Ch.1: Unconscious Reunion
Mikhail looked up from his lunch, and turned towards the door. Over the din of the
cafeteria he watched, and was aware of the gradual fading of murmuring voices that had just
reigned the building into chaos a few minutes ago. The mahogany door swung open, as it did
so many times before, this time a little different, admitting a different person, an unknown
enigma. His eyes flicked over to the first table to the right, and saw the taller, more
muscular and bulky boys were also looking. There had been talk of a new student coming
today, so the school was abuzz with talk and gossip. Some claimed he was the strangest
looking boy in the world; others claimed that he would be one of Them, the top dogs, the
head of the school, not because of grades, but simply of a reason he could not name. It was
almost unspeakable to talk about it, but even though no words were said, they all knew,
everyone did. There was nothing the teachers could do to stop it. The adults had stopped
trying many years ago.
The boy that entered was unlike anything he had seen. It marred him, scared him,
this boy was different in a way that he couldn't quite place his finger on. His looks were
...strange, but not unusual. Long, wispy brown bangs hung down over his head, finally
ending near the chin. Blue eyes stared out from under the mop of hair, and he could see
vibrancy in them, with a wolf-like alertness and intelligence. This boy was not a 'boy' in
mental terms; it was clear that he had been through much, and had gradually built a wall
around himself, not allowing anyone to ever get close to him. There was also a harsh
hostile-ness in those cerulean orbs, he decided, a warning to those who tried to provoke
him. He did not doubt that those who dared to would be punished as severely as they came.
There was an aura of mystery and stoic-ness about him, and Mikhail immediately picked it up.
This boy didn't talk much, didn't speak unless asked, and only did the bare minimum unless
it was beneficial to himself. He didn't care for the world, because the world had never
cared for him, and this was his way of repaying the world for it's cruel claws of Fate that
had no doubt closed upon him at a tender age. Mikhail didn't care for this type of person.
But that wasn't the main point.
This boy had a SOMETHING about him, a something he couldn't quite place, something
that no one else had. It was just a feeling of apprehensiveness, of wariness. It made him
think, and he knew it had something to do with the boy's mind. He had something that all
others didn't, and that both intrigued him and scared him. He did not like mysteries, but
curiosity always got the better of him, and he was always burned by the fire. It was life,
and the way of living. He could not change it, for people were born curious, him being a
person, he was curious about everything as well. But this was something new, and he was
curious now. His eyes flicked over to where the older boys were sitting, and realized with
a start that this person was dangerous, even though he seemed quite diminutive and petit,
but he had potential that he had yet to reach. The older boys didn't notice, though, and he
sat back down and watched instead. Standing would only catch people's attention, and that
was exactly the opposite that he wanted to do. Attracting one of Their attentions could
mean something painful, and that was not something he wanted to endure.
As he watched, They lifted themselves from the table on the far right, their faces
blank as the whitewashed walls that enclosed them from all sides, as flawless as the wooden
floor under their feet, and as emotionless as the students watched, with mixed emotions for
the youngster that walked through those dread doors, without a measure of fear for these
attackers. They could not help him, it was not the rule, and they would be severely
punished if they did otherwise. They were helpless against Them, and they were not about to
rebel. They had done it some years back, and it had ended in disaster. A student had died.
That was the last straw, and all rebellious meetings, all rebellious actions, all thought of
rebelling fled from their minds, and the flame that was their sense of strangeness and
different-ness went out in the whiff of wind that was that battle in the classrooms. The
mission had failed for the students, but as for Them, they had succeeded. There was no
doubt on that. Hate still reigned against Them, but there as nothing they could do now,
nothing they could do ever. They had taken the fight out of them, and they weren't about to
get it back anytime soon.
Their backs faced their audience as the boy was loosely surrounded. All was quiet,
all was silent, all was so still that when the leftmost boy drew back his fist and arm
abruptly, the glass of peace was shattered, and then it seemed as if the world was
generating around this boy, this new kid that had appeared amongst them with nothing to
spare, but his life. And even though that was nothing to Them, they wanted it, to govern
it, and force him into something they wanted. He was merely a prize, a winning to whoever
managed to get past Them and claim him without a qualm. They had ganged up on him now,
muddling into a tight circle where all raised their fists to hit the boy-
-and the first boy fell down to the ground. Seconds after, moments after, barely
any time between the bodies that hit the ground dully, they were laid upon the floor, and
only one remained. Mikhail stood up, as the head of all the other tables did, a privilege
given to them courtesy of Them, and they watched, silent and afraid, waiting for the
champion to finally emerge. The Russian brunette stared at the back that was faced to him,
and the new boy's eyes as they shifted back and forth, from the fallen boys to the one that
was standing at him now. The older boy was the leader of Them, as Mikhail saw, the senior
called Zuranpic, a boy from the depths of Europe, in the Swiss forests, emerging to come
here to learn Japanese. But he had stayed, for more years than he should have now, cut ties
with his family to continue his rule here in this secluded school in the middle of the
suburbs with nothing less than a forest and a lake in its vicinity. He lifted a leg to
strike the boy down, and the boy caught it with ease, having sensed the move previously.
With a deft flick of the wrist, the last boy was on the floor, and lay silent.
The cafeteria was silent. Oh, so silent.
He lifted his head, and now they saw him, his eyes glimmering pride and anger,
sadness and pain, without a jot of joy or triumph, and he seemed taller, more intimidating
than he had been. He swept the chestnut bangs out of his way for a moment, only to have
them flop back on his head. He shook them out of his eyes, so everyone could see the ocean
blue that they held, and the fear that fell upon the audience as they watched, without a
single word or uttered sound. It was like a grave, a catacomb, where all was silent, and
the dead lay still. Mikhail could not hear anything, not even his own breathing, he had
been holding it in for the entire fight.
"The name's Naoe Nagi. Any questions? No? Good."
He lifted his foot, and for a split moment, Mikhail thought he was going to step on
Zuranpic, but he stepped over the leader of Them, and continued to walk until he was right
in front of Mikhail, who stared through his light, almost clear blue eyes at him fearlessly.
Mikhail noted that the students had parted like a reenactment of Moses parting the Red Sea
as the new boy walked in their midst, and could feel the fear that he would turn and give
them a blow that hurt by the ones that he passed. Nagi gestured to the chair beside him,
unoccupied, and asked in a tenor voice, "Is this seat taken?"
The Russian shook his head, and Nagi sat himself down. Out of the corner of his
eye, Mikhail saw Them slink out of their fallen spots back to their tables, bruised and
worn, and turned to the new boy. He seriously doubted Nagi was his real name, but he used
it anyway. "You gave them quite a time, Nagi."
The new boy did not even look up from his food, a plain sandwich he had brought. "I
was trained well" was all he said, and would say no more. His reply blended in with the
rest of the hubbub that was talk and gossip, about him, mostly. He paid it no mind, and
found that if he concentrated on eating and making every bite deliberate, than the sounds
would fade away as if nothing, as if they had been tuned down a dial. He ate his sandwich,
as the other boy, whose name he did not know, watched him eat with an air of fascination.
He wondered what was so fascinating for a moment, pausing in his eating, ignoring the
frightened and awed glances and looks that people were giving him, and munched away at his
food. He looked up only when he heard the cafeteria door open again.
The boy that entered this time was already a student, and had been for more years
than Mikhail had been there. Nagi watched, and felt the air of familiarity hit him, and he
dismissed it as a simple ruse; why would he be in a place like this? He never disobeyed any
of the rules, so he couldn't possibly be here. The boy was bedraggled and had to hold onto
the wall, but he managed to straggle into the lunch line at the side of the cafeteria. But
before he reached the rail, Nagi watched with suspicion as one of the older boys he had
fought earlier grabbed the boy's arm and jerks him out of line. After watching a little
more, he was only able to conclude that this boy did NOT want to be dragged to the table
where the other boys he had fought were waiting, with smirks on their faces. He turned half
a centimeter in the nameless boy's direction, just catching his attention, and asked in a
low voice, "What's happening over there?"
Mikhail straightened and began to speak, his low voice almost un-understandable in
the din. Obviously this event was nothing out of place of everyday life, because no one was
paying attention to it. "This school is run by a very different way. The teachers are
afraid of the students. Literally, the students run the school." Here he stopped, and when
Nagi's face did not change, he continued. "The people in charge are Them, the boys you
fought. It proves that you can hold your own. Another thing is, you must have a Claim."
He gestured to the rest of the table, all boys, sitting and watching the 2 of them talk.
"They are my Claimed. You must claim by tomorrow at lunch tomorrow or be claimed. I
suggest you just pick any Unclaimed, just to escape being Claimed yourself. Choose soon, or
they will choose you."
Nagi's face remained unchanged as he voice remained emotionless. "That was not my
question. I asked "What's happening over there?". You did not answer my question."
Mikhail could feel the prickling of anger at the back of his neck, and all the boys
tensed, sensing a fight. Nagi treated it with indifference, and just ignored the even more
eyes that bore into him. Mikhail shoved away his anger, treating it as a newcomer's ego,
and answered the question. The Claimed at the table audibly relaxed.
"That boy has been an Unclaimed ever since he came here. The first 2 years he was
happy, and he fought back, but gradually his victories got less and less, and they won him.
Now, he's just wreck of what he used to be, and they just use them for their own purposes.
I don't think I'd like to go into that."
"Why do they have more power?"
"They're older, and their Claimed are always loyal. The Claimed know the
consequences of insubordination."
Nagi had nothing to say to this. So he got up, and gave Mikhail a meaningful look
that he didn't quite understand. "Well", he drawled slowly. "I think I might have a look
at what they're going to do to him. I could learn something from it. But I have one more
question."
Mikhail nodded his head in accord.
"Do you do the same to your Claimed?"
"No."
"Good. I would hate you if you did."
Nagi looked at him for another moment, then lifted himself completely from the
table, and again Moses parted the Red Sea as he approached the table on the far right. The
talk disappeared immediately, to a relatively low level, and the laughter that came from it
was high, shrill, nervous. The new boy simply watched them bully the young boy with feigned
punches and kicks, but when Zuranpic's foot actually came in contact with the younger boy's
ribs, he stumbled and gave a small yelp of pain. The brunette politely tapped the bully's
shoulder and asked quite innocently, "What are you doing?"
Zuranpic looked at him, squinting, as if rating him if a scale to trust him with an
answer or not, then answered, "Beating him up."
"Why?"
"He was being disobedient in class." At this, the other boys snickered, and as
Mikhail watched, he could tell that the new kid didn't believe him. Who would believe a
bully anyways? But his own anger flared up at Zuranpic's next words.
"Care to join us?" His eyes were sparkling with an almost evil twinkle, but his
hand was stretched out to the youngster. Nagi, or whatever his name was, looked at the
taller boy, down at the hand offered to him, then back at the face that peered down at him
with a smirk tugging at the corners of the bully's lips. After a few moments, Zuranpic was
down on the floor, twitching madly, then laid still when the younger gave him another kick.
The other members of Them backed away, then turned tail and fled to their seats at the
table. Nagi gave Zuranpic another kick to make sure he wasn't feigning unconscious, and
satisfied that he was well and truly out of it, and turned to the boy lying on the floor,
shivering madly. Nagi gently reached out a hand to him, but he jerked away from it, afraid
and timid.
He turned to the audience and said clearly, "This boy is mine now. He is Claimed,
so if any of you want to try and advance on him, you will have to answer to me." He shook
his head in the general direction of the boy on the ground and said a little more slowly,
"Unless you want to end up like him, I advise you not meddle with him or me." Then he
turned back to the boy and held out a hand again, not smiling, but eyes kind and receiving.
"C'mon. I won't hurt you. Those bullies are gone now. C'mere, I won't bite, you
know."
The sandy-haired boy opened his eyes, so blue and endless that Nagi lost himself in
them. Then they shut, and the frail frame convulsed more wildly than ever. Nagi went on
forward and picked the boy up, shivering in the warmth, and back to the table, repeating the
parting act for the third time. Mikhail pulled up an extra chair, and watched as the
brunette gratefully set the close-to-unconscious boy in it. He nodded his thanks to
Mikhail, and took out his water bottle. He wiped the top, and opened the top. "Here", he
gently pressed it against the boy's parched lips. "Drink this."
The boy whimpered, but did as he was told, until he had drunk his fill, which was
more than half the bottle. Nagi put the bottle away, and smoothed the boy's hair,
whispering, "Get some rest, you. I'll get you to your room later." After he ate the last
few bites of his sandwich, he stood up, and Mikhail did as well. All of the other boys at
the table did as well, and he quickly motioned them down. A few hurried words told them to
stay put and not to go to anywhere save the bathroom. Then Mikhail gestured for the new boy
to follow him, an unspoken command. The new boy was quiet through the entire trip to the
sleeping boy's room, and their conversation consisted of only 2 lines.
"What's your name?"
"Mikhail."
There was no more said, for they had arrived at a room. Nagi took note of the
corridors he passed, and the room number that hung on the door. Mikhail stepped in, and
turned on the light. If words could even begin to describe Nagi's face, they would have
included several cuss words. Nagi took a step in the threshold to the room and looked
around, his face contorted into fury.
The wooden vinyl floor was spotted with flecks of dark red, a reminder to previous
times in this room. A single light, the light that Mikhail had turned on consisted of one
single light bulb hanging dejectedly from the ceiling. His gaze swept over the bed, and his
voice uttered a single growl as he saw the 4 bedposts, surrounding a dented in bed, held
handcuffs on each one. The shelves on the side held nothing short of torture equipment; the
top shelf consisted of coils of whips. The second held the same, but the whips had razors
on them. The bottom one held a set of darts and a set of knives, every shape and size,
every length and width. Nagi would kill if they had actually been used before, but he
figured that if they had been used before, they wouldn't have been clean. They were
probably just there for decoration, and to remind the poor boy of what might happen if he
disobeyed, if he tried to fight back.
He turned and swept out of the room, Mikhail close behind. He had not wanted to see
the terrible look on his face. He watched, as he usually did, as the new boy took a slip of
paper from his pocket and handed it to him. "Where's this room?"
Mikhail led him wordlessly to the room. It was white, clean, neat, and had 2 beds.
Mikhail threw back the covers as he watched the new kid put the sleeping boy down on the
bed. He rolled the covers back over him as he got a damp towel. Nagi wiped the cloth over
his head, then as the sleeping boy frowned and muttered in his sleep, he hushed him, saying,
"Go to sleep. You're safe" in the sleeping boy's ear. Mikhail watched all of this. When
Nagi was finally done, he noticed Mikhail was still there, and asked, "Yes?"
"What's you're name?"
"Nagi."
Mikhail figured it would be wise not to ask any more on the subject.
"I'll come up here to get you for supper. You don't have class today. They start
tomorrow. If I don't come, you know where to go, and it's at six thirty to eight. Long
time to eat dinner, but we get to loiter."
Nagi looked once again at the finally peacefully sleeping boy on the bed and asked
quietly, as if he didn't want Mikhail to hear him. The Russian could sense some fear in the
voice, but now was not the time to ask. "What's his name?'
Mikhail began to walk out of the room, leaving Nagi staring after him. But just
before he reached the door, he said, "Omi. Omi Tsukiyono is his name."
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
This is starting to become a sort of after-series of WeiB Kruez. This is hooked
with the other series I wrote, called "Let's Call It A Day". That one was a prologue to the
whole thing. I have the whole thing in my head, and it just takes such a long time to put
it on paper! But I want to finish it, and since summer is coming up soon, I hope I will get
a bit more done in a little less time. Homework is loading me down right now. I still
have a history project to do. But that's not the point, is it? The character 'Mikhail' is
a very close friend of mine. He is Russian, with brown hair and these blue eyes that just
seem to x-ray you. He's a very talkative person to those who actually take the time to get
to know him, but to all others, he's just silent and emotionless. Aya/Ran-like, but has a
soft side for friends.
Andrea Weiling
Mikhail looked up from his lunch, and turned towards the door. Over the din of the
cafeteria he watched, and was aware of the gradual fading of murmuring voices that had just
reigned the building into chaos a few minutes ago. The mahogany door swung open, as it did
so many times before, this time a little different, admitting a different person, an unknown
enigma. His eyes flicked over to the first table to the right, and saw the taller, more
muscular and bulky boys were also looking. There had been talk of a new student coming
today, so the school was abuzz with talk and gossip. Some claimed he was the strangest
looking boy in the world; others claimed that he would be one of Them, the top dogs, the
head of the school, not because of grades, but simply of a reason he could not name. It was
almost unspeakable to talk about it, but even though no words were said, they all knew,
everyone did. There was nothing the teachers could do to stop it. The adults had stopped
trying many years ago.
The boy that entered was unlike anything he had seen. It marred him, scared him,
this boy was different in a way that he couldn't quite place his finger on. His looks were
...strange, but not unusual. Long, wispy brown bangs hung down over his head, finally
ending near the chin. Blue eyes stared out from under the mop of hair, and he could see
vibrancy in them, with a wolf-like alertness and intelligence. This boy was not a 'boy' in
mental terms; it was clear that he had been through much, and had gradually built a wall
around himself, not allowing anyone to ever get close to him. There was also a harsh
hostile-ness in those cerulean orbs, he decided, a warning to those who tried to provoke
him. He did not doubt that those who dared to would be punished as severely as they came.
There was an aura of mystery and stoic-ness about him, and Mikhail immediately picked it up.
This boy didn't talk much, didn't speak unless asked, and only did the bare minimum unless
it was beneficial to himself. He didn't care for the world, because the world had never
cared for him, and this was his way of repaying the world for it's cruel claws of Fate that
had no doubt closed upon him at a tender age. Mikhail didn't care for this type of person.
But that wasn't the main point.
This boy had a SOMETHING about him, a something he couldn't quite place, something
that no one else had. It was just a feeling of apprehensiveness, of wariness. It made him
think, and he knew it had something to do with the boy's mind. He had something that all
others didn't, and that both intrigued him and scared him. He did not like mysteries, but
curiosity always got the better of him, and he was always burned by the fire. It was life,
and the way of living. He could not change it, for people were born curious, him being a
person, he was curious about everything as well. But this was something new, and he was
curious now. His eyes flicked over to where the older boys were sitting, and realized with
a start that this person was dangerous, even though he seemed quite diminutive and petit,
but he had potential that he had yet to reach. The older boys didn't notice, though, and he
sat back down and watched instead. Standing would only catch people's attention, and that
was exactly the opposite that he wanted to do. Attracting one of Their attentions could
mean something painful, and that was not something he wanted to endure.
As he watched, They lifted themselves from the table on the far right, their faces
blank as the whitewashed walls that enclosed them from all sides, as flawless as the wooden
floor under their feet, and as emotionless as the students watched, with mixed emotions for
the youngster that walked through those dread doors, without a measure of fear for these
attackers. They could not help him, it was not the rule, and they would be severely
punished if they did otherwise. They were helpless against Them, and they were not about to
rebel. They had done it some years back, and it had ended in disaster. A student had died.
That was the last straw, and all rebellious meetings, all rebellious actions, all thought of
rebelling fled from their minds, and the flame that was their sense of strangeness and
different-ness went out in the whiff of wind that was that battle in the classrooms. The
mission had failed for the students, but as for Them, they had succeeded. There was no
doubt on that. Hate still reigned against Them, but there as nothing they could do now,
nothing they could do ever. They had taken the fight out of them, and they weren't about to
get it back anytime soon.
Their backs faced their audience as the boy was loosely surrounded. All was quiet,
all was silent, all was so still that when the leftmost boy drew back his fist and arm
abruptly, the glass of peace was shattered, and then it seemed as if the world was
generating around this boy, this new kid that had appeared amongst them with nothing to
spare, but his life. And even though that was nothing to Them, they wanted it, to govern
it, and force him into something they wanted. He was merely a prize, a winning to whoever
managed to get past Them and claim him without a qualm. They had ganged up on him now,
muddling into a tight circle where all raised their fists to hit the boy-
-and the first boy fell down to the ground. Seconds after, moments after, barely
any time between the bodies that hit the ground dully, they were laid upon the floor, and
only one remained. Mikhail stood up, as the head of all the other tables did, a privilege
given to them courtesy of Them, and they watched, silent and afraid, waiting for the
champion to finally emerge. The Russian brunette stared at the back that was faced to him,
and the new boy's eyes as they shifted back and forth, from the fallen boys to the one that
was standing at him now. The older boy was the leader of Them, as Mikhail saw, the senior
called Zuranpic, a boy from the depths of Europe, in the Swiss forests, emerging to come
here to learn Japanese. But he had stayed, for more years than he should have now, cut ties
with his family to continue his rule here in this secluded school in the middle of the
suburbs with nothing less than a forest and a lake in its vicinity. He lifted a leg to
strike the boy down, and the boy caught it with ease, having sensed the move previously.
With a deft flick of the wrist, the last boy was on the floor, and lay silent.
The cafeteria was silent. Oh, so silent.
He lifted his head, and now they saw him, his eyes glimmering pride and anger,
sadness and pain, without a jot of joy or triumph, and he seemed taller, more intimidating
than he had been. He swept the chestnut bangs out of his way for a moment, only to have
them flop back on his head. He shook them out of his eyes, so everyone could see the ocean
blue that they held, and the fear that fell upon the audience as they watched, without a
single word or uttered sound. It was like a grave, a catacomb, where all was silent, and
the dead lay still. Mikhail could not hear anything, not even his own breathing, he had
been holding it in for the entire fight.
"The name's Naoe Nagi. Any questions? No? Good."
He lifted his foot, and for a split moment, Mikhail thought he was going to step on
Zuranpic, but he stepped over the leader of Them, and continued to walk until he was right
in front of Mikhail, who stared through his light, almost clear blue eyes at him fearlessly.
Mikhail noted that the students had parted like a reenactment of Moses parting the Red Sea
as the new boy walked in their midst, and could feel the fear that he would turn and give
them a blow that hurt by the ones that he passed. Nagi gestured to the chair beside him,
unoccupied, and asked in a tenor voice, "Is this seat taken?"
The Russian shook his head, and Nagi sat himself down. Out of the corner of his
eye, Mikhail saw Them slink out of their fallen spots back to their tables, bruised and
worn, and turned to the new boy. He seriously doubted Nagi was his real name, but he used
it anyway. "You gave them quite a time, Nagi."
The new boy did not even look up from his food, a plain sandwich he had brought. "I
was trained well" was all he said, and would say no more. His reply blended in with the
rest of the hubbub that was talk and gossip, about him, mostly. He paid it no mind, and
found that if he concentrated on eating and making every bite deliberate, than the sounds
would fade away as if nothing, as if they had been tuned down a dial. He ate his sandwich,
as the other boy, whose name he did not know, watched him eat with an air of fascination.
He wondered what was so fascinating for a moment, pausing in his eating, ignoring the
frightened and awed glances and looks that people were giving him, and munched away at his
food. He looked up only when he heard the cafeteria door open again.
The boy that entered this time was already a student, and had been for more years
than Mikhail had been there. Nagi watched, and felt the air of familiarity hit him, and he
dismissed it as a simple ruse; why would he be in a place like this? He never disobeyed any
of the rules, so he couldn't possibly be here. The boy was bedraggled and had to hold onto
the wall, but he managed to straggle into the lunch line at the side of the cafeteria. But
before he reached the rail, Nagi watched with suspicion as one of the older boys he had
fought earlier grabbed the boy's arm and jerks him out of line. After watching a little
more, he was only able to conclude that this boy did NOT want to be dragged to the table
where the other boys he had fought were waiting, with smirks on their faces. He turned half
a centimeter in the nameless boy's direction, just catching his attention, and asked in a
low voice, "What's happening over there?"
Mikhail straightened and began to speak, his low voice almost un-understandable in
the din. Obviously this event was nothing out of place of everyday life, because no one was
paying attention to it. "This school is run by a very different way. The teachers are
afraid of the students. Literally, the students run the school." Here he stopped, and when
Nagi's face did not change, he continued. "The people in charge are Them, the boys you
fought. It proves that you can hold your own. Another thing is, you must have a Claim."
He gestured to the rest of the table, all boys, sitting and watching the 2 of them talk.
"They are my Claimed. You must claim by tomorrow at lunch tomorrow or be claimed. I
suggest you just pick any Unclaimed, just to escape being Claimed yourself. Choose soon, or
they will choose you."
Nagi's face remained unchanged as he voice remained emotionless. "That was not my
question. I asked "What's happening over there?". You did not answer my question."
Mikhail could feel the prickling of anger at the back of his neck, and all the boys
tensed, sensing a fight. Nagi treated it with indifference, and just ignored the even more
eyes that bore into him. Mikhail shoved away his anger, treating it as a newcomer's ego,
and answered the question. The Claimed at the table audibly relaxed.
"That boy has been an Unclaimed ever since he came here. The first 2 years he was
happy, and he fought back, but gradually his victories got less and less, and they won him.
Now, he's just wreck of what he used to be, and they just use them for their own purposes.
I don't think I'd like to go into that."
"Why do they have more power?"
"They're older, and their Claimed are always loyal. The Claimed know the
consequences of insubordination."
Nagi had nothing to say to this. So he got up, and gave Mikhail a meaningful look
that he didn't quite understand. "Well", he drawled slowly. "I think I might have a look
at what they're going to do to him. I could learn something from it. But I have one more
question."
Mikhail nodded his head in accord.
"Do you do the same to your Claimed?"
"No."
"Good. I would hate you if you did."
Nagi looked at him for another moment, then lifted himself completely from the
table, and again Moses parted the Red Sea as he approached the table on the far right. The
talk disappeared immediately, to a relatively low level, and the laughter that came from it
was high, shrill, nervous. The new boy simply watched them bully the young boy with feigned
punches and kicks, but when Zuranpic's foot actually came in contact with the younger boy's
ribs, he stumbled and gave a small yelp of pain. The brunette politely tapped the bully's
shoulder and asked quite innocently, "What are you doing?"
Zuranpic looked at him, squinting, as if rating him if a scale to trust him with an
answer or not, then answered, "Beating him up."
"Why?"
"He was being disobedient in class." At this, the other boys snickered, and as
Mikhail watched, he could tell that the new kid didn't believe him. Who would believe a
bully anyways? But his own anger flared up at Zuranpic's next words.
"Care to join us?" His eyes were sparkling with an almost evil twinkle, but his
hand was stretched out to the youngster. Nagi, or whatever his name was, looked at the
taller boy, down at the hand offered to him, then back at the face that peered down at him
with a smirk tugging at the corners of the bully's lips. After a few moments, Zuranpic was
down on the floor, twitching madly, then laid still when the younger gave him another kick.
The other members of Them backed away, then turned tail and fled to their seats at the
table. Nagi gave Zuranpic another kick to make sure he wasn't feigning unconscious, and
satisfied that he was well and truly out of it, and turned to the boy lying on the floor,
shivering madly. Nagi gently reached out a hand to him, but he jerked away from it, afraid
and timid.
He turned to the audience and said clearly, "This boy is mine now. He is Claimed,
so if any of you want to try and advance on him, you will have to answer to me." He shook
his head in the general direction of the boy on the ground and said a little more slowly,
"Unless you want to end up like him, I advise you not meddle with him or me." Then he
turned back to the boy and held out a hand again, not smiling, but eyes kind and receiving.
"C'mon. I won't hurt you. Those bullies are gone now. C'mere, I won't bite, you
know."
The sandy-haired boy opened his eyes, so blue and endless that Nagi lost himself in
them. Then they shut, and the frail frame convulsed more wildly than ever. Nagi went on
forward and picked the boy up, shivering in the warmth, and back to the table, repeating the
parting act for the third time. Mikhail pulled up an extra chair, and watched as the
brunette gratefully set the close-to-unconscious boy in it. He nodded his thanks to
Mikhail, and took out his water bottle. He wiped the top, and opened the top. "Here", he
gently pressed it against the boy's parched lips. "Drink this."
The boy whimpered, but did as he was told, until he had drunk his fill, which was
more than half the bottle. Nagi put the bottle away, and smoothed the boy's hair,
whispering, "Get some rest, you. I'll get you to your room later." After he ate the last
few bites of his sandwich, he stood up, and Mikhail did as well. All of the other boys at
the table did as well, and he quickly motioned them down. A few hurried words told them to
stay put and not to go to anywhere save the bathroom. Then Mikhail gestured for the new boy
to follow him, an unspoken command. The new boy was quiet through the entire trip to the
sleeping boy's room, and their conversation consisted of only 2 lines.
"What's your name?"
"Mikhail."
There was no more said, for they had arrived at a room. Nagi took note of the
corridors he passed, and the room number that hung on the door. Mikhail stepped in, and
turned on the light. If words could even begin to describe Nagi's face, they would have
included several cuss words. Nagi took a step in the threshold to the room and looked
around, his face contorted into fury.
The wooden vinyl floor was spotted with flecks of dark red, a reminder to previous
times in this room. A single light, the light that Mikhail had turned on consisted of one
single light bulb hanging dejectedly from the ceiling. His gaze swept over the bed, and his
voice uttered a single growl as he saw the 4 bedposts, surrounding a dented in bed, held
handcuffs on each one. The shelves on the side held nothing short of torture equipment; the
top shelf consisted of coils of whips. The second held the same, but the whips had razors
on them. The bottom one held a set of darts and a set of knives, every shape and size,
every length and width. Nagi would kill if they had actually been used before, but he
figured that if they had been used before, they wouldn't have been clean. They were
probably just there for decoration, and to remind the poor boy of what might happen if he
disobeyed, if he tried to fight back.
He turned and swept out of the room, Mikhail close behind. He had not wanted to see
the terrible look on his face. He watched, as he usually did, as the new boy took a slip of
paper from his pocket and handed it to him. "Where's this room?"
Mikhail led him wordlessly to the room. It was white, clean, neat, and had 2 beds.
Mikhail threw back the covers as he watched the new kid put the sleeping boy down on the
bed. He rolled the covers back over him as he got a damp towel. Nagi wiped the cloth over
his head, then as the sleeping boy frowned and muttered in his sleep, he hushed him, saying,
"Go to sleep. You're safe" in the sleeping boy's ear. Mikhail watched all of this. When
Nagi was finally done, he noticed Mikhail was still there, and asked, "Yes?"
"What's you're name?"
"Nagi."
Mikhail figured it would be wise not to ask any more on the subject.
"I'll come up here to get you for supper. You don't have class today. They start
tomorrow. If I don't come, you know where to go, and it's at six thirty to eight. Long
time to eat dinner, but we get to loiter."
Nagi looked once again at the finally peacefully sleeping boy on the bed and asked
quietly, as if he didn't want Mikhail to hear him. The Russian could sense some fear in the
voice, but now was not the time to ask. "What's his name?'
Mikhail began to walk out of the room, leaving Nagi staring after him. But just
before he reached the door, he said, "Omi. Omi Tsukiyono is his name."
/ \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \ / \
Author's note:
This is starting to become a sort of after-series of WeiB Kruez. This is hooked
with the other series I wrote, called "Let's Call It A Day". That one was a prologue to the
whole thing. I have the whole thing in my head, and it just takes such a long time to put
it on paper! But I want to finish it, and since summer is coming up soon, I hope I will get
a bit more done in a little less time. Homework is loading me down right now. I still
have a history project to do. But that's not the point, is it? The character 'Mikhail' is
a very close friend of mine. He is Russian, with brown hair and these blue eyes that just
seem to x-ray you. He's a very talkative person to those who actually take the time to get
to know him, but to all others, he's just silent and emotionless. Aya/Ran-like, but has a
soft side for friends.
Andrea Weiling
