By T.B. Stormshot
Disclaimer: Hey, I never CLAIMED to own the Animorphs, and I probably never will, but that's okay... BECAUSE ONE DAY I'M GOING TO CREATE MY OWN SERIES THAT'LL BE EVEN BETTER! BWAHAHAHAHAHAA!
Okay, new chap. I little short in my taste, I'm ALWAYS trying to get my chaps to a respectable length but I can never quite do it! *sobs and sighs* Oh well... better updated quicker than NEVER.
Hm, what to talk about? Halloween's tomorrow. Who's going trick-or-treating? I'll tell ya who, I'm going trick-or-treating. Even though I'm a senior. I have to take my little brother around, and as long as I'm doing it, I'm going to get ME some candy too. I'm short enough, people think I'm younger than I really am, so I'm going to drape a sheet over my head and get some damned candy, because unlike YOU people, I always get enough candy to drive me for MONTHS!!!
So uh, just read the story. Read and review. Appreciate it. Besides that, reviews are the second best way of getting reviews for your own stories. You know, besides just updating at the right time.
The Drode sighed heavily as he opened the door of the blank room. At the moment he was feeling a mixture of depression, anger, and a very, very small amount of hope.
This was his chance. His chance to redeem himself in the eye of Crayak. He could retake Earth. He could bring down the Animorphs. He could rub the Ellimist's disgusting blue face in his own idiocy. The Ellimist had saved the Drode, and now he was going to regret it, the Drode would make sure of it.
The Drode looked out at the hallway before him. It was wallpapered with small blue and pink flowers on a cream colored background. The Drode narrowed his eyes and frowned. He was in a human house alright, but why, was another question. If it had been his choice, the Drode would have been rather left on a street than in such a ... pleasant place. But then again, if it had been his choice he would never be human in the first place.
He heard a noise from his right and carefully turned. A tall male came from out of another room near the Drode's own. Surprised, the Drode sucked in a breath of air and took a small step back. Normally he would have heard the human ages before he came out, but without the more intricate senses of his normal body, the Drode found himself surprised, and utterly helpless.
The male looked up and smiled at the Drode. The Drode narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He was quite ready to turn tail and run if need be, he didn't trust the human body he now possessed to be able to stand up to any sort of attack. But then again, I probably wouldn't be able to run anyway, these humans don't even have a tail to balance on, and their feet are hardly large enough to support their bodies for long. I would fall, and then I would die, the Drode thought, frowning slightly.
"You're up early," the human said, grinning. The Drode studied him carefully before he replied. He was older than the Drode, at least physically, chronologically the Drode was centuries old. The Drode guessed early forties, gray hair was beginning to take over around the sides. The Drode noticed in distaste that this particular human had allowed dark brown hair to grow over his face, from the cheeks down. Behind it, the human's skin was a cream color. The usual human features were placed on the face, though the large mouth was difficult to locate under the black hair. Small, light brown eyes were right above the nose, crow's feet also occupied the area around the eyes. He was dressed in dress pants and a nice casual cream-colored shirt. He was just putting on a jacket.
"Yes," the Drode responded shortly. "Why are you up?"
"Just getting ready for work. I hate these Monday mornings. Mauricia might be an early bird, but not me. Problem is, if I sleep for that extra hour, traffic is going to be bad and if there is one thing I hate more than getting up early, it's traffic. But I guess you know what I mean Damien, you teenagers have it almost as bad as I do. At least I get paid!" With that, the man laughed heartily before walking down the hallway, past the Drode. "You can come down when you're ready, Mauricia will probably love making you breakfast, she never had enough time to cook for me." He disappeared down a staircase on the Drode's right.
The Drode pressed his lips together as he watched the man go. A human.... the owner of this house probably. What sort of game are you playing Ellimist and what makes you so sure I'm going to do what you want? And who is this Damien, Ellimist? Did you decide to steal my name too while you were stealing my body, my power, and my memories as well? I suppose so. Damn you. The Drode growled lowly as he put his arm to his him. He felt a shift of paper and looked down at the jeans the Ellimist had fitted him with. He pulled out the letter which had been stuck in his pocket. A letter Ellimist? How droll. No god-playing appearances or burning bushes? That's not fair. The Drode snorted and grinned dryly as he opened the letter and began to read. And if he had been in a bad mood before, he was in an even worse mood after.
Or should I say Damien Crayos? I took the liberty of providing you with an appropriate history, including a name. All with the permission of Mr. Crayos of course. I realize this is perhaps not what you desired, but you are just a teenager now. Not an adult, though you might think you are. You can't make decisions for yourself quite yet, though you might like to.
You have been under bad influence for a long time Damien, and only recently have you been rescued. Probably just in the nick of time too. You have been placed with a foster family for the time being, until you can make decisions for yourself Damien, they are Bob and Mauricia Winterrs. Try and be nice to them, they are good people and only want to help you Damien. They don't know too much about your past, but they know that you've had it hard.
Things you should probably know are that you will be attending school. Now I know that you haven't had any schooling for a very long time, but you are a remarkably intelligent person and I'm sure you will do fine. And you will go to school. It will do you some good to go out and meet people your own age for once, you are always thinking you're too mature for other people, but once you allow other people into your life you can see that they can bring out the best in you.
Another idea would be to keep certain thoughts you might have to yourself. You never know who might be listening and I'm sure you wouldn't want your privacy breached, Damien. There are people in this world that will use whatever information they can get to get at you, control you, and eat you up from the inside out. Be careful. Certain actions in your past might alienate, or anger, certain people. In fact, probably most of your past would alienate other people. So just try not to say too much about what you did before the Winterrs. I believe that would work in your best interest.
The best advice I could give you though Damien, is to try and keep you temper. Try not to kill anybody. I'm sure you wouldn't, but I also know how angry you can get. And though we've taken away your firepower, I still would like to warn you against hurting others in any way. You can't do much if you are taken into custody, and that would hurt both you and I.
Good luck Damien, you might not understand what this is all about now, but relax. Don't worry about it, just live your life. Get a hobby, join a club. Forget about your past for now. Really, this does work in your advantage.
Your Counselor,
L.E. Myst
The Drode crumpled the paper into a ball, his hands shaking. He would have torn the paper up if he hadn't thought better of it. Damien Crayos. Damien Crayak. He was so incredibly angry, his hate more intense than usual for the Ellimist.
What was this, a joke? Was it a joke that the Ellimist had thrown him into a situation where he was a human teenager, to be put into a family? Was it a joke to change his name? Was it a joke to place him in school? Because if it was, is was a terrible and sick one. The Ellimist was sick, taking twisted elation from the Drode's predicament.
"Just live your life," the Drode repeated sarcastically, almost getting it right this time. "Just live your life. Well this isn't my life Ellimist, L.E. Myst. But I'm going to use whatever I have to beat you. You're going to lose Ellimist," the Drode growled out loud. He stood there, unable to move, or think of anything but his hate for the Ellimist. For that obnoxious, self-appointed Ellimist.
After a few minutes the Drode finally looked up and sighed. Standing there, hating the Ellimist would get him nowhere. But what should he do? Follow the human male downstairs he supposed. He saw absolutely no reason to stay up in the hallway for the moment. He turned his head towards the steps the man, David Winterrs, had gone down, and made his way carefully there. And there he simply stopped, and stared.
How the hell was he supposed to make it down that?
That staircase was about a mile long. Well, maybe not a mile long, but long enough so that if he should fall, he would most likely break his scrawny human neck. The Drode took a deep intake of air as he thought this. He had not come to Earth just to die falling down a plot of stairs. The Drode glanced right and left, and noticed the open hand railing towards the right of the stairs, glancing over the handrail, he had a good view of the first floor, as well as the front door besides it. It was a long way down too, which was probably why the handrail was there in the first place. Humans couldn't possibly have the balance to avoid falling.
The Drode pierced his lips and slowly grasped the handrail, at least he knew he could count on these human hands to do their job. That was something. He tightly held on as he took one tentative step down the stairs, he stopped for a moment, assessing the situation, and then took another slow step down onto the same stair. As he took it, his other leg suddenly wobbled, unused to so much weight being put on it, the Drode realized this and tried to pull it back, but before he could the leg collapsed. The Drode grunted as fell, but luckily, his grip on the handrail kept him from going anywhere. The Drode growled as he pulled himself back up onto his feet, at least he was on the second step now.
The Drode re-assessed the situation, and began to make his way down the stairs by quickly putting one foot down, and immediately raising the other and putting it down in order to keep his leg from collapsing under too much pressure. All while keeping both hands on the handrail at all time of course.
Finally he was on the first floor. The Drode sighed in relief as he peeled his hands away from the railing, stretching them to return blood. He looked up the stairs and scowled, hoping that he wouldn't have to walk up them until later, if at all. He turned and looked around, scanning the area.
It was the front hall of the house. Decorated fashionably in human tastes. There were several open walkways into different rooms, of which the Drode took no pleasure in entering. The floor was made of hard, buff-colored wood, stained and glazed instead of painted. The walls were white, paint of course, with several paintings hung on them, much more tasteful than the one in the bedroom where the Drode had awoken. An un-obtrusive closet was in one corner, next to a dark-wooded table with some tasteful knickknacks. A set of hooks hung on the wall next to the door, ready to take any coats, and to be sure there were several. It was simple, but showed a very finely-tuned taste. A comfortably funded, middle-class family. The Drode noticed that the paintings on the walls were reprints.
"Damien! Please, come into the kitchen!" a voice rang from one of the doorways. The Drode turned his head to the right, towards one of the partially-open walls in which the voice had come from. There he saw a female-human, later-thirties, beaming a bright smile at him, showing most of her white, blunt-edged, human teeth-not that that meant all that many. She was shorter than the other human, more hair of a long, blond color and slightly wavy. The Drode noticed that at least this one kept her face clean of any hair. Her skin was the same color as the males, light-tan. Her eyes were blue though, and larger, much like the Drode's own though he put aside any thought of relation to humans. As the Drode made the mini-assessment, he began to unconsciously lean to one side, as was his habit. Unfortunately though, it was his habit to lean, putting all his weight onto one leg, in his usual form.
"Ack!" the Drode yelped unwilling as suddenly, and unsuspectingly, his leg suddenly collapsed underneath his weight, he toppled and fell, falling left onto his side.
"Oh? Are you alright?" the woman asked in a worried tone of voice as she hurried over to the Drode's side. "Are you hurt?" she asked, as she tried to help him up. The Drode flinched as she touched as arm, instinctively pulling away. Many years as a consort to Crayak had taught him that touch was to be avoided at all times, considering it was usually a sign of aggression, which led to an attack. Not that the Drode could not handle himself.
Under these circumstances however...
The Drode managed to struggle to his feet on his own, wobbling slightly, but standing firmly. Looking at the woman, he saw that he was slightly taller by an inch. "I don't need any help," he said firmly, looking at her with as much dignity as he could muster, trying to cover up the fact that his cheeks were burning. The Drode knew that it was a human reaction to embarrassment. And the Drode was very embarrassed. Embarrassed that he could show such an obvious sign of weakness, especially in front of a human. The human body had a lot of reactions.
"Well, alright," the woman said uncertainly. She blinked, looking uncomfortable for a moment, but only for a moment. She gave an understanding smile that made the Drode want to gag, however, he decided it was probably best to control himself, or else this body might actually gag. Humans couldn't control even the simplest of their actions. She gestured towards the kitchen. "Well, come on in, I can fix you something if you're hungry. I'm sure the plane trip left you a bit hungry, I know that you were awfully tired at least."
The Drode looked at the woman suspiciously, but did not bother to say anything contradicting. Instead, he followed her into the kitchen, unwilling to go anywhere she wouldn't go herself, instincts bending towards the possibility of an ambush, though silly as it sounded.
The kitchen was bright and sunny, the walls painted yellow which reflected the quickly rising sun well. The Drode stared out the large slide glass door which led to a porch, staring at the sunrise over the housetops and trees. His human eyes adjusted accordingly and he squinted unconsciously to keep his eyes from being harmed. He pierced his lips again and looked at the kitchen itself. A tiled floor accommodated a large counter top with a built in oven and cupboards of wood. Also built into it were a dishwasher and sink which had only a few white dishes in it, ready to be cleaned. A few cupboards hung from the ceiling, curling themselves up and over a white refrigerator. A large round table with four comfortable looking wooden chairs with cushioned seats stood out and alone near the sliding glass door. One of these chairs being used by the man the Drode had met upstairs. He was leaning over the table, eating a bowl of some food as quickly as he could while his brown eyes were staring and scanning quickly over a newspaper. He paused only momentarily to look up at the Drode and the female.
"Hey, heard some noise out there? Everything okay?" he asked before returning to his cold cereal.
The woman snorted, the Drode flinching slightly at the noise. "Yes, everything is alright Bob. Damien just had a little slip up, but he's fine." She then sighed unhappily. "I wish you'd let me fix you something hot to eat, that cereal can't be doing any good for you," she said pointedly.
Bob answered without bothering to look up. "I would Mauricia, but I have no time in the mornings, you know that. You have a little relaxation time before you go to work. Me? I have to be on the dot, seven in the morning, every morning, Monday through Fridays, Saturdays too if I have extra work," Bob said, turning a page of his large newspaper.
"Well, if you really want to be on the dot, maybe you better leave now. It's 6:30," Mauricia said brightly, as she pointed to the clock in the oven. Bob glanced over and jumped to his feet.
"Oh, no! I'm late!" He shouted as he leaped over and around Mauricia and the Drode. The Drode tensed, but calmed down as the male, Bob, passed him.
"Don't forget your briefcase!" Mauricia shouted out as she reached down next to the table and picked up the large leather object sitting next to it, Bob came back into view and took it from Mauricia, pecking her on the cheek as he did so.
"Love ya," he said quickly as he turned around. He slowed and turned to the Drode, giving a quick and likable grin to any but the Drode. "Hey, we'll talk when I get back from work tonight. I'm sure we'll have a lot to chat about. Bye Damien. Bye Mauricia! See you tonight!" he said as he opened the front hall door, and ran out, closing it behind him. Mauricia walked up to the door and watched through the plate of glass set in it, as Bob started a small white car, and drove off. She grinned cheerfully.
A lot to talk about? I somehow doubt it. the Drode thought in annoyance.
I think I've finally consolidated myself into thinking that not every chapter has to be extremely long. I mean, there are people out there, where their chapters are only about a thousand words long (pocket change) and they do fine. So alright, chapter only have to be 2000-3000 words long unless I really feel like I could write more. That way I can update quicker. Uh, check out my bio, I think I really need to get a rotation schedule thing going on, I'm going to have three stories rotating now... in case of what that third one is, NON-Interactive 6.0!!! is almost ready to make a comeback...
Oh, wait. The Drode, yeah. So the Drode now has found to have been put into foster care by a caring couple. He probably doesn't like this, but unfortunately, the Ellimist doesn't give a damn what he thinks.
*Blinks* You know, as I read through this story, the Winterrs seem like a very 50's family... you think that's bad?