Slayers Resurrection
Chapter One
A.N. I revised it!! Good bye, long icky paragraphs. I'm also putting up tags so you can tell whose point of view it is. Okay? Okay. Enjoy.
Eric Zelgadis Grey
"So, how'd you like our new students?" Zel Grey, formally Eric Zelgaddis Grey, asked the slight red-head who had been walking behind him in, before the moment he had spoken, and stopped, companionable silence. For a long time, Mel, Melina Rivers, stared ahead and beyond him, her rich brown eyes, glinting red in the sunset, un-answering. She took so long to respond at all that Zel thought for a moment that she had not heard him, and was about to ask her again when she spoke.
"The one from England was really strange. His eyes were, well I probably didn't see them right or something. . " Now Zel frowned down at her. If there were something that Mel never admitted to, it was seeing, hearing, or doing anything wrong. He had never heard her use the phrase 'didn't see them right' in the same sentence as 'I' before in their acquaintance, and they'd known each other a long, long time. But he didn't say anything. Long ago, he'd found the best policy with Mel was to keep your mouth shut, and he'd learned that the hard way.
"But, they were purple" she continued speaking "and they really put me on edge. Something about him made me act strange. I know it's weird, but he made me feel nervous. But it's probably nothing. ." her voice trailed off, and she stared ahead blankly.
Zel pondered what she had said. There was always the possibility, a faint possibility, but still, that she hadn't seen what she'd thought she'd seen. Maybe it was the light that made the boys eyes glint purple, like light sometimes turned Mel's eyes red. But he doubted it. Mel wasn't the kind of person not to notice details. Mel Rivers always noticed things that other people didn't. Her vision, 20-15, combined with her ever constant alertness, made little things, like the way a leaf fell, or the way a coin spun in the air before it landed, or things about people faces, like pimples, deformities, sores, or the color of people's eyes. So if Mel told him that the English guys eyes had been blue streaked with lightning bolts, he would have believed her.
In fact, blue streaked with lightning bolts was something he could have dealt with better. That sounded like the kind of thing that a guy would do with contacts or something. But purple . . that just wasn't something that guys that had normal sexual orientations did. Of course, there was the option that the guy was gay. But somehow he doubted that was the explanation. He remembered the guy from England, the one who'd introduced himself as Xellos Metalium, and he had not been gay. Zel, who had, by some twist of fate, been around more than his fair share of homosexuals, knew the little signs that they gave off. Something in their air was just different, and he'd gotten good at recognizing. There were exceptions to every rule, of course, and Xellos could be one of them, but Zel was more confident in his own abilities. And instinct told him that this guy was straight.
For one thing, if he had been gay, he was trying very hard not to show it. And so, why do something as odd as to dye your eyes purple, if you weren't also going to deck yourself out with rainbows? If you didn't want everyone in the world to know you were gay, then why do something as obvious as to wear purple contact lenses? No, the guy would be too much of a paradox if he were gay. It didn't make any sense, and Zel, being the logical person he was, did not quickly believe hypothesis that didn't make sense.
So, he had ruled out the possibility of contacts, or any other artificial means. Xellos's eyes must have been natural.
This made Zel share some of Mel's uneasiness. Purple eyes were so rare, he'd never even heard of another case of them, anywhere. He'd never heard them referenced. Xellos was undoubtedly a one in a million. Or, to be more correct, one in six billion. Which made Zelgaddis very, very edgy.
He managed, however, to forget his discomfort by the time he got home, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, where he pulled out his guitar and started to lightly strum, trying to think of something to play. As if guided on their own, his fingers found the frets and he began to play. Something about his tune haunted him, made his hair stand on end, but that was the kind of music he enjoyed to be a part of. Gradually, Zel forgot everything, and became lost in the rhythm of his music.
Melina Callie Rivers
The strangeness of the boys eyes did not leave Mel. After she and Zel had gotten home, seeing that her parents were out, she had run out to Starbucks to get a coffee and some sort of sweet. And the whole way there, and while she was ordering her coffee, the strange purple eyes of Xellos Metalium plagued her. Finally, holding a cool cup of iced mocha and a bagel, sitting in a large, puffy armchair, she allowed herself to consider them. They were, she had decided earlier on, completely natural. And she knew that, unlike she had let Zelgaddis believe, she had seen them perfectly clearly. She had, in fact, gotten a good look, because while she was exiting the classroom where they'd been introduced to the exchange students, Xellos had bumped into her. Rather hard, making all her books spill out of her arms, onto the floor. In anger, wincing at the pain in her knees and wrists, she had started to shout at him about good manners when dealing with innocent girls, when she had looked up. That was when she confirmed what she had given to strange light in the classroom. He was smiling at her, licking his lips, and his eyes, his amethyst eyes, were open.
Before she could get her breath back and continue her tirade, he had turned and walked away, his cape billowing out behind him. No, Mel frowned, that wasn't right. He hadn't been wearing a cape to billow. So why did she think of him as wearing one? Sipping her coffee, she analyzed her image of him. He was wearing a black cape rimmed with a sort of red design, and caring a staff. The rest of his clothes were non-descript, tan pants and a white shirt, boots, she didn't pay much attention to them. He was, in her mind, wearing the same dumb smile he had given the rest of the class, his eyes closed, their purple depths hidden.
Mel shook her head, opened her eyes, and returned to the world of coffee and poetry freaks. Taking another deep sip of her mocha, she though about her imaging. She had only seen him once, and hadn't noticed really noticed his clothes, though now that she thought about it she was almost sure that he had been wearing jeans and a black, long sleeved shirt. The image in her mind was probably a fluke, she had probably seen someone else, with that odd helmet hairstyle, who had died their hair purple and was dressed that way. On Halloween or something. Yes, she reassured herself, that's probably it. You're subconscious mind is filling in the blanks for you, and the result pops up in your head. That's all it is. That's all.
But for some reason, she didn't think that was all.
Mel slept badly that night. The nightmare she'd been having for the past few weeks was plaguing her, but now was worse than it had ever been before. She woke up, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and sitting up in bed. Trembling, she forced herself to lie back down. Just a dream, she thought. It's just a dream. Her breathing relaxed. She undid the knots in her system, lay back and stared at her ceiling, barely visible above her head. Slowly, she started to slip back into her dreams.
She was loosing, loosing a desperate battle to keep it in control. She needed to be in control, needed to stay in control, needed to win, but she was loosing. It was tugging her mind into a place within itself, tugging it away from reality. People were screaming at her, not her name, but what they were saying felt like her name. Her own fear was almost tangible in the air around her, her own gasping breath sounded in her ears. She was terrified, terrified of what would happen if she lost control, and in her fear she was loosing her grasp on reality.
People's faces flashed before her eyes. Blue skin, gray eyes; a man who looked like some deformed demon, yet she felt friendship for him. Shinny black hair, framed a girl's face, her eyes were alive with excitement, and she felt motherly toward her. A tall man with long blonde hair, smiling, his blue eyes alight, and she felt trust for him, trust so extreme she'd give him her life. Purple hair, helmet style, a staff and a glowing red jewel, and amethyst eyes . . . .
She screamed, finding herself up in bed again. Sweat, from both her nightmares, made her hair stick to her neck. Fear made the blood sound in her ears. She lay back down, forgetting what it was that had scared her so. She tried to relax, tried to fall back into the pattern of sleep, but it wouldn't come. She was still too scared. Sighing, she threw her covers off and climbed out of bed, hissing as her feet came too quickly into contact with the cold wood floor. Sighing, she pulled on her black robe and moved toward her computer.
Moving her mouse, she realized she'd left it on, and online too. Sighing at her folly, she brought up Internet Explorer, and typed in the address for Google.com, and started a search for 'Purple Eyes'. She flipped through the multiple sites that came up, addressing everything from the 'Purple Eyes' clothing brand to the medical miracle, purple eyes. Finally, a description caught her attention. She brought up the website.
A text appeared on her screen:
'The so called miracle, purple eyes, have been rumored to be connected with a strange mental disorder in all those whose genes contain it. The disorder is not common, and has not been documented, so there is no official name for it, but it seems to center around a sadistic desire for pain, either of oneself or of others. This fits nicely with the legends concerning this odd trait, about monsters that feed of the negative emotional energy of others. This legend, is, of course, perfect rubbish, but further examination on the effects purple eyes on a persons personality is suggested.
Red eyes, as opposed to purple, tend to make emotions stronger, and fluxuate more. There are a multitude of legends surrounding this particular eye color
Mel lost interest. She'd found out what she wanted to know.
Eric Zelgadis Grey
At school the next day, Zel made his way over to Mel to find her dead looking from lack of sleep. "Coffee" she groaned, "Must, Have. Coffee."
"Ah, Mel?" Zel said, quietly, aware of her strained emotional state.
She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Do you have my Coffee?" she asked, hope, love for creation, and general happiness reappearing in her voice.
"Ah, about that . ."
"Do you have it? Huh?" Zel backed away. Mel was starting to look dangerous now.
"Mel, calm down, I do not have your coffee" he said, trying to retain a sound of reasonable-ness in his voice while hoping that she didn't kill him somehow.
"You don't have my coffee" she said, sadly, her arms dropping from his shirt to her sides. "No coffee, no coffee, I'm going to die . . die . .die . ."
Zel sighed. She'd obviously not gotten enough sleep last night. Probably suffering from nightmares again. Only on nights of two hours or less did she beg him coffee. He wondered what nightmares could be bad enough so that Mel Rivers would be kept up all night. She feared little, and admitted to fearing less. There wasn't any stress in her life right now, except for the pending visit of her older sister, whom she hated, that would affect her dreams.
The sound of the bell that began the day broke into his thoughts. He forcibly grabbed Mel and dragged her into their homeroom, both Tardy.
Fiona Elizabeth Drygoon
Perfectly formed blue eyes stared up at her, an innocent smile graced perfect lips, blonde hair cascaded around her in perfect waves, and the hand that held the perfect tea-cup was, for lack of a better word, perfect.
Fiona Drygoon smiled down at the painting. "Now, what shall I call this?" she murmured to herself, her smile mirroring the one in her painting of herself, lost in thoughts about how well the brush strokes conveyed the image she wanted, perfection.
Frowning, she looked up as a shadow fell across her life size self portrait. A strange looking boy with purple hair and eyes looked down at her. "I think" he said, his voice making shivers run down her spine, her good mood immediately dissipating "that you should call it, Self Portrait of a Goddess."
Trying to shake off the almost blinding rage he stirred in her, she smiled up at him, her smile feeling tight and stretched. "Thanks a lot" she said, her voice sounding odd to her own ears "that's a perfect name for this piece, it totally goes with the theme I'm trying to convey."
He smiled, a ploy at modesty. "Oh, don't worry. It was nothing." She stifled a glare at his pompous attitude. "You are a cheerleader, aren't you?"
"Yes, indeed I am."
"Indeed?" he raised his eyebrows up at her, and she almost lost control and smacked him. "Cheerleaders bug the shit out of me."
The comment was so unexpected that she nearly fell out of her seat. "Wh- What did you say?"
"Oh." He said, cruelty and sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Yes. I forgot how tiny your mind was, Fillia Ul Copt. I forgot how simple concepts such as hate bother it so much." His expression changed from malicious to studious. "Let me see how to put this plainly. Ahh, yes." He smiled, a cold, cruel smile, and his eyes, which had been closed up until now opened, detachment glinting from their depths. "I. Hate. People. Like. You."
And with that, Xellos Metalium spun around, leaving a very stunned Fiona behind him.
Eric Zelgadis Grey
"Did you HEAR?"
Zelgaddis looked up at Mel over the rim of his coffee cup. She was flustered, her hair was windblown and in her face, the ponytail she'd tried to use to restrain it was long gone. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, her nose was red from a long walk in the chill wind that had been blowing continuously since the beginning of autumn. He frowned, as much at her distinct lack of coat, mittens, scarf, or any other type of winter gear as at what she had said. "Hear what?"
Mel jumped up and down in frustration. "Zel! Hear! The rumor!" her last word and jump seemed to shake the house.
Zelgaddis's grandfather, Ralph, moved his head inside the door. He was blind, but had an uncanny way of knowing what was going on without having to see it. The man was frowning, his eyebrows pulled together. As he scanned the room, as if looking for someone, he said, his voice a gentle murmur, "Excuse me, Zel?"
"Yes?" Zel put his coffee cup down, and stood up. He had developed a habit making some noise whenever his grandfather was in a room, so that Ralph, or Rezo as his family members called him, could 'see' where he was.
Sure enough, Rezo's faced Zel for his next comment. "What's going on?"
"Mel's here, and she was jumping up and down about something she heard at school."
Mel, guiltily said "Hi, Dr. Gray." She often forgot his blindness, and so didn't always greet him when she entered a room.
Rezo spun to face Mel, smiled, and said "Well, hello, Melina." Zel watched as his friend smiled back, an unguarded expression he didn't see often, but that was the way of his grandfather, always putting people at ease. "What brings you here?"
"Oh" Mel blushed "I just wanted to tell Zelgaddis a rumor from school. Sorry I interrupted you with your-" she let her sentence trail off, waiting for him to complete it.
"Writing my Sermon. But now that I have been interrupted" Mel blushed again, "I think I'd much rather hear this rumor of yours. Tea?"
"Oh, yes, please."
Rezo moved to the stove, where he put a large teakettle on. "Zel, I assume you have coffe?"
"Yes." Zel sat down again, crossing one leg over the other and languidly taking a sip.
"About the rumor" the excitement had returned to Mels eyes, "Zel, you won't believe this." Without even waiting for his response, she barreled on. "That new kid, Xellos Metallium or whatever, snubbed Fiona Drygoon!"
"What? How?" This was amazing. Fiona Drygoon was by far the most popular person in school, and the most successful. She was the best cheerleader, debate team member, choral soloist, and had a very high GPA, which she wasn't ashamed to flaunt. Her parents had insisted on raising her very properly, and Zel had always reasoned this was part of her attraction for other people. Though he had never had a taste for her company, possibly because he had not been one of her more favorite acquaintances, Mel had been one of her best friends in elementary school, but had been pushed aside when boys, makeup, and dances had become more appealing then playing that they were mages. No one, in the history of New York Central high school had ever, ever snubbed anyone, anyone as popular as Fiona Drygoon and gotten away with it. If this Xellos wasn't dead yet, then he had already set a record.
"He came up to her in art, made fun of her painting, and then said 'I hate people like you'!!! Zel, do you realize that this is like the first time ever that this has happened!?! I'm so happy!"
The two figures at the table were both so caught up in their discussion of how Fiona had it coming to her that they didn't notice how Rezo gasped and clutched his chest when Xellos's name was mentioned, or the slightly odd tilt to his gait as he gave them tea.
A.N. YAY! That was fun to write. . . I had a really good time . . . Okay, I gota few notes for everyone: First, this is taking place in a A.U. where Valgaav got his wish and 'purified' the world. Second, forgive my insanity, but I'm a big X/L OR L/G fan, but I realize that some people are not, so I am going to try not to put too much romance into this, however, I will probably write little other fics where I use my favorite two pairings! ^_^ Third, please review, I love reviews, I need reviews, I live for reviews, but is there anyone in this wretched world who doesn't MUAHAHAHAHA Um . . besides that . . there isn't much I can say . but anyway, R&R and remember, peace is luv.
Chapter One
A.N. I revised it!! Good bye, long icky paragraphs. I'm also putting up tags so you can tell whose point of view it is. Okay? Okay. Enjoy.
Eric Zelgadis Grey
"So, how'd you like our new students?" Zel Grey, formally Eric Zelgaddis Grey, asked the slight red-head who had been walking behind him in, before the moment he had spoken, and stopped, companionable silence. For a long time, Mel, Melina Rivers, stared ahead and beyond him, her rich brown eyes, glinting red in the sunset, un-answering. She took so long to respond at all that Zel thought for a moment that she had not heard him, and was about to ask her again when she spoke.
"The one from England was really strange. His eyes were, well I probably didn't see them right or something. . " Now Zel frowned down at her. If there were something that Mel never admitted to, it was seeing, hearing, or doing anything wrong. He had never heard her use the phrase 'didn't see them right' in the same sentence as 'I' before in their acquaintance, and they'd known each other a long, long time. But he didn't say anything. Long ago, he'd found the best policy with Mel was to keep your mouth shut, and he'd learned that the hard way.
"But, they were purple" she continued speaking "and they really put me on edge. Something about him made me act strange. I know it's weird, but he made me feel nervous. But it's probably nothing. ." her voice trailed off, and she stared ahead blankly.
Zel pondered what she had said. There was always the possibility, a faint possibility, but still, that she hadn't seen what she'd thought she'd seen. Maybe it was the light that made the boys eyes glint purple, like light sometimes turned Mel's eyes red. But he doubted it. Mel wasn't the kind of person not to notice details. Mel Rivers always noticed things that other people didn't. Her vision, 20-15, combined with her ever constant alertness, made little things, like the way a leaf fell, or the way a coin spun in the air before it landed, or things about people faces, like pimples, deformities, sores, or the color of people's eyes. So if Mel told him that the English guys eyes had been blue streaked with lightning bolts, he would have believed her.
In fact, blue streaked with lightning bolts was something he could have dealt with better. That sounded like the kind of thing that a guy would do with contacts or something. But purple . . that just wasn't something that guys that had normal sexual orientations did. Of course, there was the option that the guy was gay. But somehow he doubted that was the explanation. He remembered the guy from England, the one who'd introduced himself as Xellos Metalium, and he had not been gay. Zel, who had, by some twist of fate, been around more than his fair share of homosexuals, knew the little signs that they gave off. Something in their air was just different, and he'd gotten good at recognizing. There were exceptions to every rule, of course, and Xellos could be one of them, but Zel was more confident in his own abilities. And instinct told him that this guy was straight.
For one thing, if he had been gay, he was trying very hard not to show it. And so, why do something as odd as to dye your eyes purple, if you weren't also going to deck yourself out with rainbows? If you didn't want everyone in the world to know you were gay, then why do something as obvious as to wear purple contact lenses? No, the guy would be too much of a paradox if he were gay. It didn't make any sense, and Zel, being the logical person he was, did not quickly believe hypothesis that didn't make sense.
So, he had ruled out the possibility of contacts, or any other artificial means. Xellos's eyes must have been natural.
This made Zel share some of Mel's uneasiness. Purple eyes were so rare, he'd never even heard of another case of them, anywhere. He'd never heard them referenced. Xellos was undoubtedly a one in a million. Or, to be more correct, one in six billion. Which made Zelgaddis very, very edgy.
He managed, however, to forget his discomfort by the time he got home, up the stairs, and into his bedroom, where he pulled out his guitar and started to lightly strum, trying to think of something to play. As if guided on their own, his fingers found the frets and he began to play. Something about his tune haunted him, made his hair stand on end, but that was the kind of music he enjoyed to be a part of. Gradually, Zel forgot everything, and became lost in the rhythm of his music.
Melina Callie Rivers
The strangeness of the boys eyes did not leave Mel. After she and Zel had gotten home, seeing that her parents were out, she had run out to Starbucks to get a coffee and some sort of sweet. And the whole way there, and while she was ordering her coffee, the strange purple eyes of Xellos Metalium plagued her. Finally, holding a cool cup of iced mocha and a bagel, sitting in a large, puffy armchair, she allowed herself to consider them. They were, she had decided earlier on, completely natural. And she knew that, unlike she had let Zelgaddis believe, she had seen them perfectly clearly. She had, in fact, gotten a good look, because while she was exiting the classroom where they'd been introduced to the exchange students, Xellos had bumped into her. Rather hard, making all her books spill out of her arms, onto the floor. In anger, wincing at the pain in her knees and wrists, she had started to shout at him about good manners when dealing with innocent girls, when she had looked up. That was when she confirmed what she had given to strange light in the classroom. He was smiling at her, licking his lips, and his eyes, his amethyst eyes, were open.
Before she could get her breath back and continue her tirade, he had turned and walked away, his cape billowing out behind him. No, Mel frowned, that wasn't right. He hadn't been wearing a cape to billow. So why did she think of him as wearing one? Sipping her coffee, she analyzed her image of him. He was wearing a black cape rimmed with a sort of red design, and caring a staff. The rest of his clothes were non-descript, tan pants and a white shirt, boots, she didn't pay much attention to them. He was, in her mind, wearing the same dumb smile he had given the rest of the class, his eyes closed, their purple depths hidden.
Mel shook her head, opened her eyes, and returned to the world of coffee and poetry freaks. Taking another deep sip of her mocha, she though about her imaging. She had only seen him once, and hadn't noticed really noticed his clothes, though now that she thought about it she was almost sure that he had been wearing jeans and a black, long sleeved shirt. The image in her mind was probably a fluke, she had probably seen someone else, with that odd helmet hairstyle, who had died their hair purple and was dressed that way. On Halloween or something. Yes, she reassured herself, that's probably it. You're subconscious mind is filling in the blanks for you, and the result pops up in your head. That's all it is. That's all.
But for some reason, she didn't think that was all.
Mel slept badly that night. The nightmare she'd been having for the past few weeks was plaguing her, but now was worse than it had ever been before. She woke up, drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and sitting up in bed. Trembling, she forced herself to lie back down. Just a dream, she thought. It's just a dream. Her breathing relaxed. She undid the knots in her system, lay back and stared at her ceiling, barely visible above her head. Slowly, she started to slip back into her dreams.
She was loosing, loosing a desperate battle to keep it in control. She needed to be in control, needed to stay in control, needed to win, but she was loosing. It was tugging her mind into a place within itself, tugging it away from reality. People were screaming at her, not her name, but what they were saying felt like her name. Her own fear was almost tangible in the air around her, her own gasping breath sounded in her ears. She was terrified, terrified of what would happen if she lost control, and in her fear she was loosing her grasp on reality.
People's faces flashed before her eyes. Blue skin, gray eyes; a man who looked like some deformed demon, yet she felt friendship for him. Shinny black hair, framed a girl's face, her eyes were alive with excitement, and she felt motherly toward her. A tall man with long blonde hair, smiling, his blue eyes alight, and she felt trust for him, trust so extreme she'd give him her life. Purple hair, helmet style, a staff and a glowing red jewel, and amethyst eyes . . . .
She screamed, finding herself up in bed again. Sweat, from both her nightmares, made her hair stick to her neck. Fear made the blood sound in her ears. She lay back down, forgetting what it was that had scared her so. She tried to relax, tried to fall back into the pattern of sleep, but it wouldn't come. She was still too scared. Sighing, she threw her covers off and climbed out of bed, hissing as her feet came too quickly into contact with the cold wood floor. Sighing, she pulled on her black robe and moved toward her computer.
Moving her mouse, she realized she'd left it on, and online too. Sighing at her folly, she brought up Internet Explorer, and typed in the address for Google.com, and started a search for 'Purple Eyes'. She flipped through the multiple sites that came up, addressing everything from the 'Purple Eyes' clothing brand to the medical miracle, purple eyes. Finally, a description caught her attention. She brought up the website.
A text appeared on her screen:
'The so called miracle, purple eyes, have been rumored to be connected with a strange mental disorder in all those whose genes contain it. The disorder is not common, and has not been documented, so there is no official name for it, but it seems to center around a sadistic desire for pain, either of oneself or of others. This fits nicely with the legends concerning this odd trait, about monsters that feed of the negative emotional energy of others. This legend, is, of course, perfect rubbish, but further examination on the effects purple eyes on a persons personality is suggested.
Red eyes, as opposed to purple, tend to make emotions stronger, and fluxuate more. There are a multitude of legends surrounding this particular eye color
Mel lost interest. She'd found out what she wanted to know.
Eric Zelgadis Grey
At school the next day, Zel made his way over to Mel to find her dead looking from lack of sleep. "Coffee" she groaned, "Must, Have. Coffee."
"Ah, Mel?" Zel said, quietly, aware of her strained emotional state.
She looked up at him with pleading eyes. "Do you have my Coffee?" she asked, hope, love for creation, and general happiness reappearing in her voice.
"Ah, about that . ."
"Do you have it? Huh?" Zel backed away. Mel was starting to look dangerous now.
"Mel, calm down, I do not have your coffee" he said, trying to retain a sound of reasonable-ness in his voice while hoping that she didn't kill him somehow.
"You don't have my coffee" she said, sadly, her arms dropping from his shirt to her sides. "No coffee, no coffee, I'm going to die . . die . .die . ."
Zel sighed. She'd obviously not gotten enough sleep last night. Probably suffering from nightmares again. Only on nights of two hours or less did she beg him coffee. He wondered what nightmares could be bad enough so that Mel Rivers would be kept up all night. She feared little, and admitted to fearing less. There wasn't any stress in her life right now, except for the pending visit of her older sister, whom she hated, that would affect her dreams.
The sound of the bell that began the day broke into his thoughts. He forcibly grabbed Mel and dragged her into their homeroom, both Tardy.
Fiona Elizabeth Drygoon
Perfectly formed blue eyes stared up at her, an innocent smile graced perfect lips, blonde hair cascaded around her in perfect waves, and the hand that held the perfect tea-cup was, for lack of a better word, perfect.
Fiona Drygoon smiled down at the painting. "Now, what shall I call this?" she murmured to herself, her smile mirroring the one in her painting of herself, lost in thoughts about how well the brush strokes conveyed the image she wanted, perfection.
Frowning, she looked up as a shadow fell across her life size self portrait. A strange looking boy with purple hair and eyes looked down at her. "I think" he said, his voice making shivers run down her spine, her good mood immediately dissipating "that you should call it, Self Portrait of a Goddess."
Trying to shake off the almost blinding rage he stirred in her, she smiled up at him, her smile feeling tight and stretched. "Thanks a lot" she said, her voice sounding odd to her own ears "that's a perfect name for this piece, it totally goes with the theme I'm trying to convey."
He smiled, a ploy at modesty. "Oh, don't worry. It was nothing." She stifled a glare at his pompous attitude. "You are a cheerleader, aren't you?"
"Yes, indeed I am."
"Indeed?" he raised his eyebrows up at her, and she almost lost control and smacked him. "Cheerleaders bug the shit out of me."
The comment was so unexpected that she nearly fell out of her seat. "Wh- What did you say?"
"Oh." He said, cruelty and sarcasm dripping from his voice, "Yes. I forgot how tiny your mind was, Fillia Ul Copt. I forgot how simple concepts such as hate bother it so much." His expression changed from malicious to studious. "Let me see how to put this plainly. Ahh, yes." He smiled, a cold, cruel smile, and his eyes, which had been closed up until now opened, detachment glinting from their depths. "I. Hate. People. Like. You."
And with that, Xellos Metalium spun around, leaving a very stunned Fiona behind him.
Eric Zelgadis Grey
"Did you HEAR?"
Zelgaddis looked up at Mel over the rim of his coffee cup. She was flustered, her hair was windblown and in her face, the ponytail she'd tried to use to restrain it was long gone. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, her nose was red from a long walk in the chill wind that had been blowing continuously since the beginning of autumn. He frowned, as much at her distinct lack of coat, mittens, scarf, or any other type of winter gear as at what she had said. "Hear what?"
Mel jumped up and down in frustration. "Zel! Hear! The rumor!" her last word and jump seemed to shake the house.
Zelgaddis's grandfather, Ralph, moved his head inside the door. He was blind, but had an uncanny way of knowing what was going on without having to see it. The man was frowning, his eyebrows pulled together. As he scanned the room, as if looking for someone, he said, his voice a gentle murmur, "Excuse me, Zel?"
"Yes?" Zel put his coffee cup down, and stood up. He had developed a habit making some noise whenever his grandfather was in a room, so that Ralph, or Rezo as his family members called him, could 'see' where he was.
Sure enough, Rezo's faced Zel for his next comment. "What's going on?"
"Mel's here, and she was jumping up and down about something she heard at school."
Mel, guiltily said "Hi, Dr. Gray." She often forgot his blindness, and so didn't always greet him when she entered a room.
Rezo spun to face Mel, smiled, and said "Well, hello, Melina." Zel watched as his friend smiled back, an unguarded expression he didn't see often, but that was the way of his grandfather, always putting people at ease. "What brings you here?"
"Oh" Mel blushed "I just wanted to tell Zelgaddis a rumor from school. Sorry I interrupted you with your-" she let her sentence trail off, waiting for him to complete it.
"Writing my Sermon. But now that I have been interrupted" Mel blushed again, "I think I'd much rather hear this rumor of yours. Tea?"
"Oh, yes, please."
Rezo moved to the stove, where he put a large teakettle on. "Zel, I assume you have coffe?"
"Yes." Zel sat down again, crossing one leg over the other and languidly taking a sip.
"About the rumor" the excitement had returned to Mels eyes, "Zel, you won't believe this." Without even waiting for his response, she barreled on. "That new kid, Xellos Metallium or whatever, snubbed Fiona Drygoon!"
"What? How?" This was amazing. Fiona Drygoon was by far the most popular person in school, and the most successful. She was the best cheerleader, debate team member, choral soloist, and had a very high GPA, which she wasn't ashamed to flaunt. Her parents had insisted on raising her very properly, and Zel had always reasoned this was part of her attraction for other people. Though he had never had a taste for her company, possibly because he had not been one of her more favorite acquaintances, Mel had been one of her best friends in elementary school, but had been pushed aside when boys, makeup, and dances had become more appealing then playing that they were mages. No one, in the history of New York Central high school had ever, ever snubbed anyone, anyone as popular as Fiona Drygoon and gotten away with it. If this Xellos wasn't dead yet, then he had already set a record.
"He came up to her in art, made fun of her painting, and then said 'I hate people like you'!!! Zel, do you realize that this is like the first time ever that this has happened!?! I'm so happy!"
The two figures at the table were both so caught up in their discussion of how Fiona had it coming to her that they didn't notice how Rezo gasped and clutched his chest when Xellos's name was mentioned, or the slightly odd tilt to his gait as he gave them tea.
A.N. YAY! That was fun to write. . . I had a really good time . . . Okay, I gota few notes for everyone: First, this is taking place in a A.U. where Valgaav got his wish and 'purified' the world. Second, forgive my insanity, but I'm a big X/L OR L/G fan, but I realize that some people are not, so I am going to try not to put too much romance into this, however, I will probably write little other fics where I use my favorite two pairings! ^_^ Third, please review, I love reviews, I need reviews, I live for reviews, but is there anyone in this wretched world who doesn't MUAHAHAHAHA Um . . besides that . . there isn't much I can say . but anyway, R&R and remember, peace is luv.