y'know.
ME: *sighs* I do know. Math just never makes much sense to me; I'm good with words, not numbers. It was hard to keep up sometimes.
BLOSSOM: Well, study hard next year, do some Math practice every now and then, and you'll be fine.
ME: Yeah, yeah; I know. *mutters* You sound like my mother...
BLOSSOM: Excuse me? What was that?
ME: Nothing! I was just saying we should get to the disclaimer. I only own my OC's and the story; read on and review, please!
BLOSSOM: *gives me suspicious look*
Chapter 36: Wolves on the Mend
"It's nice to see you again in person," Danes murmured, dipping his head. "Awake and well," he added.
Christie sat up, immediately grimacing from pain. But she held her position, saying, "Thank you—it's nice to be back."
Danes turned and noticed Vix, who had settled down on the bare bed. The large man's eyes roamed toward the laundry basket, where bloodstained sheets lay. "...I see you're back from your mission, Vix."
"Yeah." The teen hardly looked at Danes as he answered, shrugging casually. He glanced at the basket. "Guess it's 'that time of the month again' for me," he muttered sarcastically.
Danes raised an eyebrow but didn't scold Vix. Vix was practically the only person who could openly treat Danes with sass and not be punished, since not only did he usually listen to Danes' orders, he was also very effective as a soldier. His unique powers gave him a high position. Plus, Michael added silently, his missions are punishment enough.
"I have a meeting I need to attend to with Shamus and the others—Jamel, Maxim, and Coal—so I shall be occupied for the day. I do not wish to be disturbed. And Michael," Danes commanded.
"Yes, Uncle?" Michael looked up.
"You will be training with your friends today. Deth Jackson is free from his usual busy schedule today, and Darkai is also open. Sidney is already on his way here. Ross is obviously available, so I decided that it was an appropriate time for you to train with your friends."
"Thank you." Michael knew Danes was letting him train with his best pals instead of a tutor because it was his uncle's way of saying "sorry" about the whole "sending Christie on a secret and dangerous mission" ordeal. "That'll be great."
Danes nodded and left the room, with Michael not far behind. Christie watched as her brother started to leave. "Wait!" she called.
He stopped and turned to stare at her, raising an eyebrow.
Christie hesitated before shooting a glance at Vix, who was curled up on the bed. "I don't want to stay here...with him."
"It's just for a little bit; I'm sure Vix will go soon. I need to go training or I'll be in trouble, so just hang in there," Michael responded.
"I won't forgive you if you leave!" Christie exclaimed.
Michael smirked slightly. "Don't lie to yourself. You forgive everyone and everything—except maybe Vix."
Christie sighed. He had a point. "Fine," she grumbled, folding her arms. "But I don't have to like it."
"I didn't say you had to." Michael chuckled lightly, before waving goodbye and leaving. He paused at the door and glanced at Vix. "Will you be here for long?"
Vix waved his hand lazily, mumbling a "no".
"How long then?" Michael asked, glancing at Christie.
Vix sighed loudly, moving his body so that he could look up at Michael. Most of his face was covered by his arm, but a gleaming green eye met Michael's own aqua gaze. "Relax, I won't be here for too long. I'll probably be gone in a couple of minutes. I know you're asking 'cause Christie doesn't want me around."
Michael shrugged, before closing the door behind him.
Christie glanced at Vix, who was completely shirtless. He was wrapped up in bandages, and the fox-like male was still curled up in a ball. She half-expected him to fall asleep, but she didn't hear him snoring—and she knew Vix snored somewhat from past experience.
About two minutes later, Vix remarked, "I know you're looking at me." Christie quickly looked somewhere else as Vix uncurled himself and sat up on the edge of the bed. He stared at her and she kept her face turned away from him. "If you think I'm hot, just let me know," he said pointedly.
"I don't think you're anything like that," Christie muttered back. "Get off your high horse."
Vix yawned, stretching. "I can't get any sleep with your eyes on me."
"Then go to your room. I didn't invite you in here."
"No, but I want to be here." Vix kicked his legs back and forth, raising an eyebrow at Christie. "Tell me, how exactly was your mission anyway?"
"It went fine. I found out a lot about the other side." Christie kept her gaze focused away from Vix.
"So...basically you gathered intel for the upcoming war." Vix ruffled his hair, yawning again.
"...So it's finally happening," Christie muttered.
"What?" Vix looked up. "The war?"
"Yes. I was wondering when it would begin."
"Ever since the Rowdyruff Boys found out about Damon's—misdeeds—let's say—and still seem to believe he was innocent." Vix lifted an eyebrow. "That clear enough for you?"
"Yes—thank you, Vix." Christie gritted her teeth.
"You're welcome, Chris."
A towel hit him and when he looked up, Christie was fuming. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me 'Chris'!?" she demanded. "You're not close enough to me for that!"
"I'm not close to anyone," Vix answered. "I was close to Damon once. But then he got taken away from me. I was close to my parents once. But they were taken away from me. I was even close to the Rowdyruff Boys once. But now they hate my guts. And I guess I'm close to Michael and his best friends, but I'll always play second best when it comes to the whole friendship thing." He met her eyes, his own gaze solemn for once. "I'm a lone wolf."
Christie didn't know what to say. "I-I'm sorry," she began, but then Vix started laughing.
"Did you really fall for that? As if I care about that stupid stuff! It sucks but I don't need to be close to people," Vix snickered.
Another towel was thrown, and this one hit him in the face. It was actually a pretty hard slap. Christie's cheeks burned from the frustration of nearly apologizing to him. But then she relaxed. She knew that it actually did bother Vix. It was clear he wanted to be close to someone again.
"You really need to stop that," Vix remarked, drawing Christie back into reality. "Towels aren't even real weapons—but at this rate, they will be."
Christie rolled her eyes. "Oh stop complaining. You deserve every single hit you get."
"Yeah, I probably do." Vix paused. "You really hate Damon, don't you?"
"Mm-hmm." Christie didn't look up as she refolded some of the towels around her. "Especially after the disappearance of my parents like that."
"Hmm...how are they doing now, I wonder?" Vix commented.
Christie shrugged, trying not to let the questions get to her. She needed to be composed; she didn't want to break down about her parents' vanishing act—especially not with Vix around her.
"Ah well." Vix flopped back down on the back, facing the ceiling. "You know, it's tiring here sometimes; being the babysitter."
Christie looked up in surprise. Is he...actually making civilized conversation? With me?
He kept talking: "So I'm actually kinda glad you're back. You can play babysitter again." Vix smirked. "That's the only real reason it's good to see you back."
Christie twitched. Apparently not completely civilized, but I'll take it, she thought. "Yeah? Well, I better not be doing all the babysitting work alone. 4 teenage boys are a lot to handle. You probably understand their hormones better, considering how explosive your own hormones are."
Vix leaned on an elbow and glared at her, but then he smirked and started to laugh. "Fine, I'll admit it; my hormones make me a raging bitch sometimes. But it's not like yours are any better."
"As long as they're better than yours, then I don't care," Christie answered.
"I can't guarantee that," Vix shot back with another taunting smirk.
Christie rolled her eyes but smiled anyway. For once she was talking to Vix decently, and it didn't seem half-bad. She knew things would go back to the way they always were soon, but right during that moment... It felt nice.
Michael pushed open the doors to the training facility and walked in. Ross was already there, hitting a punching dummy. Each of his hits were precise and deadly. Sweat trickled off of his tannish skin, his green eyes completely focused on the dummy. "Ross...?" called Michael, unwrapping his towel from his neck.
Ross stopped beating the punching dummy up, turning to see the newcomer. His hair fell into his eyes and he was breathing heavily. Ross took off his boxing gloves and wiped his forehead. "Hi, Mikey. How's Christie?"
"She's fine. She woke up a little bit ago, and I'm relieved she did." Michael adjusted the bag he was carrying. "Danes said we were training together for today?"
Nodding, Ross walked over to his friend. "DJ and Darkai should be here any second. Sidney too."
Just then, the bell rang. Michael didn't bother getting up to get the door. The house was so big, and the training facility was a little ways away from the front door. He knew a maid or butler or some other person would open the door for any guests.
Ross and Michael warmed up for a little bit, with Ross taking it easy because he had already done some exercise. They were busy stretching when the door opened and Sidney walked in.
"Hi, guys," the soft-spoken teen said, glancing around.
"Hey, Sid!" Michael reached over and touched his toes. Then he stood up straight and walked over to greet his friend properly, taking the blue duffel bag Sidney was carrying and putting it away.
"So Darkai and DJ aren't here yet?"
Ross and Michael exchanged knowing glances. "Yeah, they're both on their way."
The trio chatted for a little while. Soon the doorbell rang again. Even sooner, Michael could hear yelling outside.
"I told you, Dad—I don't need some fucking tutor! I'm doing perfectly fine on my own. No there is no room in my schedule! In case you forgot, you recently signed me up for cooking classes! Fucking cooking classes—DON'T TELL ME TO WATCH MY LANGUAGE! You don't give a shit about my language! I'm not the one who signed myself up for more than a dozen classes, so don't ask me when my schedule is open!
"Hell, Monday is just one day and I already have four classes after school! I AM NOT LYING! After school I have an English Writing class, as well as Piano and Drama. Plus we currently have a play going on at that big, fancy Townsville Theatre so I'm cutting my schedule down for now so I can rehearse. Then I have Violin. YES YOU SIGNED ME UP FOR VIOLIN. Dad, will you stop making this so hard!? You're in fucking Italy and haven't been home in four months! Don't tell me what to do! I'm telling you I don't need another Math tutor! I already have two! JUST BECAUSE EXAMS ARE COMING UP DOESN'T MEAN I NEED THREE MATH TUTORS. Do the Math, Dad! I'm not that stupid! Besides, how much money are you already spending on 'educating' me? It's getting ridiculous!
"Just take care of your goddamn job and stop worrying about me! You've left me home alone with Slicer plenty of times, it's not like now will be any different! How often do I actually 'fail' you? I always get A's! So please just shut the fuck up and leave it! I have training with my friends right now. NO YOU CAN'T TAKE THIS FREE TIME TO SIGN ME UP WITH THAT OTHER MATH TUTOR. They cost $70 for an hour! That is not a deal—I DON'T CARE IF THEY HAVE SIXTY DIPLOMAS! Dad, I know you're just doing this because it's the only way you can really actually do anything in my life to show concern and control, but I don't fucking need it! Just forget about the whole damn thing and let me handle it!
"You trust me with many different things in your own job, so it shouldn't be that hard to trust me with my own school life. Yes I am currently getting an A in Math. See? I'll be fine. Now please go back to work; my friends are giving me funny looks right now. YES I'M ALREADY AT MICHAEL'S HOUSE! We've been arguing for the whole ride! Daaaad, just leave me alone already!"
There was a pause and the newcomer grumbled, "Yes okay, okay. I got it; don't worry. Uncle Slicer won't go hungry anytime soon—I'm making noodles tonight. Yeah, yeah; miss you—whatever. Bye." By then he was already inside, and it was clear he was yelling into a phone. He hung up and sighed loudly. "I swear to dear God..."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Your dad giving you trouble again, DJ?"
"You have no idea." Deth Jackson Jr rolled his blue eyes and flopped down on the floor. "I'm exhausted just thinking about it. It's his way of showing 'love' and 'affection' and 'care', but there's no need. Dad's not the kind to show affection anyway."
Michael thought back to the last time he'd seen DJ's father, which had probably been around seven months ago. "...Yeah, he really isn't." Unlike DJ, his father was serious and calm. There were moments where he slipped into a playful and sarcastic persona, but it was never as obvious as DJ's.
Since Deth Jackson's arguing with his father had taken nearly five minutes, the doorbell rang again. Soon Darkai was standing in the doorway, wearing a black leather jacket.
"Hey, Darkai," Michael called.
"Hey," Darkai answered gruffly. He pulled the jacket off to reveal a no-sleeve. His muscularly skinny arms slid out of the sleeves and Michael caught sight of some freshly-wrapped bandages. He'd been telling Darkai to change those bandages for awhile now.
"Hey, who got you to change your bandages?" Michael stated. "In case you forgot, I told you to do it ages ago."
Darkai shot him a look. "Bunny."
"What...?" Michael stared at his friend.
"Bunny made me change my bandages. She even healed my wound," Darkai answered, speaking a full sentence.
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Wow, she must be a real special gal if you let her fix you up... And make you talk more."
Darkai shrugged. "She's a Powerpuff Girl with healing powers."
"She doesn't have anything else though? No charm, no beauty... Not even your heart?" Michael continued to press.
Darkai gave him his blank look again, before turning back for preparation.
Michael shrugged before focusing on their training. "Okay, so who wants to spar with me?" He looked up. There was a long moment of silence. Michael knew it wasn't because his friends didn't want to spar with him; rather nobody wanted to start sparring. "Come on, anybody?" Michael raised an eyebrow expectantly waiting a reply.
"I'll do it," DJ offered, slipping on his boxing gloves.
"Okay, great." Michael made mental notes of the fact that Deth Jackson was all about speed and agility. He was the heads-on type of fighter, who only used stealth occasionally. DJ was also usually on the offensive rather than the defensive. Michael slid his feet into ready position.
DJ attacked first (as usual), charging forward, and swinging his fist forward. Michael blocked him with his arm, letting out a gush of air. DJ jumped back and grabbed Michael by the shoulders, swinging him so that he was positioned in a way that benefited DJ.
Michael jumped out of the way of a kick, grabbing Deth's leg and pulling it forward. He then snagged Deth's arm and twisted his wrist before flipping his opponent. Michael did a lock on DJ.
"No fair!" exclaimed Deth.
"I think it's very fair," answered Michael, panting hard. He felt relieved that he had control over Deth Jackson's speed—for the moment. He just wanted to catch his breath.
DJ frowned before smirking. He then kicked his legs into Michael's back, sending the teen sprawling. DJ rolled out from under Michael, easily pinning his opponent down. "You were saying?"
"Okay, not fair."
DJ got up and Michael also stood up. Deth didn't let go, immediately running forward with a splendid display of various kicks. Shit; that's another thing he's good at, Michael noted as he dodged the swinging legs.
When he was able to stop playing the defensive, Michael attacked with a viciousness. With clawing hits and heavy kicks, DJ was left on the defensive—a side he usually hated taking. They swerved this way and that as Michael aimed and DJ blocked. Things got a little bad when Michael's foot connected with DJ's face and sent the other teen stumbling into the wall. Michael nearly succumbed into his rage had it not been for the cheering—and cries of "go easy on him!"—from his other friends (primarily Ross, who was not shy or mysteriously quiet). In the end, he did inflict a certain amount of damage on Deth but it was enough to be considered violently unjustified.
Soon their time was up and they bowed to each other, both panting. After that incident, DJ returned to the offensive and gave Michael quite a lot of payback. Michael had taken a couple of hits and kicks that he had a feeling would not only make very pretty purple bruises, as well as a sore body.
"Sorry, DJ. I didn't mean—" Michael tried to apologize, but DJ cut him off.
"I know; you're stressed. And you often lose your temper when fighting. It's fine." Deth rubbed his bruised cheek. "I just wish your temper wasn't so violent that your kicks hurt like all hell."
Michael manage to smile a little at the somewhat compliment. "Thanks. You did a number on me too."
DJ returned the gesture with a playful smirk. "True."
Next up were Darkai and Ross. Ross preferred the offensive, while Darkai usually preferred defensive. Darkai's moves were deadly and silent, while Ross' were elegant and up front. They were less explosive compared to DJ's, but his moves still had a certain violent grace to them.
Ross attacked first, rushing forward and grabbing Darkai's shoulders. He aimed to knee his opponent squarely in the chest—albeit lightly. However, Darkai was ready. He grabbed Ross' arms and smashed his own knee forward, sending Ross bending forward. Then Darkai gripped Ross' wrists and flipped him over his shoulder. Ross flew into the floor with a thud.
After the green-eyed, brown-haired teen got up, they exchanged blows and soon the fight had escalated into a quick exchange of hard punches and kicks. "They're so violent," tutted Deth, arching an eyebrow.
Sidney remained quiet, watching the fight.
Darkai got the upper hand at first with his effective strong and stealthy attacks. However, Ross jumped back with the grace of a star student, knocking Darkai away with a nice, sturdy blow. After that and a couple of evenly-matched exchanges, Ross punched Darkai in the chest and sent him stumbling backwards.
Then their time was up and they had to bow to each other. Ross was grinning victoriously while Darkai's lips remained in a thin line. It was okay though, since Darkai wouldn't have really been smiling even if he had gotten the last move.
"Alright, so Sidney's next. Who wants to fight Sid? Not me," Deth called.
"I just fought; I'm out," puffed Ross, wiping his forehead with a towel.
Darkai shrugged.
Everyone turned to stare at Michael, who had just been in the washroom. He looked around. "What...?"
"You're fighting Sidney," commanded Deth Jackson.
Michael groaned inwardly. It wasn't that Sidney was a bad friend or anything, it was just his battle tactics that bothered the others a little...
"O-Okay, Mikey; let's s-start?" Sidney positioned himself and looked up expectantly at Michael.
Signing, the other teenager did as he was told and slid his feet apart in a ready martial arts stance. "Alright."
Sidney rushed forward first, bringing down a nice, square blow to Michael's head—which was protected by a helmet, but still. Michael was sent stumbling backwards, letting out a long gust of air. The thing was, Sidney was usually on the defensive. But he was pretty powerful on the offensive, and when someone became his target, he never let them go... He attacked with force and agility, a dangerous combination.
Michael punched forward, but Sidney dodged down and grabbed his friend by the arm, putting him into a painful lock. Michael kicked his leg out and pushed himself away from his opponent, staggering a few steps back as he tried to maintain balance.
He didn't get much time to rest, since a foot was sent flying nearly into his face. Michael had to bend backwards to avoid the attack. They exchanged blows for quite some time, with a lot of jumping and flipping. In the end, some people would have said Sidney won, but Michael stood his ground. When their time was up, Michael was still standing. Panting heavily, the two bowed to each other and stepped off the ring.
"Break time!" announced Deth Jackson, flopping down on the floor, spreading his arms across the bench.
Ross, who was sitting on the bench on DJ's left, managed a short nod as he gulped down his drink from a green metallic water bottle. "I feel more rejuvenated already," he sighed with relief. He winced. "Ouch; you sure did a number on my arm, Darkai."
Darkai shrugged from his seat beside DJ.
Michael sat down beside Ross. "Well, do you guys think we improved at all?"
"Sure we did," answered Deth Jackson, smirking. "We always do."
"I-I wonder when we'll have to actually use our moves in battle..." Sidney murmured, his eyes trailing to the floor.
The room felt silent after that, and Michael thought back to the possible war. He still wasn't sure when it would start; his uncle Danes was always just a step away from starting the battle, and the Ruffs knew it. Danes would make the first move, because he had that advantage. The only question was when his uncle would choose to attack.
"I don't think a few minutes break is worthy today; we worked our butts off. I'd say we should rest for half an hour," Ross volunteered.
Michael smiled despite his troubled thoughts. "You're always first to try and get out of practice, despite being the 'star child'," he teased.
"I know, but I just never see the attraction of being sweaty, gross, tired, and getting cramps." Ross shuddered at the very thought.
Michael laughed, "Fine, but 20 minutes." Ross gave him an annoyed look, but Michael returned it with an arched eyebrow. "Don't want Danes to call us out on being lazy."
Ross sighed dramatically, whining "Fiiiiine."
So the five started chatting about random things, but Michael had completely zoned out. He thought back to Christie on the bed, her side bleeding steadily. He thought back to finding out that his parents had disappeared all those months ago, and when Christie left for private school... Everything from the past whirled around in his head, including Ross' depression after Tyrone's death.
"Michael...?"
A pair of snapping fingers appeared in his face and Michael snapped out of his thoughts, blinking hard. "A-Ah...! What's going on?"
"I was just checking to see if you were listening or not. I guess you weren't." Ross smiled slightly. "Anyway, I was just talking about Christie. It's cool that she's up now, huh?"
"Yeah." Michael nodded. "I was really worried for awhile."
Deth whistled lightly. "Well, don't worry. Now we can ship Christie with someone too."
Michael gave his friend a funny look. "Huh?"
DJ shrugged. "Someone mentioned Christie x Vix."
"Huh?" Michael repeated blankly.
"Nothing." DJ smirked.
Michael furrowed his brow in confusion, but he didn't press further. Deth was known for saying weird things.
"Well, mentioning Vix reminds me of something. How are Vix and Christie getting along?" asked Ross.
Michael shrugged. "Just like usual. Complain about each other, exchange banter... Y'know; the usual."
"We'll see about that~" DJ murmured, but Michael chose to ignore his friend's silliness for now.
"I think I need some fresh air," Michael muttered, getting up.
"What's wrong?" inquired Darkai gruffly, raising his head.
"I'm just tired. My mind's a little foggy." Michael shook his head. "I'll be fine; don't worry. I just need to get out for a little bit—I'll be back before 20 minutes passes; I'll just go take a walk..."
"Okay. Call us if you need anything, and let us know when you're coming back!" Ross called as Michael walked away.
The teen grabbed his jacket and waved half-heartedly at his friends before continuing out the door, dragging a heavy heart behind him. It was weighed down by all the scars of the past, and concern for the future. Michael felt tired. He knew he needed rest, but with the impending war coming up, he didn't know when he'd get that rest.
He walked out the courtyards of his big home and walked all the way to a nearby park. Michael stopped at the gates, staring inside. A young couple walked past, laughing as the father pushed a baby stroller and the mother led a young possibly three-year-old daughter along by the hand. Young kids screamed at each other and laughed as they chased and played in the grass. Owners were playing frisbee with their dogs or walking their cats. Michael was about to move on when something yellow caught his eye. The person was dressed fashionably, sitting on a bench all by themselves and not moving. But then he noticed that they were actually shaking.
His curiosity struck a chord and Michael took a couple of steps forward. The closer he got, the clearer he could see the person. The person was actually a she, with long golden hair tied in low pigtails. They were wearing a yellow, wavy top with a white skirt that was dotted with orange flowers. She wore brown boots and a small, white hat with a pink bow. She was still shuddering.
"Is something wrong?" he finally asked, resting his arm against the bench's back and staring down at the girl. She looked up and Michael was surprised to see wide, brilliant yellow eyes. "...Banana...?"
"...Hi," she responded, ducking her gaze and staring at her lap. "Michael, right?"
"What's the matter with you?" he repeated gently, turning around to lean his back against the bench. He kept his gaze trained on her.
Banana sighed, shrugging. "I guess I'm just tired. Brick"—she clearly hesitated—"well, he's not feeling so well right now. Everyone's so caught up in all this drama, especially the Rowdyruff Boys. And yet I don't know why.
"I was just tired of thinking about it all and trying to figure things out. It's clear the RRB want to keep their plights a secret, and I currently can't decipher their behaviour. So I guess I'm tired of it all and I'm frustrated."
"...Ah. I know how that feels." Michael jumped over the bench so that he now sat beside her. "It's not a very nice feeling. Keeps you awake at night."
"Yeah, and I'm really sick of it. I wish these worries would just go away." She paused. "You wouldn't know anything about the Ruffs and their—?"
Michael hesitated, thinking of the complicated past between the Ruffs' side and Danes' side. He shook his head. "Nah, sorry; we don't talk a lot. You know, we...don't exactly like each other."
"...Right." Clearly disappointed, Banana stared down at her feet.
"Well, if it makes you feel any better... You look pretty today."
"Thank you." Banana managed to give a smile in return of the compliment. "I made the outfit myself."
"Wow," Michael remarked, "you put it all together by yourself...?"
"Yes." Banana nodded. She fiddled with the fabric. "I designed it too."
Michael let out a little whistle. "I heard from someone you were a good designer."
Banana laughed. Her laugh was tinkly like chimes in a summer breeze. "Well, I guess I owe whoever said that a thank you then."
"I think you owe me one too," Michael teased back, smirking with a raised eyebrow.
Banana returned the mischievous look with her own amused expression. "Gee, I thought I already gave you one...?"
"But that wasn't for saying your designing skills are great," he answered.
"Alright, fine. Thank you again." Banana's lips twitched upwards. She arched a golden eyebrow. "Happy now?"
"You're welcome," he answered promptly. "And yes, that made me quite satisfied," he added. There were a few moments of silence before Michael said, "Do you take commissions?"
"When I'm not too busy, yeah. Why?" Banana looked up in surprise.
"Just wondering so maybe one day I could order an outfit from you." Michael shrugged. "Danes always wants me dressed to impress."
Banana nodded thoughtfully. "Oh yeah; I heard from someone you were super rich."
Michael stiffened. "Well..."
"Sorry; that was inconsiderate of me. I didn't mean to say it out loud," Banana said quickly.
"No, no; it's fine." Michael smiled weakly. "You can tell them I say thank you too," he joked awkwardly.
Banana returned the small smile. "I guess so. Sorry again."
Michael shook his head. "Who said that to you?"
She hesitated before murmuring a name. When he gave her a blank look, she sighed and said a little louder, "Blaster. And some other people."
"...Oh. Of course." Michael leaned back against the bench. "Blaster and the other Rowdyruff Boys aren't really a fan of my family and friends and me."
"Why though?" Banana pressed. "I can tell you don't like them either."
"I guess it has to do with how we've interacted in the past." Michael shrugged. "Y'know; usual family dramas and stuff."
Banana didn't look convinced; she clearly knew there was more to the story, but she let it slide. The yellow Puff kicked her legs out gently, staring at the ground where pigeons were gathering. "You know, I'm surprised it's so easy to talk to each other, considering how we barely know one another."
Michael glanced at her in surprise. Then he smiled. She was right; it was strangely easy to communicate with her. "Yeah." Maybe it was because Banana was clearly a smart-mouthed, clever girl who was well-aware of her surroundings. She even reminded him of a sassier Christie. She didn't seem like some of the other fangirls Michael had met, who swooned over his looks (and money)—she had talked to him naturally throughout the entire conversation. Banana was fashionable but also seemed "natural". She didn't hide her sarcastic, cynical side (the way she acted at school was proof enough of that). Still, Michael knew some referred to her as just a bit bitchy or prissy or a big stick-in-the-mud, but Michael didn't mind because he was sort of similar to her.
Banana tucked stray strands of yellow hair behind her ear. "Well, our conversation today helped take my mind off things. Thanks."
"No problem." Michael grinned a little. "I think you said 'thanks' to me three times within this conversation, even though its our first real time talking to each other."
Banana laughed lightly, "Maybe I should talk to you more."
"Yeah, that'd be nice." He smiled warmly, but then he heard his phone make a DING! noise, which ruined the moment. Sighing to himself, he checked the text and his eyes widened. It was from DJ: "'Dude, where are you? Your 20 minutes of break-time are nearly up, you know!'" Michael groaned inwardly; amazed that he forgot about the deadline he himself had set. "Sorry, Banana; I gotta go."
"No, I understand." She got up and ran a hand through her long hair. "I should go too, anyway." She waved goodbye before jetting off into the air.
Michael watched her leave, before sighing and walking back out of the park. At that very moment, he wished he could fly too.
Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Boomer peeked through the crack between the closed door and the wall, his eyes roaming the next room. A tall man with long red hair was laughing as he drank tea, sitting on an old wooden cabinet. At the table was a rounder, older man and a tall, golden-eyed male.
They were Jamel, Maxim, and Coal. It was obvious they were technically on duty, but they'd just been sitting there for the past half hour drinking tea and talking. Boomer learned a couple of things, but soon the trio's conversation descended into random, mundane things. As of the moment, Boomer just wanted them to leave.
He sighed quietly, turning around and leaning against the door that was disguised as a bookshelf. He had went back to Damon's cabin in search of answers again, but now he was trapped. He glanced down at the book he was holding, which contained plenty of information on the history between the two sides. Damon had certainly did a lot of research while he was staying at the cabin—research that all went down the drain when Danes stormed Damon's new home.
Boomer still remembered the smell of smoke the night it was Vix's birthday. The flames had been so bright it illuminated the shock on their faces as the red waves of heat billowed into the sky. The fire had looked like a warning. In the darkness of the night, the flames had looked brilliant and dangerous at the same time. Boomer remembered getting too close and feeling the flames licking at his shoes. While trying to stop the fire, the brothers' hair and clothes had been singed. A couple of them even experienced burns.
What was most painful, however, came after they managed to pry open the door. The interior was a mess; smashed and broken items littered the floor, while papers and plates were strewn carelessly on tables. The entire cabin—floor and wall and ceiling—had been badly burnt. Everything smelled like toast, but it would've been cozier had it not been for the missing people.
Both Damon and Vix were nowhere to be found. Boomer recalled desperately searching—for anything: a body, a living human huddled away somewhere, or even a sign that they had been there. When he uncovered blood splattered across the floor underneath the litter, he could feel the tears rushing to his eyes. He had felt disgusted and scared. Two of his friends were presumed dead that night.
They waited all night for something to happen, but after crying until midnight and sleeping in a former second home that now smelled like smoke, the brothers left. The next morning, they could see people coming—Danes' men. After that, Brick decided that even though they had initially tried—and even promised Damon—to stay out of the battle, they would take a side. So they did, and they started partaking in the fight against Danes, without ever knowing the "truth" about Damon or the fact that Vix was still alive...
Finally, Boomer heard a phone ring. He wiped his eyes and peeked back outside. Jamel had gotten off the cabinet he was sitting on, and now he was in a chair, tilting it back, and talking on the phone. "What? A meeting? Now? Alrighty then, but we're sorta on duty right now—" There was a pause. "Okay, got it." He hung up and turned to his companions. "New message from Sir Smiley-Face himself, Danes. We're currently relieved of our duties and need to get back to attend a meeting."
Boomer breathed out in relief. After the three left, he double-checked the outside. No new guards had come in, so Boomer pushed open the door and prepared to leave. After hiding the entrance again, he clambered out the window and raced into the forest at super-speed. He wanted to get somewhere that would be safe for him to take off into the air without being spotted.
He had almost reached a good area, until he heard gentle chime-like laughter drifting into the air. He skidded to a stop and looked around, spotting a house that looked like it was made from gingerbread. Sidney, he thought to himself. When he stepped closer up the hill in front of him to better see the area, he immediately caught blond hair tied back in pigtails, flowing in the breeze.
Immediately a scorching feeling rushed through Boomer's body, and for an instant it was almost as hot as the flames on the night Damon and Vix disappeared. The girl he had seen was Bubbles, and she was with Sidney. The boy was walking up the hill, saying, "I have to go to Michael's house for training, so I'm sorry I can't hang out with you today for too long."
"No, it's okay!" Bubbles smiled brightly. "I understand; you're busy and I didn't mean to take up any of your time. Don't worry about me!"
"It's a good thing I like being with you then." Sidney returned the smile warmly.
Bubbles blushed and looked away. "So uhh...how's our little 'project' going?" At this, Boomer's annoyed ears perked up.
"Oh, that? It's going perfectly fine. Don't worry about it. After this, things will probably go back to normal again." Sidney's gaze was sympathetic. "It'll be fine."
Project? What project? What are they talking about? Boomer's mind raced with questions.
"I hope it works; things haven't been great between us lately."
"It'll be fine, you'll see. After all, I'm here every step of the way." Sidney's tone was still gentle, but his smile grew a little bit. It was clear he was getting over his shyness bit by bit with Bubbles.
Boomer's entire body stiffened and he let out a low growl. He hated people who kept secrets. Almost immediately, he slapped his hands over his mouth.
Sidney stopped walking and looked around. "Did you hear that?"
"Hear what?" Bubbles looked up too.
"I thought I heard...a growl..." Sidney trailed off and shook his head. "I mean, never mind."
Bubbles seemed confused, but she let it slide. She instead asked, "If this project works, do you think our target will be okay with you?"
Sidney shrugged. "Probably not." Now Bubbles stopped walking. Her companion glanced back at her in surprise. "Bubbles...?"
"That's not okay! I want all of us to be able to talk together," she protested.
"But I don't control others' feelings," he pointed out calmly and gently. "Sorry to burst your...err, bubble, Bubbles."
She sighed, "It's okay; it's not your fault. I'll just have to talk some sense into him then."
Boomer was still utterly lost as he watched them walk past. What are they talking about? Who are they talking about? A "target"? Who do they intend to target? As soon as their backs were turned, Boomer made a dash for it. He took off into the air, his navy-blue streak behind him as his mind swam with tons of questions.
Down below, Bubbles had glanced back because she had felt a big rush of wind. It blew her pigtails back and she stared up at the sky, where the faintest trace of dark-blue faded into the air. Could it be...? She couldn't help but wonder.
Meanwhile, Boomer was still soaring above Townsville. The city looked so small below, and he felt his load of worries get a little lighter with each second. He wanted to stop thinking so much and just enjoy the small things, because the bigger picture currently didn't look all that bright. Spotting his house, Boomer began the descent into his front yard. He was nearly at the door when it smashed open and someone rushed forward.
They grabbed him and shook him wildly. "Where the hell have you even been!?"
Boomer blinked wildly, feeling his eyes rattle around inside his head. "I was out," he tried to say, his voice coming out in a weak, helpless stammer. "Please stop shaking me. I feel like I'm going to barf."
The person did indeed stop, tilting their head to the side and staring at him. "Where was 'out'?"
"Damon's cabin." Boomer shook his head, shutting his eyes as he tried to straighten out his innards.
"What the hell were you doing back there!? We got all the shit we needed from there the last time we went!"
Boomer shook his head again, but this time to say no. "Not everything. We only scratched the surface. This time I got a book on the history of the battles between our two possibly warring sides."
His companion sighed, "Okay, fine. But now let's hurry the fuck inside."
"What happened now, Butch?" Boomer questioned, concerned.
"There's a couple of things," Butch admitted. "But first, I need to explain..."
Earlier during the day, Brick had fallen unconscious on the cafeteria floor. There was a giant commotion as students clamoured to see what all the fuss was about, and classmates who were close by tried to catch a glimpse of the collapsed Brick. The redhead was so popular people were trying to take pictures while they wondered why the red Rowdyruff Boy was suddenly on the floor.
Butch had threatened to tear people's heads off if they kept taking pictures, but videos and photos were shot anyway. A couple of students' hair became singed that day, courtesy of the Ruffs and Puffs' laser eye-beams.
Boomer had picked Brick up and flew him to the infirmary, setting his brother down on a bed and checking his temperature. Unsurprisingly, his temperature was unusually high. "This is bad," Boomer stated worriedly.
"No shit, Sherlock," Butch snapped back aggressively. When everyone glared at him, he muttered an apology. Buttercup grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out the door. While Boomer tried to help Brick's condition, everyone could hear faint yelling outside from the two greens.
Boomer placed a towel on Brick's forehead and tried to apply his healing powers. If I could just lower the temperature... It didn't really work, but he tried.
Brick woke up near the end of lunch, sweating and red-faced. His breathing was shallow and he could hardly keep his eyes open. "Boo...Boomer," he wheezed. "B-Bag..."
"Do you want your bag?" Boomer reached over and grabbed the red backpack from the floor. When he rummaged inside, he felt the helmet from Blossom. Swallowing, Boomer placed it on Brick's head.
There was a glow and a sharp tingling noise. Then silence. Boomer was growing desperate when suddenly Brick sat up and blinked open his deep, ruby-red eyes. "Brick...?" Boomer whispered, not daring to breathe.
His brother groaned, rubbing his head. "I don't feel so well..." he rasped.
"Your voice!" gasped Boomer, just as Buttercup and Butch reentered the room. Buttercup's eyes widened and she rushed forward.
"What are you talking about?" Brick stared at Boomer, clearly confused. Somehow he seemed...rougher than amnesiac Brick, but he couldn't have already gotten his memories back...could he have?
"Brick, you recognize me, don't you?" Buttercup said, and Boomer wondered if she was thinking the same thing. But why is she so sure?
"Yeah, of course. You're Buttercup." Brick's look of confusion increased. "Did I miss something here?"
"Brick, listen to me. You got am—" Buttercup tried to say, but there was another zap and Brick let out a painful cry.
Butch, who'd been frozen in shock, scrambled forward, shoving his way past his friends. "Brick!?" he cried, eyes wide in panic. Brick's hand reached out and grabbed Butch's, squeezing hard. Butch's expression of surprise was evident, but he didn't hesitate before squeezing back. A moment's of silence passed before Brick awoke again.
This time he was back to "normal", or as normal got with the new Brick. "What happened?" he wheezed, sweat dribbling down his chin.
"Brick, I think you returned back to normal for a couple of seconds. I don't know how, but—" Butch tried to say, but Buttercup cut in when she saw Brick's wide eyes.
"It's nothing you need to worry about, Brick," she said soothingly. "Everything's fine." Butch gave her a befuddled look, which she returned with a warning one.
"Okay." Brick looked down, still appearing concerned.
Everyone else there exchanged worried looks.
Boomer hurried up the stairs and into Brick's room. He was sitting upright in his bed, wheezing and coughing violently. Bandit patted him on the back, trying to coax a opaque, green liquid down his brother's throat. "I...don't want that," Brick gasped, turning his head away like a protesting child. "It tastes so...bitter." His tone was wheezy like his breath, sounding as if he was almost losing his voice.
"You need to take it for your own good," Bandit insisted, tipping the spoon closer to Brick's lips.
Brick shook his head defiantly, eyes closed and lips clamped shut.
Bandit sighed, looking up and meeting gazes with Boomer. Help me, he seemed to say.
"How's your temperature, Brick?" asked Boomer, walking over and placing his hand on the boy's forehead. He frowned. "Still really warm."
Brick bit his lip, saying between clenched teeth, "I still don't want to drink that medicine though." He burst into another fit of coughing.
"Don't you want to feel better?"
Brick didn't answer.
Boomer sat down on the edge of his brother's bed, calmly reaching over and placing a hand on Brick's head. "Be a good brother and drink the medicine," he coaxed.
The reply he was met with was another shake of the head.
"Come on; take it for us," Boomer pleaded, growing desperate.
Brick eyed the medicine distastefully, looking unimpressed. "No."
Bandit huffed, clearly frustrated. He blew on the spoon and took a sip. There was a clear moment where he was trying to keep from making a face, but he managed. Bandit forced himself to smile. "See? Delish," he managed to rasp.
A moment passed as Brick watched the medicine still, and Bandit tried to keep his expression neutral. Brick seemed unconvinced. He turned away. "I don't believe you."
Bandit's exasperation was clear in his tone as he said, "Jesus Christ! Come on, Brick! Will you stop making this so hard? We just want you to feel better!"
For awhile, there wasn't a reply. Then: "Are you sure it tasted okay?"
Bandit was obviously surprised, but then he hesitated. "Well...no. But it's not that bad. Just take it. You'll put our hearts to rest and I swear you'll feel better in no time."
"...Okay." Brick took a few sips, eyes squeezed shut. He shuddered, sticking his tongue out as he made a face. "That was gross."
Bandit smiled, rubbing Brick's head. "I know, but at least you took it. I promise you'll feel better soon."
"Really?" Brick stared at Bandit.
The purple Ruff nodded. "Really."
"...Thank you, Bandit; Boomer." Brick reached forward and hugged both of them, making them feel shocked.
"Brick...? What's gotten into you?" demanded Bandit, clearly flustered and embarrassed.
Brick didn't reply immediately, his arms still wrapped around Boomer and Bandit. Then he whispered, "I guess I'm a little scared."
That caught Bandit's attention. He pulled back and stared into Brick's eyes. "Why do you feel afraid?" he murmured.
"I don't know. I think I'm a little scared of becoming me again. I know it's weird, but if I become the old Brick, then what's going to happen to the new me?"
Bandit was genuinely surprised. For once amnesiac Brick sounded mature instead of innocently naïve, and his tone was scared. "It'll be fine," he soothed, "you'll live on in Brick always."
"I know. Buttercup already said that*, but I'm still scared." Brick stared down at his hands.
"There's no need to be," Bandit reassured him. "I promise you'll always be a part of Brick; he's not gonna forget you—none of us are."
Brick smiled again. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Brick. You'll always be our brother, no matter what you're like," Bandit replied.
Boomer nodded his agreement. He was about to say something when he spotted a flicker of green. Butch appeared behind Boomer, pulling him up and dragging him toward the door. Boomer glanced back at the confused faces of Bandit and Brick, giving them an equally befuddled look. He let himself be dragged all the way to Butch's room, where the green Ruff flung the door open and shoved his brother inside. "What's going on?" demanded Boomer, raising an eyebrow.
"Okay, I need your help," Butch announced, sounding exaggeratedly pleading.
"My help?" Boomer felt surprise tingle within him. "What's this all about?"
"Well, Buttercup and I decided to hang out sometime, but—"
"Oh." Boomer grinned. "So you guys finally decided to go on a date?"
"What? No! We didn't... I mean, that's not it. We just planned on hanging out; I called it a 'date' by accident but I didn't mean a date date, I meant a date as in the date on the calendar. I'm just hoping BC didn't take that the wrong way; I doubt she will though since me liking her is ridiculous and she seems to like Ross anyway which totally doesn't bother me but—"
"Whoa, slow down there!" Boomer grinned, amused to see one of his brothers (and not Boomer himself) stumbling over words. "You're starting to sound like Mojo."
Butch huffed, giving his brother an annoyed look. "What I'm saying is, I can't decide what to wear. I was going to ask Blaster, but he's just up and disappeared."
"Thank you for making me your second choice," Boomer said sarcastically.
"Hey! You know why I made Blaster the first choice! His entire gimmick is that he's a fashion guy and—"
"I know. I'm just teasing you." Boomer smirked, still happy that for once he wasn't the one being teased.
Butch glared at Boomer, before saying, "Well, any suggestions?"
Boomer didn't need to be told twice. Already he was rummaging through Butch's closet, pulling clothes out and judging them. Plenty of the clothes he tossed aside.
"Hey, easy with those!" Butch cried, catching his precious black leather jacket.
"That thing is scuffed enough as it is," Boomer shot back, his head deep in a drawer. "Plus your entire room is as messy as a pigsty so this won't make much of a difference." He threw a pair of sweatpants aside. "Your entire wardrobe consists of lazy wear."
"Not true!" protested Butch.
Boomer stopped digging to give his brother a look. "Which of the three statements I just made are untrue?"
Butch paused, thinking it over. Then he said, "All three...?"
"...Riiight." Boomer turned back to the closet. "Well, I'll admit you have some nice, cool clothing but they seem to be hidden behind hoodies and sweatpants."
"I like to be comfy," Butch said defensively.
Boomer sighed loudly, pulling out a tight, long-sleeved shirt that was like a form-fitting hoodie. It was a V-neck and a small bit of white fabric poked out of the V. The hoodie was decorated with black splotches that resembled graffiti. "This would look nice with a leather vest," Boomer stated. "And a nice pair of jeans—with holes, but not so worn they look like the pant legs are going to fall off your legs."
Butch's eyes brightened. "I have just the thing." He joined Boomer, crouching down in front of his pants drawer (which didn't hold a lot of pants because Butch never properly organized his closet—or his anything). He pulled out a pair of gray skinny jeans with a couple of holes in them. "See?" he said proudly.
Boomer smirked, "So you got jeans. I already picked the leather vest out." The one he'd chosen was mostly black, with spikes on the shoulders and the shoulder-blades were checkered black-and-white.
"Well, that was fast. Thanks, Booms." Butch raised an eyebrow.
"No problem. After all, you gotta really impress BC, right?"
Butch's face turned red. "I told you, it's not like that!"
Boomer laughed, "Okay, okay; I got the message."
"You better," Butch shot back, snatching the clothing from Boomer.
Boomer smiled. It's nice not being the one who's getting teased for once.
Blaster pushed the tree branches aside, frustrated at them for clawing at his newly made sweater. It wasn't baggy like his usual sweaters; this one was baggy at the top—so baggy, in fact, that it was like a scarf—and tight beneath. It was yellow, of course, decorated with even lighter yellow squares here and there. He was wearing black jeans and neon yellow sneakers, as well as a gray beanie. He was also carrying a black tote bag. He had just designed the outfit last week, and he'd put the finishing touches on yesterday.
The yellow Ruff glanced back, eyeing the forest behind him. One man roamed across the field. Blaster sighed in relief when the man didn't notice him and moved on. The reason he was here, so close to Damon's cabin, was because he was curious. The Ruffs—especially Boomer—had been coming here plenty, and Blaster (like all his brothers) had been through Damon's music box multiple times searching for clues. Blaster had recalled a journal entry just yesterday as he finished his latest creation, and it made him curious enough to come back.
The journal entry had been this:
"'Part of me wishes the days were back as they used to be, with me being with my best friends. Yet now things have changed and Danes obviously no longer views me as an ally. Shamus is also clearly very upset with me, and I can only imagine what Ross is feeling. The child had been so frightened that night...
If I could only turn back time, I would. I do not clearly remember what happened before Shamus caught me and saw me standing above Damon's body. There are parts of my memory that seems to have faded into a blank nothingness, perhaps because I have no desire to remember.
However, if I was not here now, I would not have the Rowdyruff Boys and Vix to look over. They are all like my children, especially Vix. The Ruffs are closer to my students, but Vix will always be the son I could never have. He is a brilliant child with much signs of promise and with careful training, I have a feeling that he will do plenty of good to bring some peace to this world with the Rowdyruff Boys. I took the Ruffs in because they could not control their new powers, and they soon expressed the desire to become good. I was pleased with this idea.
It wasn't long until I found Vix, almost dead in a car crash not far from the forest. I have told you this story many times, but I say it again for new reasons. I wasn't sure if I should help at first, considering how he would be an outsider and I was trying to close myself off from the outside world. But then I thought about how there would have been people inside the burning cars and how they could be dying. I thought back to my mistakes in the past, and Tyrone's death. I wanted to do good.
That was enough for me to rush in and pry the burning door open. Flames flickered in the air and I could immediately see that the parents in the front were dead. Blood decorated the car's window and wall. And yet there in the back, a young boy was still alive. He was breathing. Hardly, but I could see his chest struggling to rise and fall. He saw me reaching out to grab him. I saw his eyes begin to close. Or rather, his eye. The poor boy had lost one eye already.
That was the day I saved Vix.
I had contemplated what to do with him after he was rescued. He was clearly not going to live. I could give him my powers but that would endanger his life; or I could let him die and have saved his life for nothing. That would be endangering to his life also. So I concluded that I would in fact give him the same powers I own. Then I ran into another problem. Vix's weak body could not handle such new powers. So I did some more thinking and decided to give him the secret project I had been working on.
I gave him The Eye.
The Eye was a special project of mine to give someone special powers, specifically those of the healing kind. It was clearly something Vix needed. With its additional powers and its healing abilities, it would ensure Vix's survival. And since Vix had lost his eye already, it seemed like reason enough. Thus I surgically placed it within his empty eye socket and waited. It took about a week before Vix finally awoke; just when I was losing hope.
As soon as he rose from his near-death experience, I started becoming his fatherly figure. I introduced him to the Ruffs, cared for him, and trained him. With Vix possessing the Eye, I decided I would throw the notes and plans for the Eye away. Yet I could not bring myself to throw out so much hard work, so I hid it away. Now, I write this here to ensure I will never forget.
I have stashed it away within a book titled The Call of the Wild. Perhaps those notes will mean something again someday, but as of right now they are remains of a forgotten past that is now long behind me. It is a reminder of days past when I started the project with Danes, Shamus, and Tyrone. I wonder if Danes completed the counter-artifact project? Knowing him, he most likely did. He must think I will finish the Eye and use it as a weapon. I did finish the Eye project, but only to save Vix. I shall never use him as a weapon of any kind.
He is too precious to me for such a thing. Instead we will remain hidden here, not getting involved in the war that I involuntarily started. I want them to be shielded from this war and this trauma. And as the Eye project is so dangerous, these notes will be locked away to ensure they do not get into the wrong hands.
Signed,
Damon.'"
Blaster skidded to a stop in front of the field that neared Damon's cabin. My hands aren't the wrong hands, he told himself. He ducked behind bushes and trees as he neared the small house. To his surprise, Danes had dispatched extra men there that day. It seemed that instead of giving up, the large man had jumped at the chance when he heard about any possible appearances from the Ruffs. Blaster knew it was silly of him to come to a place that was probably full of traps—a place that he could be easily hunted by a determined man with a long-term grudge.
Yet somehow, all of the Rowdyruff Boys found themselves drawn back to the cabin time-and-time again. Perhaps it was the fact that this house was a part of their past; somewhere they had once felt secure and at home. Or maybe it was the unquenchable need for new information of the past and evidence that Damon was innocent. Whatever the reason, Blaster was determined to get inside.
Luckily for him, the guards were currently not lingering near the actual entrance to the cabin. Instead they patrolled the field—rather lazily too—casting glances around the area without much interest. It was clear the guards were bored, and they weren't bothering to do their jobs properly. Well, I sure as hell am not complaining, Blaster thought, nearing the house. He grabbed hold of a broken window and slid through. He landed with a soft thump in the kitchen, dust rising from the floor area. It was dark inside.
He crossed the room to the bookshelf door, quickly opening it and slipping inside. The musky stench of rotting wood, old cinders and ashes, as well as dust and dirt, rose up to greet his nose. Blaster coughed involuntarily, waving at the musty air around him as he tried to fan the dust away from himself. Grabbing ahold of a shelf, Blaster rummaged around for a book titled The Call of the Wild.
He eventually found it hidden away deep within the bookshelf. The small book was squeezed in a binder that was kept between two large books that gave it cover. Blaster had searched the entire shelf, creating a dusty mess on the floor. He had finally found the book when he pulled out the binder and the item fell out. There were sheets of paper jammed within the covers of the book, and it was clearly not originally part of the pages.
Blaster took those papers out, leafing through them. He found a sheet that showed a diagram of the Eye. There were notes about tests and the possible powers, along with photos and drawings. The project had been on the back-burner after Damon had escaped from Danes and met the Ruffs. But after rescuing Vix, Damon had finished the project in a hurry. It had already been 80% completed when Vix's body was scavenged, the notes said.
Studies showed that Vix's weak, slightly mangled body was incompatible with the Eye. Not only was the boy naturally sickly, the car accident had left him even weaker and more vulnerable. The Eye demanded a capable host, rejecting Vix constantly. Finally, Damon had caved in and given Vix the powers he also had. This allowed Vix's body to recover enough so that the Eye accepted such a host.
Notes showed the effects of having the Eye, and what it could do. It also included the weaknesses and problems the Eye held—because as the notes said, such an item created from scratch with such strong powers was bound to have problems. Blaster bit his lip as he read the part about the Eye's healing abilities, but also the destructive powers it had. Besides having the ability to enhance speed and strength and durability and all sorts of powers, the Eye was dangerous not only to others, but to the user as well. If used too much, then the Eye would bring the user much pain. If it got bad enough, the overuse may cause one's eyes to bleed—or worse.
Blaster pushed the thought of Vix being in danger of over-exertion out of his brain. He didn't want to feel sorry for the one that betrayed his own friends. Instead, the yellow Ruff read about the counter artifact, and what little Damon knew about the project during his time of exile.
"'The counter artifact was made as a measure of controlling the Eye's powers. It is supposed to cause the user of the Eye weakness and pain, as well as weaken the powers of the Eye itself. However, when I left into hiding, the project was nowhere near completion. I remember its design and the items Danes was going to use to complete it. As far as I know, it is still in the hands of my old friend Danes... Who in fact no longer sees me as a friend. I believe he will in fact finish the project, and with his resources, it could be a very dangerous item. With my makeshift laboratory, the Eye is already very strong. It is just a little unstable and rather makeshift itself. I did not have the proper materials, but Danes does. He has access to research material and items I currently do not, and Danes himself is a smart man. When setting his mind to something, he will complete it no matter what. And with such, along with his current resentment toward me, he is in fact a dangerous man in general. However, Danes is not entirely heartless. He is only completing the project because he believes I shall finish my side and use it as a weapon. After the fiasco with Tyrone, I do not wish to repeat my mistakes and cause any more possible reasons for war. I am now only completing the project of the Eye to help the boy I saved survive. Danes will not know that, but if we stay in hiding, he will not know about the Eye at all. And then I can keep the boy away from Danes' counter-artifact.
...It has just occurred to me that the boy will have to stay with me once he awakens. And considering he now has no parents... Oh, the poor boy; he has already been through so much. I only hope he will trust me once he awakens.'"
Blaster set the notes down and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't help but feel sorry for Vix; the poor guy had really gone through a lot. But then Blaster's heart hardened when he remembered the unforgivable things Vix had done the past couple of days he'd "come back from the dead", and his compassion vanished in an instant.
He didn't trust Vix. Blaster was a relatively sweet guy and everybody knew it—but if you did anything to piss him off or hurt those he cared about, then you were dead meat. Blaster didn't have the patience to constantly forgive people, no matter how sweet he was. However, he did have the temper to resent those who hurt those he cared for.
Gathering the notes and the book, the yellow Ruff stood up, stretching. He'd gotten used to the heavy dust, but now after so long of sitting, his foot had fallen asleep. Blaster enjoyed the pop in his muscles before he relaxed. He glanced at the bookshelf door, deciding that it was a good time to go. He creeped over to the door, tucking the book and notes into the black tote bag he'd brought with him. He then took hold of the bookshelf-door-hybrid and opened it.
When he got out, Blaster made sure that it was securely locked. He was about to make his way toward the window, when all of a sudden the knob started shaking. Blaster froze and stared at the door with a shock that sent panic coursing through his veins. He screamed at himself to run, hide, or make a break for the door. And yet he was still frozen to the spot.
The wooden door opened and someone set foot inside, their feet being obviously petite. Whoever it was, it couldn't have been Danes or any of his men, because the foot was wearing a ballerina-style slipper. The newcomer peeked inside and surveyed the room, turquoise eyes wandering the area. Another person followed suit, looking bruised and battered. This one stretched and yawned, blinking as he asked, "Was this reeeeally necessary?"
"Yes!" snapped the girl, glaring at her companion. "I told you, I wanted to check on Damon's cabin. I hadn't even known that Danes managed to recover this area."
Vix, the boy who'd come in after her, snorted. "He recovered this place awhile ago because the Ruffs never claimed it but he figured they would. There's been signs the Ruffs come back here, but it's never definitive enough for us to constantly guard this place. Danes is becoming impatient. He's hungry for what he calls 'justice'."
Blaster breathed deeply from behind a rotting cabinet, forcing himself to stay calm. His relief at the fact it wasn't Danes coming vanished into more worry. The two people unwittingly in the same room with him happened to be Vix and Christie, the girl being a prized soldier of Dane's—and his niece, and Michael's sister. Last time Blaster had fought her, she'd left him with a bloody nose and damaged pride. He wasn't interested in doing the same routine all over again.
Christie stood at the edge of the kitchen table, looking around. "It's not very welcoming."
"What did you expect?" Vix snorted, rolling up the sleeves of his carelessly thrown on shirt. His arms displayed fresh wounds still crusted with blood. "Danes' men set fire to the house, remember?"
Christie didn't answer, clearly sorry and not at the same time. She'd hated Damon for what he did, and she didn't really trust Vix—but it was clear she had no desire to wish such destruction on anybody.
Vix's eyes misted over as he appeared to think back to simpler, happier times. "...It used to be cozy though," he whispered, touching the table.
In his mind's eye, Blaster saw a wisp of a past memory form into an image. The table was seated with more than six people; Damon sat at the head with Vix and the Ruffs. They were all cheering and laughing and eating happily. Then Him and Mojo appeared with more food...
"What's that smell?"
Blaster's brain was jerked away from the happy memory as Christie looked around, sniffing the air. Vix shrugged. "Charred wood, maybe?"
"No. It smells saltier and far more tantalizing..." Christie narrowed her eyes.
Blaster knew what it was. He glanced down and sniffed at his bag. There's something in here too... He pulled it out and threw it over their heads. They didn't see it, but the new overpowering salty stench of a fishy snack hit the door.
Vix spun around. "That, maybe?" He jabbed a thumb at the food.
Christie eyed it with disinterest. "I'm not sure..."
Blaster knew he had to make a break for it or else.
"Where did this even come from though?" Vix grabbed it and sniffed. He frowned.
Christie looked around. "There must be someone inside."
Almost immediately Vix glanced at the bookshelf door, and Blaster felt his heart sink. Vix knows about the secret door. But will he say anything? The yellow Ruff watched his old friend walk closer to the shelf, his breath catching in his throat. However, at the last moment possible, Vix jerked away from the secret door. Instead, he marched toward Blaster's hiding place and reached into the crack between the cabinet and the wall. He grabbed the Rowdyruff Boy by the arm and dragged him upwards, pulling him out. "Ah-ha," he muttered.
"Fuck," cursed Blaster, blond hair falling into his now angry eyes.
"You shouldn't curse; it doesn't suit a boy with your pretty face. Plus glaring like that will ruin your complexion," Vix shot back. Blaster immediately retaliated by roundhouse-kicking Vix in the arm, forcing him to let go. Vix let out a sharp outtake of air as he was smashed against the wall, his already fresh wounds starting to throb from impact. "You little prick," he snarled.
Blaster reeled backwards, ready to make a dash for it. But as soon as he turned around, he was met with a heavy blow to the face that sent him flying into the table. The crash sent pain rushing through his body as he crashed to the floor. He could already taste throw up from having his body tossed around so unnaturally. Blaster jumped upwards, head spinning as he met eyes with Christie. Her gaze was cold and electrifying. Her hand was still raised; the one that she had used to hit Blaster. She was clearly wounded too; he caught sight of bandages tied around her stomach beneath her billowing tank top. Before he could react, she was already in his face, knee meeting his stomach.
Blaster coughed as the air left his lungs, eyes widening from the shock and the pain. Even while hurt, Christie was still as speedy as ever. He didn't want to fight; Blaster just wanted to go home and study the notes. He wished it didn't have to be this way; from what he knew, Christie was a nice girl...usually.
He grabbed her arm and shoved her sideways, causing her to topple into Vix's arms. He clearly tensed at the contact, his wounds obviously protesting as he caught her. His muscles were clenching. "Enough!" he commanded, straightening Christie. "We're in no shape to fight," he hissed, "and we don't want to make a commotion. We're not even supposed to be here."
"I didn't ask you to come along," Christie sniffed indignantly, her distrust for Vix showing. "Do you still worry for him despite his defense of Damon and his crimes?"
Blaster's shoulders tensed. "I have a strong feeling Damon was innocent," he said in a steely voice.
Christie turned sharply to glare at Blaster. "What evidence do you have to support that? We have so much against it—Tyrone's death, my parents' disappearance..." Her voice trailed off on a wobbly note, anger flashing within her bright but teary eyes. For such a rumoured sweet gal, Christie was one tough and temperamental cookie.
"I said, enough!" Vix whipped around to face his companion, grabbing Christie's wrist and jerking her back as she started to step forward. "If we make a scene and get caught here, I'll be dead meat even if you get off scot-free. They'll think I forced a responsible young girl like you in here with me because I missed Damon or some bullshit—or they'll claim that I should've stopped you. Danes will punish me even if he won't draft me, but I know some men who'd be more than happy to get rid of someone like me, who had ties with Damon."
Christie stopped to consider this, knowing what Vix said was true. "...Fine."
Blaster wasn't too shocked, but a ripple of surprise did stir within him. They still don't trust him enough after all his years of service? He clenched his fists. Why are you still working for Danes then, Vix...
As if reading his thoughts, Vix glanced up and met eyes with Blaster. His jaw clenched.
Blaster knew. It was the counter-artifact, along with other reasons. Vix has gotten attached to his new family.
"You should go now," Vix growled lowly. "I don't know how long I can control Christie, and you already know what beast she hides within. Get out now or I'll attack you too. And I'm not holding back. We don't want to get caught though, and I'm sure you don't either."
"I don't need to be told twice." Blaster forced himself to relax, unclenching his fists and letting his shoulders fall. He raced for the window, forcing it open and floating out. He peeked back inside and called, "Oh and we Rowdyruffs don't come here often. We're not that stupid, but I felt curiosity so I came back today. Wasn't expecting company." He slammed the broken window shut, flying upwards into the sky.
Below him, back within the cabin, Christie and Vix stared at the space where he'd been. Then the girl yanked her wrist away from Vix's grip, muttering, "You can let go now."
"What was that?" he shot back irritably. "You attacked him head-on without even thinking. You're supposed to be the sensible one!"
"So maybe I want to stop being the responsible one for once! Maybe I'm sick of it all!" Christie shouted back.
Vix stopped. "...Really...?"
Christie caught herself, realizing that she'd said too much. She looked away. "...Sometimes."
Vix's gaze softened, as did his tone. "But you won't stop."
"No." Christie sighed, folding her arms across her chest to keep herself from shivering. "I wasn't brought up that way."
"If you actually want to break free, then maybe—?"
"No," she repeated, a little stronger this time. "I don't. Not now."
Vix glanced down at his scuffed shoes, sighing. "I was just asking."
"I know." Christie sniffled lightly. "Maybe someday, but not now." She stared up at the window. "Right now, we have business to take care of."
"You're not going to tell Danes, are you?"
Christie shook her head. "I'm going to watch the cabin in case they come back again. But as of right now, I'd prefer to keep this to myself. I don't know if Blaster was lying when he said they hardly come here. It's highly likely that he was, but at the same time not... Because he's right; they aren't stupid, and there's no evidence against that claim."
"Yeah." Vix glanced back at the bookshelf door, swallowing hard. "I uh... Can we go now?"
"What's wrong?" She turned to look at him in surprise. "You don't sound—or look—so well."
Visions of flames and fire were erupting in Vix's mind. Flashes of broken fragments of the past clouded his mind's eye, flickering here and there. He started breathing heavily; he couldn't find air. It was as if the smoke and the flames were real, licking at his heels. He knew they weren't, but he could feel them—their heat and their burn. He flicked his gaze elsewhere, catching a fresh pool of blood gathering on the floor. Damon lay there, looking like he was in a lot of pain.
Then the fire disappeared and Vix relaxed, breathing deeply. He could hear Christie calling for him, but she sounded so far away. Now he could see Danes standing above Damon, shooting at his leg. Vix caught his own eye from the crack of the small cabinet he'd hidden in. Again he watched the blood seep from his second father's leg.
He'd replayed this scene so many times in his head, and had had plenty of nightmares about it too. But he'd recovered for the most part—the visions and the nightmares came less now, but standing there in the very same cabin... It appeared that Vix's body and his brain still weren't ready to handle it. He could feel the terror he'd felt that night, the panic and the confusion. He remembered his pain when he was dragged away from a bleeding Damon, who had just told him he'd killed a man named Tyrone. Visions of standing outside the burning cabin flashed within his brain.
Vix couldn't take it.
He took steps back until he felt his back hit the wall. "No, no, no... No...!"
"Vix?" A hand reached out to him—maybe it was Christie, maybe it wasn't—he didn't know anymore.
Vix slapped it away. "Stay away from me!" he hollered. He scrambled backwards, trying to get away from the flickering visions of flames and blood. His brain had gone blank. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he was imagining everything. But at that very moment, he'd lost all control of thought and reason.
He started panting, trying to get air into his lungs. His gasps were sharp and painful. Vix's body and brain finally couldn't take any more. He toppled over.
"Vix!" gasped Christie.
*(A/N: Reference to chapter 35!)
ME: Correct me if I'm wrong, but I'd say that was a pretty long chapter.
BLOSSOM: Why would you need to be corrected?
ME: *shrugs* I usually type on my phone, remember? It doesn't have word count.
BLOSSOM: *puckers lips* Now about what you really said...
ME: I said we should do the disclaimer, honest!
BLOSSOM: *narrows eyes* Hmm...
BRAKER: *opens door and parades in* We're baaaack! And we're ready to celebrate Kuku's completion of the Math exa—what are you guys doing? *looks around, confused*
BLOSSOM & I: *staring at one another*
BRAKER: ...Okaaaaaay then.
BRICK: *walks in after Braker* What happened?
ME: We were just talking about the exam.
BLOSSOM: I thought I heard you say I was like your mo—
ME: *insistent* Nothing close to it! I said we should do the disclaimer.
BLOSSOM: *stares, then rolls eyes* Okay, okay. Fine.
ME: *sighs in relief* Anyway, today we had sparring at hapkido. I totally forgot my equipment because no one updated the Facebook or Instagram and apparently my mom didn't get his WeChat message. So we had to borrow gross public equipment and share with other kids who'd forgotten. I borrowed some friends' stuff, but they were still sweaty.
I sparred with a guy named Alex who hits pretty hard. He constantly kicked at me, and twice he rammed straight into me. He comes at you like a brick wall. I have a swollen bruise on my leg thanks to him, and I'm limping. And my leg literally protests in pain if it touches anything or has any weight put on it (besides clothing). I had to put an ice pack on it during hapkido class.
BLOSSOM: *murmurs* Serves you right for lying.
ME: What was that?
BLOSSOM: Nothing.
BLOSSOM & I: *stare at each other for awhile, then burst out laughing*
BRICK: ...Okay. *sweat-drop* Leave a review and next time we'll find out what happens to Vix, along with other stuff. Like Butch's date.
BUTCH: *defensively* It's not a date.
BRICK: *shrugs* Whatever. *glances at Blossom and I, who are laughing and teasing each other, Brick lowers voice to mutter* I just don't get females...