Disclaimer: I no own, you no sue.
Author's Note: Meh!
NeoNaoNeo
Chapter 11: They're Like Me...?
Mr. 176 laid Angel's limp form down in Mr. 49's bed, blood dripping from the waltz's collar and onto the pillow. The appearence of this red liquid deeply concerned Mr. 176, so he quickly voiced his worry.
"Mr. 49! There's red stuff!" Mr. 176 tattled, knowing that the heavy loss of this liquid was usually followed by stopping. "Is he going to stop? What are we going to do?"
The tall Type B mage walked away from his small medicine cabinet, arms full of gauze, a bottle of witch hazel, a potion and a clean rag. Mr. 49 shook his head with a small sigh.
"Can you get that metal bowl and fill it with water?" Mr. 49 requested, placing his supplies on a nightstand near the bed Angel was resting in. 176 quickly complied, dashing off to the sink, nearly tripping over Mr. 49's cat. The doctor of the village removed Angel's hat, running his finger over the waltz's blood slick hair, finding a slightly deep knick about half way up his head.
Mr. 176 came back over with the bowl cupped in his hands, sloshing warm water all over the floor.
"Thank you." Mr. 49 said and dipped the rag in the bowl, gently dabbing the small wound and surrounding area. He then completely submerged the rag in the water and began rinsing his hair, soaking the pillow as well. Mr. 49 took two, potion sodden cotton balls and dabbed his wound, the blood quickly clotting in response to the healing concoction's properties.
"Is he going to be okay?" Mr. 176 repeated. "He fell from really high and he's awfully small...."
"Well, he isn't bleeding anymore, but we still don't know if he has a concussion or not," Mr. 49 said, unable to tell of the mage's state of unconsciousness by the usual pupil-dilation technique. The doctor took a closer look at his limbs, checking for any broken bones. Mr. 49 noticed his shoulders were unusually slack and felt the muscles in arms and wings. "Hm...he pulled quite a few tendons up here. Hand me another potion and some numbweed please."
Mr. 176 nodded obediently and retrieved the items. He slightly winced at the smell when Mr. 49 popped the top off the container of powdered numbweed, the odor was always so unpleasant. Mr. 49 removed a small ceramic bowl from a nearby cabinet and mixed the potion and powered numbweed. He then placed some gauze in the solution and removed it.
"Would you do me favor and removed his shirt?" Mr. 49 asked politely. Always happy to lend a helping hand, Mr. 176 undid Angel's shirt and removed it, allowing Mr. 49 to wrap up his shoulders and part of his wings in the smelly bandages. "That will help ease the muscle pain and hopefully speed up their healing."
Mr. 176 respectfully replaced Angel's shirt and reached for his hat, the inside and brim discolored with blood.
"I think he's going to need a new hat," Mr. 49 pointed out. "When he's awake, you can take him to the armor and weapons shop for a new one."
"Yeah, okay!" Mr. 176 nodded. "C-can he stay in mine and Mr. 99's hut?"
"I don't see why not," Mr. 49 said at a slight loss for words. "Just make sure he doesn't exert the muscles in his shoulders t-too much..."
Mr. 176 nodded and lifted the small waltz into his arms, holding him carefully as a newborn child. The muscular type A mage walked out with a small 'thank you' towards his hut on the other side of the village. The genomes didn't take too much notice in him as he passed by, keeping their distant, wayward attitude. Mr. 176 walked into his shared hut, Mr. 99 at the fireplace, making a kettle of tea. In the corner were a set of bunkbeds, Mr. 176's on the bottom and 99's on top.
"So what did 49 say?" Mr. 99 asked.
"Oh, um...I-I didn't really understand..." Mr. 176 replied sheepishly.
"That's okay," Mr. 99 said.
The Type A mage ambled over to his bed and laid Angel down as gently as possible, pulling his blankets over the waltz's shoulders and wings for a moment, then pulled it back.
"What's wrong?" Mr. 99 asked.
Mr. 176 reached down childishly and pet Angel's downy wings, satisfied with the soft and plush feel of them. The waltz shifted warmly, adjusting himself to the bed, trying to manuever his wings with broken shakes. The Type A mage smoothed his feathers to comfort him.
"Sh, it's okay, you'll be alright," Mr. 176 said softly to Angel, still stroking his feathers. The waltz's wings settled in slight content as Mr. 176 pulled the blankets over his shoulders and appendages, tucking him gently. Mr. 99 smiled as Mr. 176 toddled back from the bed, his face showed slight worry.
"He'll be fine, don't worry," Mr. 99 assured. Only a few moments passed when Angel roused again, weary mind slowly fading back to reality. His soft yellow eyes fluttered open, psyche still too disorientened to take alert in his change of surroundings. "Hey look, he's awake already!"
Angel shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling of confusion. Did those dolls just...talk?
"You're awake!" Mr. 176 said excitedly, rushing over to Angel's side.
These dolls WERE talking! And moving without anyone telling them what to do! They sounded friendly....but Angel wasn't necessarily there to make friends....
The waltz moved in the bed, the electricity of a Thundara spell building in his palm when a sudden pain shot through his arm, paralyzing his whole body momentarily and violently turning to a stinging burning sensation. Angel toppled over with a small cry, Mr. 176 running over to assist almost immediatley, wings and shoulders hunched in an unnatural way as though to their own accord.
"Are you okay!?" Mr. 176 asked, a pleading note in his voice as he lifted Angel off the ground and back onto the bed.
The waltz wanted to grab out, choke him, claw at his eyes, something! but his arms wouldn't cooperate with his violent intentions. Angel tensed his fingers instinctively, slightly fearful of their reaction if they knew he was injured....
"Mr. 49 said you shouldn't 'acserpt' yourself." Mr. 176 quoted.
"Erm...176, I think you mean 'exert'," Mr. 99 corrected kindly.
"Oh, okay. You shouldn't exert yourself, your shoulder is pretty bad," Mr. 176 murmured, patting Angel between the wings, ruffling the course feathers that stuck out raggedly around the base like a hen's tail. Angel slumped slightly. Not only was he stuck here, defensless, but he could hardly move without triggering a pain in his shoulder so he couldn't explore his surroundings any further. "So, what's your name?"
"Angel," he responded, beginning to feel that these mages were somehow different than the ones that he often slaughtered in the palace's dungeon.
"That's a good name, mine's Mr. 176 and this is Mr. 99," the stout Type A introduced to Angel kindly. "So where do you come from? Why do you have wings?"
"I'm from over the mountains," Angel said. "And I guess 'cause I was made with them...I s'ppose."
"They're really beautiful," Mr. 176 said in a tone of awe, stroking his feathers again. Any thought of killing them was supressed easily after this innocent gesture, Angel's sore muscles slightly eased by the gentle rub.
"Thanks, I think so too," Angel nodded. He remembered Lenore and how she had directly told him to stay in the Desert Palace. "Oh no..."
"What?" Mr. 176 quickly asked.
"Lenore's going to be so mad at me for leaving...." Angel whimpered.
"Who's Lenore?"
"She's my best friend....she plays with me and takes care of me, gives me dolls to play with..." Angel explained. Luckily, Mr. 176 didn't know that when he said 'dolls' he meant live black mages and 'play' meant to torment and slaughter them mercilessly.
"Why did you leave if she told you not to?" Mr. 176 asked.
"I don't know...I wanted to see what was out here, even though she said I wasn't ready." Angel sighed. "I guess Lenore was right."
"Well, you're okay and you got here," Mr. 176 pointed out. "You can stay here until your wings get better, Mr. 49 said that would take a few days."
"Really? I can stay?" Angel asked.
Mr. 176 nodded.
"You have to! Just for a little while, you need to get a new hat," Mr. 176 pleaded.
"Wha---? MY HAT!" Angel cried, realizing his crown was completely exposed, feeling naked without his head's covering. "What happened to my hat!?"
"It was covered in red stuff and Mr. 49 said it was ruined..." Mr. 176 replied. The waltz grumbled but restrained himself, a few crackles of electricity circulating about his arms and flying off with a small snap. Mr. 99 noticed this, beginning to gain a small dislike for the waltz.
"Mr. 176, why don't you bring your berries to Mr. 108?" 99 suggested, urging him towards the door.
"Angel, do you like pie?" Mr. 176 asked. Angel tried shrugging, but his shoulders refused to cooperate.
"Erm....I've never had it before." the waltz answered.
"Never had pie?" Mr. 176 said, his voice nearly taking a tone of offense. "Well you can try some in the morning! Why don't you try to get some sleep? It'll help you get better, at least that's what Mr. 49 says."
Angel sighed and nodded, resting his head on the pillow. Despite his fear of Lenore's reaction when Lenore found out he had left, Angel discovered it impossible to stay awake, kneading at the covers with his talons and quickly nodded off to sleep. Mr. 99 pulled 176 to the side.
"Look, I don't like this guy...." Mr. 99 said.
"What? Why not?" Mr. 176 said.
"I don't know, didn't you notice he kind of has that...weird look to his eyes?" Mr. 99 said.
"What do you mean?"
"Like...when one of us were asleep? That empty look?" Mr. 99 said, feeling secure enough to bring up 'unconsciousness' around his friend.
"No, he doesn't have that look, he's definently awake."
"No...I know he doesn't have that look EXACTLY, but it's kind of like that---"
"You worry too much!" Mr. 176 laughed. "He won't hurt us, we're taking care of him. Plus he's too small and weak to do anything right now..."
Mr. 99 crinkled his nose slightly. 'Weak my ass,' he thought pessimisstically, using a word he had learned from one of the dwarves. 'He could probably kill us all in one shot if he wanted....'
"Okay, well I'm going to take the berries over, I'll be back soon!" Mr. 176 announced to 99 and walked out of the door.
"I just hope you're right," Mr. 99 muttered, looking to Angel with stern eyes. "But you were always the trusting one, weren't you?"
For the first time in his life, Angel woke to the brightness of the sunrise in his eyes, a warm and pleasantly stinging sensation. Mr. 99 was snoring in the bunk above him, Mr. 176 was sleeping in a sitting up position, back to the wall. Angel sat up, neither his shoulders or wings causing his any trouble as he moved out of the bed. The waltz tried to spread his appendages, but they only twitched slightly, muscles still too damaged to move them. He sighed and noticed the discolored bandages. Angel began walking towards the door, anxious to finally explore on his own, forgetting about the oncoming trouble he was bound to have with Lenore.
The awning of the small hut kept the cool porch shaded over from the smallest rays of golden morning light, a slight disappointment to Angel. But he continued walking around, observing everything with keen interest. The stream especially grabbed his attention, the clean clear water flowing smoothly under the floating bridge, shimmering like dozens of beautiful crystals.
Angel began walking away from the small brook, looking around curiously and eagerly. Wow, maybe these dolls aren't like the ones in the dungeon, maybe they're more like Lenore. I mean, they took care of me, right?
Before he knew it, he was near the cemetery, a lone Type C mage standing as still as a statue, looking over the graves.
"Hello there," Mr. 288 welcomed, not looking back to see the visitor. As Angel took a step forth, Mr. 288 then called in a slightly scolding voice, "Hold on."
"Hm?" Angel wondered, stopping in place, not minding the command from the mage. "Why?"
"Vivi?" Mr. 288 said in surprise, turning around. The sudden movement scared away all the birds that were roosting among the graves, a cloud of black, red, white and gray flapped back up to their perches among the ancient trees, several loose plumes falling behind them. Mr. 288 looked back up to the trees and then to the waltz. "Vivi? Is that you? W-what on earth h-happened?"
"My name is Angel," the waltz retorted. The solemn mage studied him for a moment, his gaze seemed piercing and slightly calculating. Mr. 288 opened his mouth to argue, but Angel piped up beforehand. "What is this place?"
"This is our village's cemetery," Mr. 288 said. "It's a place where we bury our dead, so we can remember them."
Angel thought for a moment, his only experience with the dead was after he had finished a killing.
"Why do you bury them?" Angel asked. "Why not burn them?"
Mr. 288 seemed slightly shaken by this peculiar statement, but soon thought he was talking about creamation.
"Burying seems more appropriate," Mr. 288 replied. "Many people here don't realize that death is forever and, honestly, I don't think that them witnessing their friend being creamated would be a good way for them to learn death's permanance."
"Why would you burn them while they're dead? That seems silly," Angel retorted, not completely grasping this mage's logic.
"What do you mean? I hope you're not implying to burn them ALIVE," Mr. 288 said.
"Why not?" Angel asked. "I mean, it's fun, right?"
Mr. 288's look became one of digusted horror, which he quickly shook off for the benefit of appearing more calm than he really was.
"No, no it's not," Mr. 288 said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "It's very very wrong."
"Nuh-uh," Angel chuckled, shaking his head. "Why do you say that?"
"If someone dies, it makes their friends and family really sad," Mr. 288 explained. "So if you kill someone, you're not only hurting them, but all their family and every one of their friends."
The waltz took these words to mind, not quite to heart yet, but was sure to keep them in mind. Mr. 288 sighed.
"You must have a very good friend," Mr. 288 prodded.
"Yes," Angel murmured.
"What's their name?" Mr. 288 asked, using the pronoun 'their' in place of 'his' or 'her', not wanting to offend the waltz by wrongly guessing his caretaker's sex.
"Lenore," Angel replied quietly.
"What if someone were to kill her?" Mr. 288 asked. "How would you feel?"
The waltz didn't reply right away, too caught up in thinking over the answer. Of course he would have been sad, the very THOUGHT of losing her was mind boggling, but with that was a slightly nasueating anger. What was this doll getting at?
"Well, that's how all the friends and family feel when someone dies," Mr. 288 explained.
Angel looked down at his feet, very humbled by Mr. 288 presentation. The stout Type C mage walked over to Angel and ran his fingers though the waltz's black hair.
"Perhaps you should go to the weapons shop and get yourself a new hat little one," Mr. 288 suggested. Angel had totally forgotten about his missing hat until that moment. "Do you want me to show you where it is?"
Angel shook his head.
"No, I think I can find it," the waltz said. "Thank you."
"For what little one? I don't think I've done anything," Mr. 288 replied.
"I'm not sure," the waltz lied, knowing very well he had thanked Mr. 288 for the small bit of wisdom on his violent attitude, but decided that it would be slightly demeaning if he admitted it. "But thanks anyways!"
"Alright. The weapons shop is the hut nearest the entrance," Mr. 288 directed. "Mr. 14 runs it, and he can be alittle grumpy in the morning."
Angel nodded, his black hair slightly brushing over his eyes.
"Bye!" the waltz waved and walked down the stone steps, away from the cemetery. Only a few early morning genomes were up and loitering about, most black mages in their huts, asleep. Angel sighed and looked around the village, his shoulder muscles were already beginning to feel better and mobile. As an experiment, Angel spread his wings, luckily without much pain. The waltz smiled and continued his way towards the weapons shop.
Author's Note: Meh!
NeoNaoNeo
Chapter 11: They're Like Me...?
Mr. 176 laid Angel's limp form down in Mr. 49's bed, blood dripping from the waltz's collar and onto the pillow. The appearence of this red liquid deeply concerned Mr. 176, so he quickly voiced his worry.
"Mr. 49! There's red stuff!" Mr. 176 tattled, knowing that the heavy loss of this liquid was usually followed by stopping. "Is he going to stop? What are we going to do?"
The tall Type B mage walked away from his small medicine cabinet, arms full of gauze, a bottle of witch hazel, a potion and a clean rag. Mr. 49 shook his head with a small sigh.
"Can you get that metal bowl and fill it with water?" Mr. 49 requested, placing his supplies on a nightstand near the bed Angel was resting in. 176 quickly complied, dashing off to the sink, nearly tripping over Mr. 49's cat. The doctor of the village removed Angel's hat, running his finger over the waltz's blood slick hair, finding a slightly deep knick about half way up his head.
Mr. 176 came back over with the bowl cupped in his hands, sloshing warm water all over the floor.
"Thank you." Mr. 49 said and dipped the rag in the bowl, gently dabbing the small wound and surrounding area. He then completely submerged the rag in the water and began rinsing his hair, soaking the pillow as well. Mr. 49 took two, potion sodden cotton balls and dabbed his wound, the blood quickly clotting in response to the healing concoction's properties.
"Is he going to be okay?" Mr. 176 repeated. "He fell from really high and he's awfully small...."
"Well, he isn't bleeding anymore, but we still don't know if he has a concussion or not," Mr. 49 said, unable to tell of the mage's state of unconsciousness by the usual pupil-dilation technique. The doctor took a closer look at his limbs, checking for any broken bones. Mr. 49 noticed his shoulders were unusually slack and felt the muscles in arms and wings. "Hm...he pulled quite a few tendons up here. Hand me another potion and some numbweed please."
Mr. 176 nodded obediently and retrieved the items. He slightly winced at the smell when Mr. 49 popped the top off the container of powdered numbweed, the odor was always so unpleasant. Mr. 49 removed a small ceramic bowl from a nearby cabinet and mixed the potion and powered numbweed. He then placed some gauze in the solution and removed it.
"Would you do me favor and removed his shirt?" Mr. 49 asked politely. Always happy to lend a helping hand, Mr. 176 undid Angel's shirt and removed it, allowing Mr. 49 to wrap up his shoulders and part of his wings in the smelly bandages. "That will help ease the muscle pain and hopefully speed up their healing."
Mr. 176 respectfully replaced Angel's shirt and reached for his hat, the inside and brim discolored with blood.
"I think he's going to need a new hat," Mr. 49 pointed out. "When he's awake, you can take him to the armor and weapons shop for a new one."
"Yeah, okay!" Mr. 176 nodded. "C-can he stay in mine and Mr. 99's hut?"
"I don't see why not," Mr. 49 said at a slight loss for words. "Just make sure he doesn't exert the muscles in his shoulders t-too much..."
Mr. 176 nodded and lifted the small waltz into his arms, holding him carefully as a newborn child. The muscular type A mage walked out with a small 'thank you' towards his hut on the other side of the village. The genomes didn't take too much notice in him as he passed by, keeping their distant, wayward attitude. Mr. 176 walked into his shared hut, Mr. 99 at the fireplace, making a kettle of tea. In the corner were a set of bunkbeds, Mr. 176's on the bottom and 99's on top.
"So what did 49 say?" Mr. 99 asked.
"Oh, um...I-I didn't really understand..." Mr. 176 replied sheepishly.
"That's okay," Mr. 99 said.
The Type A mage ambled over to his bed and laid Angel down as gently as possible, pulling his blankets over the waltz's shoulders and wings for a moment, then pulled it back.
"What's wrong?" Mr. 99 asked.
Mr. 176 reached down childishly and pet Angel's downy wings, satisfied with the soft and plush feel of them. The waltz shifted warmly, adjusting himself to the bed, trying to manuever his wings with broken shakes. The Type A mage smoothed his feathers to comfort him.
"Sh, it's okay, you'll be alright," Mr. 176 said softly to Angel, still stroking his feathers. The waltz's wings settled in slight content as Mr. 176 pulled the blankets over his shoulders and appendages, tucking him gently. Mr. 99 smiled as Mr. 176 toddled back from the bed, his face showed slight worry.
"He'll be fine, don't worry," Mr. 99 assured. Only a few moments passed when Angel roused again, weary mind slowly fading back to reality. His soft yellow eyes fluttered open, psyche still too disorientened to take alert in his change of surroundings. "Hey look, he's awake already!"
Angel shook his head, trying to shake off the feeling of confusion. Did those dolls just...talk?
"You're awake!" Mr. 176 said excitedly, rushing over to Angel's side.
These dolls WERE talking! And moving without anyone telling them what to do! They sounded friendly....but Angel wasn't necessarily there to make friends....
The waltz moved in the bed, the electricity of a Thundara spell building in his palm when a sudden pain shot through his arm, paralyzing his whole body momentarily and violently turning to a stinging burning sensation. Angel toppled over with a small cry, Mr. 176 running over to assist almost immediatley, wings and shoulders hunched in an unnatural way as though to their own accord.
"Are you okay!?" Mr. 176 asked, a pleading note in his voice as he lifted Angel off the ground and back onto the bed.
The waltz wanted to grab out, choke him, claw at his eyes, something! but his arms wouldn't cooperate with his violent intentions. Angel tensed his fingers instinctively, slightly fearful of their reaction if they knew he was injured....
"Mr. 49 said you shouldn't 'acserpt' yourself." Mr. 176 quoted.
"Erm...176, I think you mean 'exert'," Mr. 99 corrected kindly.
"Oh, okay. You shouldn't exert yourself, your shoulder is pretty bad," Mr. 176 murmured, patting Angel between the wings, ruffling the course feathers that stuck out raggedly around the base like a hen's tail. Angel slumped slightly. Not only was he stuck here, defensless, but he could hardly move without triggering a pain in his shoulder so he couldn't explore his surroundings any further. "So, what's your name?"
"Angel," he responded, beginning to feel that these mages were somehow different than the ones that he often slaughtered in the palace's dungeon.
"That's a good name, mine's Mr. 176 and this is Mr. 99," the stout Type A introduced to Angel kindly. "So where do you come from? Why do you have wings?"
"I'm from over the mountains," Angel said. "And I guess 'cause I was made with them...I s'ppose."
"They're really beautiful," Mr. 176 said in a tone of awe, stroking his feathers again. Any thought of killing them was supressed easily after this innocent gesture, Angel's sore muscles slightly eased by the gentle rub.
"Thanks, I think so too," Angel nodded. He remembered Lenore and how she had directly told him to stay in the Desert Palace. "Oh no..."
"What?" Mr. 176 quickly asked.
"Lenore's going to be so mad at me for leaving...." Angel whimpered.
"Who's Lenore?"
"She's my best friend....she plays with me and takes care of me, gives me dolls to play with..." Angel explained. Luckily, Mr. 176 didn't know that when he said 'dolls' he meant live black mages and 'play' meant to torment and slaughter them mercilessly.
"Why did you leave if she told you not to?" Mr. 176 asked.
"I don't know...I wanted to see what was out here, even though she said I wasn't ready." Angel sighed. "I guess Lenore was right."
"Well, you're okay and you got here," Mr. 176 pointed out. "You can stay here until your wings get better, Mr. 49 said that would take a few days."
"Really? I can stay?" Angel asked.
Mr. 176 nodded.
"You have to! Just for a little while, you need to get a new hat," Mr. 176 pleaded.
"Wha---? MY HAT!" Angel cried, realizing his crown was completely exposed, feeling naked without his head's covering. "What happened to my hat!?"
"It was covered in red stuff and Mr. 49 said it was ruined..." Mr. 176 replied. The waltz grumbled but restrained himself, a few crackles of electricity circulating about his arms and flying off with a small snap. Mr. 99 noticed this, beginning to gain a small dislike for the waltz.
"Mr. 176, why don't you bring your berries to Mr. 108?" 99 suggested, urging him towards the door.
"Angel, do you like pie?" Mr. 176 asked. Angel tried shrugging, but his shoulders refused to cooperate.
"Erm....I've never had it before." the waltz answered.
"Never had pie?" Mr. 176 said, his voice nearly taking a tone of offense. "Well you can try some in the morning! Why don't you try to get some sleep? It'll help you get better, at least that's what Mr. 49 says."
Angel sighed and nodded, resting his head on the pillow. Despite his fear of Lenore's reaction when Lenore found out he had left, Angel discovered it impossible to stay awake, kneading at the covers with his talons and quickly nodded off to sleep. Mr. 99 pulled 176 to the side.
"Look, I don't like this guy...." Mr. 99 said.
"What? Why not?" Mr. 176 said.
"I don't know, didn't you notice he kind of has that...weird look to his eyes?" Mr. 99 said.
"What do you mean?"
"Like...when one of us were asleep? That empty look?" Mr. 99 said, feeling secure enough to bring up 'unconsciousness' around his friend.
"No, he doesn't have that look, he's definently awake."
"No...I know he doesn't have that look EXACTLY, but it's kind of like that---"
"You worry too much!" Mr. 176 laughed. "He won't hurt us, we're taking care of him. Plus he's too small and weak to do anything right now..."
Mr. 99 crinkled his nose slightly. 'Weak my ass,' he thought pessimisstically, using a word he had learned from one of the dwarves. 'He could probably kill us all in one shot if he wanted....'
"Okay, well I'm going to take the berries over, I'll be back soon!" Mr. 176 announced to 99 and walked out of the door.
"I just hope you're right," Mr. 99 muttered, looking to Angel with stern eyes. "But you were always the trusting one, weren't you?"
For the first time in his life, Angel woke to the brightness of the sunrise in his eyes, a warm and pleasantly stinging sensation. Mr. 99 was snoring in the bunk above him, Mr. 176 was sleeping in a sitting up position, back to the wall. Angel sat up, neither his shoulders or wings causing his any trouble as he moved out of the bed. The waltz tried to spread his appendages, but they only twitched slightly, muscles still too damaged to move them. He sighed and noticed the discolored bandages. Angel began walking towards the door, anxious to finally explore on his own, forgetting about the oncoming trouble he was bound to have with Lenore.
The awning of the small hut kept the cool porch shaded over from the smallest rays of golden morning light, a slight disappointment to Angel. But he continued walking around, observing everything with keen interest. The stream especially grabbed his attention, the clean clear water flowing smoothly under the floating bridge, shimmering like dozens of beautiful crystals.
Angel began walking away from the small brook, looking around curiously and eagerly. Wow, maybe these dolls aren't like the ones in the dungeon, maybe they're more like Lenore. I mean, they took care of me, right?
Before he knew it, he was near the cemetery, a lone Type C mage standing as still as a statue, looking over the graves.
"Hello there," Mr. 288 welcomed, not looking back to see the visitor. As Angel took a step forth, Mr. 288 then called in a slightly scolding voice, "Hold on."
"Hm?" Angel wondered, stopping in place, not minding the command from the mage. "Why?"
"Vivi?" Mr. 288 said in surprise, turning around. The sudden movement scared away all the birds that were roosting among the graves, a cloud of black, red, white and gray flapped back up to their perches among the ancient trees, several loose plumes falling behind them. Mr. 288 looked back up to the trees and then to the waltz. "Vivi? Is that you? W-what on earth h-happened?"
"My name is Angel," the waltz retorted. The solemn mage studied him for a moment, his gaze seemed piercing and slightly calculating. Mr. 288 opened his mouth to argue, but Angel piped up beforehand. "What is this place?"
"This is our village's cemetery," Mr. 288 said. "It's a place where we bury our dead, so we can remember them."
Angel thought for a moment, his only experience with the dead was after he had finished a killing.
"Why do you bury them?" Angel asked. "Why not burn them?"
Mr. 288 seemed slightly shaken by this peculiar statement, but soon thought he was talking about creamation.
"Burying seems more appropriate," Mr. 288 replied. "Many people here don't realize that death is forever and, honestly, I don't think that them witnessing their friend being creamated would be a good way for them to learn death's permanance."
"Why would you burn them while they're dead? That seems silly," Angel retorted, not completely grasping this mage's logic.
"What do you mean? I hope you're not implying to burn them ALIVE," Mr. 288 said.
"Why not?" Angel asked. "I mean, it's fun, right?"
Mr. 288's look became one of digusted horror, which he quickly shook off for the benefit of appearing more calm than he really was.
"No, no it's not," Mr. 288 said, his voice hardly above a whisper. "It's very very wrong."
"Nuh-uh," Angel chuckled, shaking his head. "Why do you say that?"
"If someone dies, it makes their friends and family really sad," Mr. 288 explained. "So if you kill someone, you're not only hurting them, but all their family and every one of their friends."
The waltz took these words to mind, not quite to heart yet, but was sure to keep them in mind. Mr. 288 sighed.
"You must have a very good friend," Mr. 288 prodded.
"Yes," Angel murmured.
"What's their name?" Mr. 288 asked, using the pronoun 'their' in place of 'his' or 'her', not wanting to offend the waltz by wrongly guessing his caretaker's sex.
"Lenore," Angel replied quietly.
"What if someone were to kill her?" Mr. 288 asked. "How would you feel?"
The waltz didn't reply right away, too caught up in thinking over the answer. Of course he would have been sad, the very THOUGHT of losing her was mind boggling, but with that was a slightly nasueating anger. What was this doll getting at?
"Well, that's how all the friends and family feel when someone dies," Mr. 288 explained.
Angel looked down at his feet, very humbled by Mr. 288 presentation. The stout Type C mage walked over to Angel and ran his fingers though the waltz's black hair.
"Perhaps you should go to the weapons shop and get yourself a new hat little one," Mr. 288 suggested. Angel had totally forgotten about his missing hat until that moment. "Do you want me to show you where it is?"
Angel shook his head.
"No, I think I can find it," the waltz said. "Thank you."
"For what little one? I don't think I've done anything," Mr. 288 replied.
"I'm not sure," the waltz lied, knowing very well he had thanked Mr. 288 for the small bit of wisdom on his violent attitude, but decided that it would be slightly demeaning if he admitted it. "But thanks anyways!"
"Alright. The weapons shop is the hut nearest the entrance," Mr. 288 directed. "Mr. 14 runs it, and he can be alittle grumpy in the morning."
Angel nodded, his black hair slightly brushing over his eyes.
"Bye!" the waltz waved and walked down the stone steps, away from the cemetery. Only a few early morning genomes were up and loitering about, most black mages in their huts, asleep. Angel sighed and looked around the village, his shoulder muscles were already beginning to feel better and mobile. As an experiment, Angel spread his wings, luckily without much pain. The waltz smiled and continued his way towards the weapons shop.