Hugs.
Hugs bring relief to anxious hearts. That's what my brother told me, following a hug.
One hug is enough. Coming from a person in flesh, or a pillow of feathers. So many pillows near me... One to hug, another to lay my head upon, and one more to cover my head.
Damn mosquitos. I hear thunder from outside. So loud, must have hit a tree nearby. I'm not scared, no, I'm not...
Mom.
I've found an anthill under bed. Bad sign, bad thoughts. The ants, like the worms, they rule the planet from within. Within earth... is that where you are, mom?...
Whenever I hugged mother, she felt better. It was my very way of saying 'welcome back!' with open arms. Inside that cold and frightening armor, I knew mom was there. She would take off her armor so I wouldn't feel cold as I layed on her chest. I'd listen to her heart, knowing it ain't a monster who came home to devour me.
Just mom.
Whenever mom heard my voice, I swear, a single cackle of mine lightened her mood and softened those heavy steps. To make mom smile was the closest thing I ever had of seeing the sun shine. Dad used to make mom smile. Soften her steps. I miss him too...
Any child deserves a father and a mother. They need to know they are not alone.
I'm not alone...
Adults. They are so full of exigences, compromises, commitments... so full of themselves by having these.
And yet, they have to pull it all down the young's throats.
Never that I would thought someone could work a lot like my old man.
Old? Yes, father's growing older, but he ain't... old.
— Father. It's late. We need to go back home.
— One minute, Hrist – father is just stubborn, like the young.
— But father... you're tired. Need to rest – so I am.
— I said one minute – the weariness in his voice can't be compared to mine. I mean... I am tired as well, but not that way.
— You'll have all the minutes you want tomorrow – I said, did he listen at least? Hmmm, nope. I'll try to be convincing – father, I know this is important. But it's too dark here, and I... I'm scared.
— Afraid of the dark? – he asked, while outside, thunderstorm plays hide and seek – Well, haven't you invited Alba to the pajama party?
— Yes, but-
— You'll be fine, darling – fine? By looking at you being drained of all remaning vital energy... there are times I want these piles and more piles of papers to burn. I could ask Alba a favor, though.
— No. It's just that... – it feels nobody is even here, but the ghosts within those pictures – yes, I'm afraid. I'm worried about you.
— You have no need to – it doesn't feel like I'm talking to father anymore
— Please, father. Take a rest – but I insist. I have carried enough weight on training. Enough so I could carry on the living
— Fine, my dear – he looked at me, crying after letting out the loudest of yawns – one minute and all this paperwork will be done. Then we'll leave the office and right to bed.
— I'm counting right now – as for my father, he's about to be counting sheeps. He'll be fine, don't you worry. Daddy ain't injured, just burned out. He had quite a day, we all had.
— That light in the corridor... is it your friend? – what? You mean the ginger?
— Yes, father – so I turned my back and, indeed, those blazes belong to my ginger – it's Alba. I'll go talk to her, not that she will do same.
— I'm almost done here, Hrist – my, that's a good thing to hear. Am I right, Alba?
— You heard father. When he's done, we'll be having a pajama party, how's that? – I wonder if this girl can hear my thoughts. Just a guess. A guess I took by the way she smiles at me, as if she knows something I don't. Better take that dumb smile away – look, if you don't have any pajamas, you can bring your frilly camisole. Well, I don't mind if you are naked either, it's only us. Nevermind what I said, cutie. When I'm about to fall asleep... my head, it's weird, I can't really thing right. Maybe it's my sleep, or maybe I got fever by sitting near you. You and your flames.
It's really hard to push talk with someone who's mute, isn't it?
Even Crescent has some words to say back, geez.
— You know... I thought I would get chickenpox out of you, but guess what? These are just freckles at your face. Oh, you are so cute, you and your freckles! – I don't know what I see on gingers that I don't see in anyone else. Alba is the first one I saw, the first one that got my attention, and the first mice whom I can squeeze both cheeks. Cheeks soft like a baby's!
— Hrist, please... – father's out the office, and I feel ashamed? Oh, caught in the act.
— Alba does not mind these. Am I right? – I looked at the ginger, and she noded – see? She doesn't mind if I feel those squishy cheekies.
— Uh huh... Alba, is it fine for my daughter to, well... press your cheeks against your will?
— [N][O] – Alba may not speak with her throat, but she can make her flames talk for her.
— You saw the flames, daddy – the flames never lie.
— Indeed. But, does she, eh... – though, a girl covered on fire ain't the weirdest thing for father.
— You mean if Alba likes when I do it? Well, Alba? Do you like it? – better ask the source.
— [I][LIKE][SOUP].
— She likes soup, daddy – alphabet soup, by preference
— Whatever. Let's go home, shall we?
— Let's go! – it's what I've been waiting to hear out of his.
Father Ezekiel... he ain't my real dad, but he's the one who took care of me when no one else really wanted to.
Sometimes, I wonder if it was someone else who found me in the junk instead. Would I still be called Hrist? Would I still have same friends I do? Would I have become a Dragoon Knight? To be a Dragoon is every burmecian children's dream, though only a few dreams come true. I feel like, unlike others, I really haven't fought to attain this very position, unlike daddy. He was the one, I mean, he IS the one who suffers.
These days he came back home and his fingers were wryed in such way that I... how did his fingers turned backwards? That's impossible, but like father says, he works with impossibles. By that, he means the Dragoon essence, and those who wield it. Preferably young people, like me, like Alba... like Freya. I wonder how she is doing right now. If she can sleep with the sound of the storm, or if she's in need of hearing anything at a quiet home.
Okay, I might threaten to punch her at times, but that's just training mood. I would never wish Crescent to have a bad sleep night in order to 'motivate' her. In fact, she really works hard to get what she wants without my kind of motivation. She works a lot, unlike me, the daughter of the headmaster, with everything handed on a plate.
— Good night, daddy – everything, you said? I had to cry very loud so this warrior noticed me amidst Christmas fog – sleep well.
— Good night, Hrist.
— we're finally at home, daddy. Isn't that a bless? – he has the same jaded face at the end of every day. Soon as the next morning arrives, he's all renewed and ready to pull weights.
— Yes. A bless – and when he's about to sleep, he lays on bed and listens like a child – have a good night, my daughter. And don't let the bedbugs bite.
— Alba will burn them all – father does not smoke, yet his forehead tastes like cigar with a kiss.
— Don't make any loud noises, 'kay?
— I won't – I wonder why father has a double bed, if he never shared it with anyone. Well, whenever I was in fear of a nightmare, I'd run away and hold onto his leg very tight, not letting go of my own Dragoon – good night.
— Good night – the third time we said good night to one another. Hope we do have a good to commemorate in a largely awful day. For sure it'll be good, since I won't let go of my ginger – my, that's a nice nightdress you got there, gal. Is it your grandma's?
— [Y][E][S] – does Alba know the meaning of rhetorical question?
— Well, that's nice – I kinda feel jealous. I do like how the dress combines with Alba's hair, which's ginger, and have I told myself how much I like ginger? For no reason at all? They do have something attractive, maybe it's just me, but I'd eat Alba, or any ginger, if they were food.
What the hell am I thinking? Well, right now my whole bedroom is a raging inferno! Yeah... I just lay on bed, as Alba brushes my long, crispy ebony hair. I think it's ebony. Or, is it nut-brown?
— Sigh... all my underwear are teared up. Oh, that was my doing, my childhood's craze. I don't know why I began doing this, dissasembling pieces of clothing, objects, there was a day I dismantled daddy's silver armor, he got mad at me. That was the King's gift, he even came on person to daddy's office, for his efforts at fighting Burmecia's worst enemy! Bureaucracy.
— [!] – why the surprise, Alba? Did she thought I would say something else? Oh well...
— Just kidding. Daddy killed a horde of Grand Dragons. With help. Lenneth's help. You know, Freya's mom. You do know Freya, right?
— [?] – with a lot going on, I had no time to present Alba to my... my... I don't consider Freya that much of a sister, though she kinda is
— I'll present you both by tomorrow, how's that? – two muties interact with one another, don't miss! – Don't burn her hand, alright?
— [I][W][I][L][L][NOT] – flames never lie. Hope they don't.
Really, I wonder how Freya is doing tonight. She's of the kind that appreciates silence. Just like Alba. Nowhere cute as the later, though. White hair? It ain't for me. Ginger? It's like a pumpkin. Orange. Carrot. Quince jam. Had not you been too hot for me, I'd eat you right you, Alba.
Your colors... they remind me of my infant times, when nothing mattered but acquire knowledge of the smallest of things. I still am that very child knowing things, discovering myself and what I am in relation to the world, to others, and myself to myself. I can be so many things, I already am a thing many want to be, it's crazy. Right, Alba? You won't mind if I bite your arm, will yaAAARGH!
Well, you mind. Stop smiling at me! Offering that dumb smile after burning my mouth, how typical. I won't say anything, who would dare to yell at this cute thing? It's my turn to comb your hair, pretty.
A-ha - Out Of The Blue Comes Green
July 20th, 1778
...
Here I am, having a traditional burmecian breakfast. A chai with milk and cinnamon served in a teapot made of a dragon's wisdom tooth, cookies stuff by frog egg instead of chocolate drops, cheese with maggots... yeah, these. Burmecia's finest delicacy, or so it used to be. Like, imagine borrowing a poison at home for your kids to eat. Mom changed the recipe for earthworms, so it's fine to be eaten. Yeah, fine, if you don't bother carrying on a rotten scent at mouth. Whatever, I never kissed anyone, not that I ever mind to.
...My dad used to think a lot.
He sitted on this chair, looked at the window and the world outside, as if there was more to see than a tree, or a garden, or someone walking nearby. Someone like me, trying to find some friends other than the jerk of my brother. Jack ain't qute a jerk anymore, he grew up and has a job, a wife, a child... just like father. He was a weird person. Barely talked to me, or mom, just stared at us as if he was trying to find what we had that he did not had anymore. He didn't even talked to Hrist, though father considered having a third son. A fourth, fifth, as much as he and mom could handle. Imagine, having to take care of Sophie, Phoebe, Irma, Celeste and Esme. The Spice girls. Or Freya Jr., as Jack suggested.
If I happen to be a mother one day, that'll be the last name on my child's list. To call someone 'Junior' feels so out of personality, you're just saying your kid is like you. A clone of you, which they aren't. Did I just thought about having kids and which names to choose? Because... let's just say that I'm not active when it comes to have a romantic life. I have myself.
Yeah, I don't need to tell myself to know. In a land that rains eternally, our hands are always clean. Gee, I feel so awkward having these thoughts... morning thoughts, so don't worry. Awkward would be someone else hearing about these. About what? Your stagnant life of coloured kisses? Let's forget about it for a moment, shall we?
I have responsibilities. I have to attend school at will. I can do it anytime, that's what makes it so, so... do they expect me to go at the Jugend all days? Well, Saturdays and Sundays are out my list. Friday afternoon as well. Wait, wasn't Saturday yesterday? So, today is Sunday, and I'm willing to go to school. At Sunday. Whatever... Alexandrians be damned for making Sunday a boring day of prayers and rest.
Well, I woke up hearing the church's bells, as father used to. He didn't heard the Lord's bells, though. The expression on his face was of someone tired, haggard and dejected by his own thoughts. It was painful, because the very reason he was insular and reflective was in his head. 'It's scary to be forgotten because of the painful of continuing thinking', he said, and I always translated it to 'to be forgotten is worse than Death.' Don't know, the later's quote doesn't hold the same impact as the first one, because right now I'm thinking and it's painful.
You can't enjoy a single moment in your life that your head says 'one day you'll die', like all you did before and all you do right now is so useless. I hate having this to be the only certainty in my life, when all I want is to be sure if I'll pass the training, if I'll learn regeneration (it's about time), and if I'll live this day the best I can. Could you believe that this will be the only July 20th, 1778 to ever happen? It won't happen again...
...I'll be the first burmecian to say fuck, how's that? Yeah, you heard that, idiot mind. I haven't thought about the possibility of swearing at home, it just came right throught. I had no plans, just did it so. Better not say it again until my arm gets ripped or something tragic happens. I'd just stay in silence, swear in silence... I could not even say inferno on this table, even thought it's a common word to describe flames.
What's so wrong about saying a word like hell? Has anyone ever been in the fire and brimstone realm and came back to tell how it looked like? Well, I could swear as much as I wanted, as long as I did it on silence. It's not polite to speak open mouthed, you know. To say disgrace, that was the nadir of all swearings. 'To disgrace someone', mother said, 'means to take away that person's divine blessing, and you don't do it. Not because it's right or wrong, but you just don't take away something that important', and she had no words to describe how the lack of divine blessing affected one's being.
Careful with what you say, or don't say... is that why father stood all quiet? Because he had something to say, but never had time, will or excuse enough to say so? It was like watching a man be tortured by his own thoughts, and by the world around. Was I responsible for his torture as well? Everytime I asked to ride on his back, to play tag and musical chairs, I was so happy, but at what cost?
— ...Knock Knock Knock! Hello!? Is anyone out there? – I hear knocks by the door, followed by Jack's muffled voice.
— Nobody home – I said, leaving the house.
— Hey, sis! Doing fine?... – I wasn't expecting Jack's visit.
— Not so much – neither I am on a hurry, but I am really not in the mood to talk.
— Is something bothering you? Because you didn't said 'hello' back, or even 'good morning', or 'hi, Jack'.
— ...Good morning – satisfied?
— Gee, sis. Have you drank cold coffee? – well, he is not – look, if there's something bothering you, tell me. You can't just keep it all inside, or else you'll feel worse. Like puke... you can't just, eh, hold the nasty stuff inside. It's awful for ya. Uh, have I told you about Freyr? These days, he wasn't feeling alright. He cried and cried all day long, I didn't knew what was happening. Ottis has more experience with kids, and unfortunately, she wasn't at home. You know what? Life works in mysterious ways. One day you're sad and want it all to end, while other days you're so happy you don't even notice the day turned to night.
— So... the point? What is it? – I could just say no to Jack. But instead, as good listener as I am, I have no options.
— Oh, well... Freyr felt so bad, his tummy hurted, he didn't listened to my lullabies, ignored my person like I was not even there, like... like he felt so much pain nothing else really mattered for his. On that age, can you believe it? I thought for a moment there would be no solution for his, and right when Freyr puked all over me... he felt better. I too would feel a lot better, had I taken that green muddy smile out of me.
— ...Am I supposed to learn a lesson out of it? – do not eat bad food? I mean, is there a way to know how much of something is needed to make you feel bad?
— I suppose I am the one who learned something. It ain't anything new or extraordinary, sis. Just what mom told us since little: We do feel what the others feel, even if we are not that person.
— Live and learn, then learn again and you live again – I guess? Sometimes I wish I could stop thinking, not every single bit of our lives is meant for further reflection.
— I'd say so – but yeah, Jack, like me, happens to be Bart's son – weird, isn't it? Our entire lifes we're told that we are unique, one in a million, but when one of these millions gets hurt, I feel their hurt. I can't just avoid it, turn it off.
— It's what it means to put yourself at other's place.
— Yes, but why we do it? Why we cry when someone else cries too? Why we laugh when someone laughs too? If we are ourselves, doesn't that mean we just need ourselves?
— We sure need our own identity, it's what makes us unique at all. That does not mean we can be alone, though – I said, reaching to the limits between the verdant meadows I were raised as a kid, and the gray liveless city of stone known as Burmecia. The Burmecia known by the world outside.
— Do you feel alone, sis? – I knew Jack would ask.
— Not at all – it's what I say all the time – Jack... have you any idea what happens inside when you find out you're not the exact same person you thought you were before? I do.
— It happens. I too felt these changes within and outside of me, Freya. They still happen a while and another, but that's what life's made of. At least one of the many aspects life is made of, or else you'll get bored, with the feeling that nothing is happening while pretty much is – and to think there are people who just turn themselves off from the rest. I wouldn't call these by 'people'.
I heard rumours about a murdered with odd methods. Heard it out of Sir Fratley. Not that I really care, this has nothing to do with me but somehow, it affects me. Given how life and coincidence works...
— When we are kids, we don't care whether we're running or not – an empty street is in front of us. What a rare sight... – as we grow up, they look at us and we feel ashamed of doing whatever we feel like, even if it's not wrong to run. It's like people are judging us all time.
— Not wrong, huh?
— Yeah. Wait... you thought same about me, did you? – Perhaps I did, Jack.
— Shall we? – that's one thing I haven't tried in ages...
— Do the honours – the Crescent family's secret technique. For it to work, I'll be using my legs – are you ready?
— Ready – bend over, touch your toes, relax, and – LET'S BEAT IT! Move, rubbernecks!
— Run, Crescent! RUN! – my hair gust back from the wind. The rain washes as it delivers delicate slices of cold to my pale skin, and my brother's nowhere to be seen. I find myself between tides of strangers, avoiding contact and looks, running so fast that I barely got noticed, had not been for the red of my coat.
— Huh? – for a moment, nothing could take my breath away. Except for a ginger girl in orange pumpkin, running as fast as I. Carrying a bread at mouth, too. She is a Dragoon like me, though I haven't saw her before, and I'm not much in a hurry like she does – hello there! How are you?
Look at me, trying to talk with someone who's got a loaf of bread at mouth. A loaf of bread that isn't getting soaked in the middle of the heaviest of rains? That's weird. Everything, from being ginger to... suddenly, I feel queasy, my skin burning in fever. Fever? I was doing fine and well, before I came close of this... there aren't many gingers I know. or anyone who leaves a trace of steam by every step. Is that a girl, or a train!?
— Are you heading for the Jugend? So do I – let's find out what's with this ginger. I don't even know her name, I am really lacking new friendships at the moment.
— You two are late – in Hrist's case, better be an old friend than an old foe – Crescent... Marigold.
— Marigold? – I asked to dear Hrist, standing at the Jugend's gates, crossing hands and laying against the wall. The 'look how cool I am!' pose.
— Oh, I forgot to introduce you to one another – said Hrist, as she waved her hair back, for no reason whatsoever. She believe's to be that cool, won't ruin the mood – Freya, meet Alba.
— Hi – so that's her name? – good seeing you, Alba.
— ... – quiet as usual, though it's the first time we met.
— My name is Freya. I am a Dragoon like you do.
— ... – I'll wait an answer when Alba's done with the bread. She doesn't make a sound while eating, how fancy.
— We're all Dragoons here – unlike someone whose hair almost got rid of me. There's no way I can come up with that sentence without sounding ridiculous, though.
— ... – Alba finished her bread, but she refuses to look at me by face. What? Didn't we looked at each other a while ago?
— From where you came from, Alba? – being a ginger at Burmecia is as rare as the sun coming to it's entire glory.
— ... – and she refuses to talk with me, looking down at the road covered in ripples. When did it all got so awkward?
— She came from Cleyra – Hrist said, aware of the awkward feeling I mentioned.
— I see. Cleyra, isn't it? – the nation of Cleyra exists somewhere in the desert, hindered by the motherest of all sandstorms. It's almost like a place out of legends, a place mom made up on her bedtime stories Moving on, because I too can't stand this much of silence – must be hard to be so far away from home. To make new friends, eat new food, live a new life...
— Alba left home as a kid, so I'd say she's been here for quite a while – yet, that doesn't explain why she's so quiet, Hrist.
— Really? I haven't seem many gingers in my life – something in Alba really got me. Not her appearance, but there's a kind of warmth... a feverish warmth like no other.
— ... – she moves away from a hand shake, with the same expression at face. Like she's afraid of me?
— Don't worry. I won't hurt you – then I speak to her like she was a child.
— ... – it is as if I'm speaking to a mirror.
— You won't hurt her? Hmph! – and Hrist takes the lead – because you already did!
— How so? – first time we meet, and we're already coming in bad terms, Alba? – she's the one who is messing with my thoughts.
— Messing with your thoughts? Oh, there's a lot I have to tell you – so tell me, Hrist. I'm waiting for an explanation – Freya... there are times your ingenuity amazes me. You couldn't figure out what's going on, eh?
— Cut the crap, and tell me – I hate being the last person to know about something, while the whole world seems to have figured it out already.
— Okay okay. It doesn't help that my thoughts are messed as yours too! It's one of the side effects for one to release pyrokinetic powers by skin. Yeah, fire powers! Ain't that cool? – so Hrist began explaining what's up with Alba. Though, that doesn't explain why Hrist hugs her like a puppy – when you get fever, all you want to do is lay on a comfy bed, read a book, sleep or do anything to pass time. Fevers come and go, but the fire stays. Fire is live, and love is live, and who doesn't love you, Alba? Oh, you'reso warm, soft and cute! I won't let her go, oh no no no... hmmm, only if she asks.
— Enough? – there are no words to describe what I saw.
— What, you too want a piece of ginger here? – when will Hrist stop... that ain't even hugging. Too much to call it brushing – you won't!
— I didn't asked for that – I can hug like a civilized burmecian being – neither Alba did.
— What? You think I'm doing it against her will? Of course not. Right, Alba?
— She didn't said a word... –
— Crescent darling... sweetheart, do know the feeling of being burned inside? – wait, did Hrist called me 'sweetheart'? Things are getting weirder – that's Alba's doing, she talks throught the flames. More than a gut reaction, her words burn at your mind, but they'll only do if you connect to her.
— Connect? – is that why all the , eh... whatever Hrist is doing with Alba.
— Yes. Alba won't talk to you unless you earn her trust – and she keeps repeating – you see, poor thing doesn't do well with strangers, no, you don't...
— But we were running together a few minutes ago – as she stared deep into my soul, or whatever was that I felt. Something I never had before.
— Were you two running together, or was she running away from you, eh!? – Hrist talks like one of my neighbors, whose children get home covered in mud everyday. Just saying – did Freya scared you, Alba? She didn't? Someone tall and slender like that, you are not afraid? Okay. Well, Crescent, I thought about introducing you two to each before, but it's up to Alba to accept you anyway. Or else, she'll burn you a crisp.
— Burn me? – is that why I feel so hot? Because Alba...
— Like an ant under a magnifying glass's death bean – tell me Hrist haven't gotten serious all of sudden – or what, haven't you noticed the flames already?
— The flames? – I felt a tingling in my feet. Then in my right arm, crossing to the left, my chest and members igniting... it doesn't take long for blue azure flames to take over my whole body, but what amazes me is that I don't feel like being burned alive at all.
— You are within the ginger's range – Hrist is surrounded by the mystical bonfire as well. However, her limbs move freely as mine are paralyzed – one more step and she will make a barbecue out of you!
— But why!? – I try to move, but something in me says [Don't]. [Don't move], I can see some words lit on my head, these aren't my thoughts, they burn and melt my brain... Alba looks right at me, facing me, flattening my thoughts, my mind fallen in a turmoil...
— Heh heh... HAHAHAHAHAHA! – what? Is Hrist... laughing at me? – I'm joking! I swear, I'm joking! Okay, Alba, that's enough! Enough! Oh, I didn't mean to yell, it's just that you were all concentrated and-
— Don't you ever do it again! For Bahamut's sake! – I said, on my knees, my head about to burst like a watermelon hit by a hammer.
— What? Do what? – Hrist seems shocked, but not so much – oh, feeling a headache, Crescent? Yeah, I felt one too when Alba did it with me.
— Did what? – slowly I recover my equilibrium and thoughts, all in order.
— Talk. Alba was trying to talk with you. She really enjoys your, for some reason.
— Which reason?
— [YOU][ARE][FUNNY].
— OOOH! – not again... I'm sure Alba didn't meant to harm me.
— Sorry if the heat's too much, but you'll get used to. For your benefit, she really doesn't talk much – thanks for clarifying, Hrist – introverts... You know, to be an introvert is God's gift to mankind. Otherwise, way too many people would talk shit whenever they wanted. Right, Alba? Oh, I didn't meant that. Your voice? The sweetest of honeys. It'll take a while until Freya hear it. Freya? No, she ain't an old lady! It's just her hair. Oh, that's why you told her to not move? I see.
— Why did she told me to not move? – for a moment, I thought Alba would burn me up like coal. What a way to make new friendships...
— She noticed something in you. Something familiar – Lenneth? It must be.
— You knew my mom?
— Who didn't? She's quite a legend around the academy. Father even ordered the finest artist of Burmecia to do a portrait of her, and it's quite hard to find at least a decent artist around here – my mom is getting a painting of her done? That's so... she would like to see that – hey, don't tell pops I told it to you, it was a surprise. Then he got occupied with other stuff, drowning in a sea of papers as usual, and don't tell him I said that, he's tired of hearing my complains, everyone is, it ain't all about me, there are others who might be better at doing the very things I do... you understand me, Alba. I mean, YOU are the one making me say these things. What, open up for those around? Be more honest with yourself and another? Shhhhh! Freya's listening...
— Indeed, I am – in need of explanations, as well.
— Well, since you are no more a threat to Alba, guess everything is fine, isn't it?
— Like paradise.
— As for the 'burn you to a crisp' thing, I was exaggerating! – you sure was – (but you don't want to see Alba at her worst, and I don't mean the hair.)
— (Alba's listening...)
— (Who said so? We're whispering) – you don't need to be that close of my ears, geez.
— (If she can enter our heads, she might as well read what's inside.)
— (You thought same about Sir Fratley) – honestly, the thoughts of having one inside our heads frighten me – you missed me, Alba?
— How come she would miss you? You are... close of her – again.
— A cutie girl like Marigold doesn't deserve to be alone. Marigold, isn't that cute? And she happens to be ginger. I like gingers, their freckles, their innocence, they are a rare beauty – and there we go again... – I love when Alba smiles. I'm not the best when it comes to jokes that get into her. As for this, though... here it comes! Tickle tickle tickle! Tickle tickle tickle tickle! Haha, I got your nose! I got your nose-
— Stop! – I am at my limit – just... stop.
— Sorry. I got carried away. Can't blame Alba for being so cute.
— That doesn't justify what you're doing, Hrist. You are spoiling her.
— oh, I see! You too wanted that kind of treatment – me? If someone dares to squeeze my cheeks... – you are in need of someone in your life. I got a ginger, and you?
— I got no one, if you want to know – I thought Jack would catch on me, but that's not what upsets me. What it does is that... Hrist may be right.
— Don't say that. You have lots of people at your side – though, I have my preferences. Not judging anyone here. Maybe a bit – as for Alba... poor little thing
got scratched on the neck by a Zuu. Mean bird. That's why she doesn't talk much. Either that, or because she's shy. Or ginger, which I'll deny with all my strenght. Gingers are not freaks, they are the best! If you have anything against, fight me!
— Nothing against – in fact. I find Alba to be beautiful on her own.
— I got a little worked up. so... where was I? When I lay on Alba's shoulder, it's like laying my back against an oak by autumn. Hard to describe, but that's the best I could come up with. It was hard for Alba to find a way to express herself without words. Her hand-writing is amazing, for comparasion, but when people talk like we do, no one writers words with a pen on a paper, they are said by the moment. Came the Dragoon's aid, and with the years, Alba learned to talk throught flames.
— Telepathy? – I thought it was impossible. But nothing's impossible for a Dragoon, unless he doesn't believe it.
— Yeah. Telepathy, but not kinda. You get to see words in your head, feel their blaze aching your neurons and nerves-
— Telepathy. And nothing else.
— You forgot the flames. It's even more complicated, but you got the essential – yes, I got a bit of what's going on – Alba's childhood was taken away from her. Like everything she knew. Understand?
— I do know how it feels to have something taken from you for no reason – and how everything gets taken from you someday. Well, let's enjoy the moment, shall we?
— Finally! – Hrist shouted, soon as the main gates of the Dragoon academy were open at once – what you're waiting for, Crescent? Move your flaccid pancake ass!
— Alright. Let's get going – I said, as we entered inside the Jugend. Hope I get used to this madness...
— [L][E][T][S][GO] – I think I'll get used to that, Alba.