Song of the Chapter: "Run" by Air
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"There was a boy . . .
A very strange, ~enchanted~ boy.
They say he wandered very far,
--very far--
over land and sea . . .
A little shy, and sad of eye
but very wise, was he.
And then one day,
one magic day, he passed my way.
While we spoke of many things,
fools and kings,
this he said to me:
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn
is just to love . . . and be loved in return'"
- Massive Attack & David Bowie, "Nature Boy"
~*~*~*~
It was the next Wednesday when they actually started something constructive in the name of their intention.
Yuugi was ~hardly~ put off in the meantime. The castle was endlessly fascinating to him, and he often found himself wandering deserted hallways, while though silent, which whispered with that large aching silence that was a testament to the magnificence of their years. Gaping yesterdays had made its mark on the ancient castle, and Yuugi was amazed.
Gothic archways strung with gold and golden shades of polished wood donned every doorway, and even some doors that just as you went in, you came back out again. They were ordinary tricks by the spirits of the castle, he discovered, and the spirits were lonesome enough to be amused.
He giggled along with them, though his laughs were empty with the impending stressor.
No matter how sincerely he attempted, the impending curiosity of his purpose there was stifling to say the least. Nothing really fit together-- not that anything usually did in his life--but the unexplainable feeling of dread often consumed him into melancholy mulling. He spent hours of worrying on the sides of the halls, his head and back resting on mysterious murals which taunted him with secret smiles and prancing depictions of free creatures.
Usually he could count on Yami, with his millenniums of experience, to offer some sense of wisdom to still his fears. But even Yami was swimming blindly.
They weren't even sure which side of ~this~ complication was fighting for goodness and tranquility. This Albus Dumbledore was leading them to some sort of a sniper mission, he could sense it, and Yuugi was startled. He seemed like a pleasant man, yet who with a pure heart would kill someone in cold blood?
As he read the loopy-written piece of parchment on his bedside table Wednesday morning, he and his Yami agreed that they would decide their place, if anywhere, today at the meeting assembled that afternoon.
He dressed in black all around, which brought out the interesting curves of his eyes to particular prominence, and gave his reflection in the mirror a sort of permanent half-glare under florescent bangs. Snapping on a few heavy buckles and no less than three studded belts adorning his waist, the end result was rather intimidating despite his size. Which was exactly what he intended.
Finally, he threw on a black, common robe over his arms as he whisked out of the door in a brisk pace set by his strong, known determination. Harsh, steel heels clicked on the marble as he made his way through now-familiar halls.
As he did not feel the inclination to button up his over-robe, it swirled behind him with the consistency of oil in churning water. The patterns made by the loose cloth were lovely among shuddering candlelight placed conveniently on the walls.
The intricately-carved double-doors were closed when he came upon them. Bracing himself and his delicate hands strung with numerous gold and silver rings he had picked up from convenient friends and his renown work in Egypt, he flung the doors open dramatically with both arms, not even slowing his pace in the slightest.
He finally halted in front of the startled onlookers with a somewhat glazed expression of indifference, adopted readily from Yami's personality. Black robes churned ominously for a second, before faltering, as if dead.
The only distinguishing factor of the room was a plain, yet useful, oval table in the center. There were a few of what he supposed were ordinary- looking witches and wizards scattered haphazardly around the table in improvised groups, and they looked upon him in surprise. The slightly reproving glares through (often times) glasses made him wonder if they were the faculty of the peculiar school.
The ever-wise Professor Dumbledore stood slowly at the head of the table.
"Ah, and there is Mr Mutou. I trust this meeting is ready to begin?"
Not sure precisely what to do, he nodded slowly, adopting a nearby seat to sit upon. His otherwise solitary neighbor was a tall, thin man with dark hair that looked as though it had been cut with a ragged knife. He glared at the boy, folding his arms contemptuously.
Yuugi felt his eyes narrow.
"As far as we know, Voldemort has been unusually silent following his recently successful break-out of the wizard prison of Azkaban." The old headmaster appeared suddenly a decade or two older, and as if he were resisting the urge to sigh heavily "However, this brief respite is yet another thing we cannot count on. It seems as though the Dark Lord has little planning in which he relays to others."
The man next to Yuugi fixed Dumbledore with an unfazed stare.
A red-haired motherly sort of woman leaned forward, pursing her lips and holding herself in check of apparent calm. Yuugi felt the effect of the puzzle's slight empathetic abilities, his churning stomach expressing the tension around the room.
"Do we know who escaped?" Asked the woman quietly.
"Unfortunately, not precisely." Responded the old man warily "We can only assume that Voldemort would be thorough in his mission."
A heavy silence followed.
"So ultimately, everyone we had worked so hard over the years to capture-- those who many of us have died to stop--they're ~free~?"
Yuugi felt anxious, shifting in his chair to better accommodate the trapped feeling in his stomach, but it did little to calm it. No one around the table seemed to need to confirm the voice of the red-headed woman.
A dark-skinned man with another grave (ordinary) expression felt a need to voice his part. "The ministry is unsure of the severity of the situation, however, the Dementors have most certainly joined the Dark Lord's forces."
"Is that it, then?" spoke a graying man, who was abnormally pale under a fringe of dusty brown hair "Quite honestly . . . what can we do? There is no prison to send them to . . . so" he swallowed "must we--"
"Catch them and kill them." Confirmed the sour man next to Yuugi. "It is all we can do."
"Severus, I doubt that it is truly that dire . . . "
"If you were to kill them," said Yuugi suddenly, silencing them all "you would be no better than they."
Nods of agreement echoed, catching the reincarnated Pharaoh with relief. So they ~did~ have the best interests in mind. He straightened his torso, not looking so dreadfully short in the face of the rest.
They seemed to be more relaxed of him, now. Except for Severus, who looked at him as if he were something unsavory found on the bottom of his shoe.
"Do you have any better ideas?!" the man hissed.
"That is why I called him, and you, here, Severus." Dumbledore's voice rang of deadly calm and all was silent and obedient again. The man had a commanding presence.
//I think it is his beard.// Yami put in randomly.
/He's old enough to have been ~their~ headmaster, I think./
"Pardon my forgetfulness for not introducing him sooner; this is Yuugi Mutou, a man joining us from Japan."
"Are you from the Japanese Ministry?" asked someone.
"Erm . . . " he was rather confused.
"He is unaffiliated with any outside power as of yet." Dumbledore offered.
"Why is he here?" asked a tall, balding red-head "I'm sorry to be frank, but what benefit does he present to us?"
"His magic, from what I understand, could help us considerably."
"What sort of magic is this?" the room buzzed with whispers of suspicion.
"I have yet to experience it." Dumbledore admitted, shrugging. "But power is one thing that does not lie."
/Is he power-hungry?/ Yuugi abruptly wondered, blood draining from his tanned face.
//I do not believe that is what he meant, Aibou.// Yami thought wisely.
/What did he mean then?/
Severus did not look at all convinced. Neither did a tight-lipped, strict sort of woman sitting to Dumbledore's right. Her hair was bound back in a tight bun, which was actually so tight that it began pulling at the edges of her eyes . . . because they were oddly almond shape and wrinkle-less, like a cat's.
"Let's see this ~power~ of yours, then." Sneered Severus.
"I don't trust him, Dumbledore." The woman whispered to the weary Headmaster, supposing that Yuugi couldn't hear.
/Funny how we don't trust them, and they are suspicious of ~me~./
//You have that affect on people.// noted his Yami fondly.
/Am I really that suspicious . . . ?/
"I would rather not abuse what I was gifted with."
Severus stood suddenly, looking menacing and intimidating as Yuugi shrunk back slightly.
"Get out!" he exploded, obviously a man under too much stress to think without anger. "Get out if you have nothing to aide us with!"
"Severus . . . " began the Headmaster hesitantly.
"Hush."
Everyone in the room stared at Yuugi, or more specifically, Yami. The Pharoah, the Game King, the Shadow ruler.
His eyes were narrowed in anger.
"Nothing is keeping me here," he continued "perhaps I should leave. I have no place in your foreign affairs, I have no reason to help you.
"I know nothing of what you are, what you stand for, and honestly," his eyes flashed dangerously "~neither do I particularly care~."
"Now, Mr Mutou, don't be hasty . . . "
Concerns and whispers flew around the conference room behind him, as he whipped around, intent on leaving despite Yuugi's slight protests with little substance. His tumult of anger at them all, and his short temper inspired by a childhood of royalty fell prominent in his conciousness.
He wouldn't hurt them . . . he couldn't hurt them, as Yuugi was adamant about it . . . he would walk away . . .
Someone grabbed his arm.
Instinctively, he lashed out with pure, undiluted shadow magic and the world was swarmed with darkness.
Stiffled screams sounded as echoes around him, but he was unafraid as the power ruffled his hair and eyelashes as wind would. The swirling vortex was under his control, and he glowed with the lavish semi-personality of the puzzle and it's abundance of power.
They were turning and fainting and falling to become nothing more than lonely shades with no memory of themselves. Soon, they would become nothing, they wouldn't even remember to feel pity for themselves.
Yami grinned.
"No . . . no . . NO!" a strangled gasp.
/YAMI!/
The Hikari tore away his control, shifting into a ray of light that broke and cut through the hungry shadows as if parting water with a hot knife. Yuugi released all he knew . . .
The souls about him, beginning to realize who they were once again.
Twisted and withering among the shadow, wings appeared on bare back and his eyes grew so wide as if to consume his face. He hissed.
//Yuu . . . gi?//
He faltered, and all swarmed back to the conference room rapidly. Yuugi was in shade form, gasping on the floor, and Yami stared at his hands.
All of the members of this odd, obviously secret society looked to the identical pair.
"Yuugi!" the ancient spirit collapsed to his side, all honor and appearance forgotten for the sake of his Aibou, his balancing Hikari. He swept him up in his arms, as shades of the same soul became just as solid as their other sides to each other, and wept on his shoulder, muttering strange things.
The rest of the room remained silent in fear, or perhaps too startled to explain or to act. Yami and Hikari fed off one another till they came to notice the world again. Yuugi situated himself back into his body, Yami shamefully stored back into his mind.
He stood, taking in a shuddering breath.
"Please . . . you must not startle--me." He tried to explain.
"Th-that wasn't ~you~!" cried the strict woman, now looking close to breaking down.
Yuugi sighed. It would have been so much easier if they had believed that . . .
"You must understand . . . we can't release you upon the world with such terrible power." Dumbledore spoke up quietly.
"Are you a dark wizard of some sort?!" cried a man in the back.
/Dark . . . /
"I suppose you could say that." Tried Yuugi.
Everyone began suddenly talking at once. The impending headache kept him from understanding at all what they were raving about.
He was at a loss, and he hung his head with the weight of everything.
"Silence!" said Dumbledore, who had the rare gift of commanding attention without a strong voice.
They all complied, lips trembling and eyes wide.
Yuugi took this as a chance to cut in.
"You're all dark wizards, or whatever, in my opinion! Would you consider it 'dark' to cause harm to someone! I--don't understand your philosophies at all!"
His overlarge eyes glittered helplessly with confusion and tears of worry.
"Mr Mutou is ~not~ a dark wizard by the standards that we would understand." The old man sunk lower into his chair, his fingers braced in a steeple shape. "I myself would testify of his innocence."
"You just saw what he did, Dumbledore!"
"You cannot pretend of what destruction he is capable of . . . "
"He nearly ~killed us all--"
Dumbledore halted their protests with a warning hand, looking down.
"I've been on my own for years." Said Yuugi quietly "I don't intend to hurt ~anyone~."
"That is very true. We must consider ~facts~, as to not be blinded by senseless destruction." Agreed the Headmaster. He turned, bearing a firey- blue gaze that took the young man by surprise "My offer still stands, Mr Mutou."
Again, the group began to whisper, as if their opinions would have any effect on his decision. He felt himself yearning for peace, and for quiet; far far away from that strange place with the suspicious people . . .
But there was something nagging in his mind, that for once was not under the jurisdiction of Yami, or some supernatural power. He realized it finally as ~guilt~.
/I can't just leave them on these terms./ he thought to himself, finally faltering with a heave of silent emotion /Ra, that's not it . . . /
//They need our help.//
/I ~have~ to help them./
//They will never succeed without us . . . //
Yuugi looked up.
"I'll stay."
~*~*~*~
Rain barraged heavily on his coat, strung up over his head in a makeshift hood. He shivered and rubbed his arms, rubbery from the wetness as he attempted anything to preserve what little warmth he could gather.
Finally spotting a shelter on the side of the messily-paved road, much like a bus stop of some sort, he wobbled precariously over mud and grime to it's protection from the rain. Instantly, he warmed in the semi-enclosed mugginess.
For a long while, he was unexplainably fascinated with something beyond reality, as he seated himself on the bench, his head hanging limply. He was unsure of precisely how long he stayed seated there, only aware of just how much it didn't matter in the first place, and knowing that he was there so long that his head spun as he tried to right his posture again.
The clear dribbles of rainwater were drying on his chin and slightly chapped lips. He wiped his nose absently, dreamily surveying the falling rain as it formed a sparkling shroud of other things--distant things.
A familiar trinket about his neck felt oddly and uncomfortably heavy on the worn chain supporting it. Much like the limbs on his body--he dearly wished to shed them . . . he had been walking for so long . . .
A presence shifted beside him.
"Just . . . who are you?" asked the dark man, naive and simple again.
Ryou raised his head, his dark eyes churning depths of emotion on a pointed and chiseled face. His hair fell into his eyes and face as he stared beyond the rain. It was clearing now, slightly.
"I'm Ryou . . . forsaken, forgotten and one too weak to kill you."
~*~*~*~
Avasiah hated this place. She looked about with that permanent disillusionable disdain under her thick eyelashes. They curled away, surrounded by stencil which curled at the tips. It was a permanent glare--a permanent expression among expressionless fools.
The souls standing stiffly in too-straight rows were meant to intimidate her, she supposed. They were meant to stand faithfully still, as an impressive testament of his power . . . though she found them hardly worth any consequence at all.
Without expression, raw souls were simpletons, and she had lived among raw souls much of her life, as it was her birthright to do so, passed to her from her mother.
Those pointed, absurd masks were making them out to be weak-looking, and they were too caught up in the useless sort of reality to understand themselves, and the obvious doom upon them.
Their lord waited at the head of the crowd, eyes closed as if he were asleep, but he was examining them . . . down to the meddling Avery . . . and eventually to herself. She sniffed, raising an eyebrow.
Snake-like eyes shot open.
Crimson, pale, and contorted, he grotesque face watched her directly for a moment, before it's body straightened and bone-like fingers snapped in a conjuring motion.
"Avasiah, come forth. Wormtail, attend me." Voldemort said lazily.
Feeling her eyes narrow at his pitiful misconception of superiority, she brought herself up, deep magenta robes exposing her shoulders, and her hems trimmed in gold, folding elegantly around the heels. She stood conspicuously among the hordes of black-clad, cowering followers, her light of purpose and (as assumed more importantly) ~power~, shining upon them to fade their black.
She no longer bothered with sandals on her feet. Starting forward, her toes brushed the lush, wood-paneled floor boards with care. Avasiah allowed her severely stenciled eyes to close as she walked; bowing her head and feeling her long hair brush over her facial features delicately. Her arms were limp at her sides.
Each empty face turned as she passed, and she noticed Avery's unusual twinkle behind the mask, but she allowed no expression to confirm any of their blatantly deadpan expressions.
Her feet halted. The oddly deep and all-consuming eyes opened smoothly.
The so-called Dark Lord stared down at her upon a luxurious, black velvet throne and through the midst of dark robes entirely to baggy to be taken seriously around his abnormally thin frame--littered with much fuss by the 'Worm' and folds down to the faithful serpent at his heels. Her opinion remained that the picture was more awkward than anything, his thin, slightly hunched frame was consumed entirely.
There was the whimpering man with slightly gray, pasty skin standing next to him tensely as if he were trying to avoid the gaze from his vicious master.
/At least ~his~ name is appropriate./ Avasiah thought dryly /Useless worm . . . /
"Tell me of our splendid triumphs at the wizard prison Azkaban." He demanded in a drawling tone. She was tempted to refrain from gracing him with her words.
/Imbecile. Who does he believe he is, which god bowed before his power-- does he see me as another of his blind followers, of his pathetic and short- sighted little army? ~Imbecile~./
Her lusciously extensive hair, as dark, or perhaps darker than sin, shook as waving rivulets with the consistency of violently disturbed waters. It finally settled over her bronze shoulders without folds, only allowing barest tendrils to whisper forward past her arms. Blinking away annoyance she sighted him with a warning look devoid of much patience, and matched every bit of nastiness as he in her reply.
"As you can see quite well enough on your own, I believe," she gestured sarcastically to the widespread lines behind her "your wishes have been easily fulfilled."
His unnatural face contorted dramatically.
"You shall not--"
/You will not tell me what I may and may not do. I am in the service of the gods./
"Have you found me a disciple?" she interrupted him impatiently.
The red slits narrowed.
"Parkinson!" he shrieked.
A figure began to stumble forward without a mask, but dressed in an identical black uniform as the other drones. Her would-be plain face was spoiled angry and discontent, pudged cheeks nearly swallowing small, pale eyes.
Yet the girl was white with fear for the unknown. Avasiah gazed at her desolately, watching her face slowly fade painfully into a precariously controlled tumble of emotion.
Indignance. Surprise. Wariness. Fear. ~Blind~ fear. The girl trembled.
Avasiah snatched up the girl's round chin in her graceful hand, looking deeply into her eyes. The girl gasped and sobbed--the nails dug deeper into her soft skin.
/Filth . . . a stupid little girl . . . unworthy! This filth could never survive following me!/
"Unworthy." She whispered.
The girl closed her eyes, beyond tears, and willing for the scrutiny to stop.
But her terror and helplessness was no where near comparing to that of the Egyptian woman.
/No./ she could no longer cry or violently attack everything in anger--she was beyond it. She was ~tired~.
. . . And despite her intentions, she ~still~ could not find an heir as Holy Caretaker. Her lip trembled.
/I cannot afford this--this STUPIDITY!/
She could not . . .
With a force beyond measure and power beyond the senses of any individual sharing her presence, the girl suddenly was thrown through the air, crashing into a stone wall and finally collapsing to the floor in a still heap. Avasiah's eyes were the fire of her own anger, burning beyond rationality, burning beyond reality.
She focused her might of will on the Dark Lord entirely, whirling.
"I have done ~everything~ that you have asked of me." Her voice trembled in considerable rage "Yet you have not even fulfilled the ~solitary~ request I have made, in charge of my services."
He stood angrily "I have done all of what we had agreed and more! I have given you riches, I have given you ~power~--"
"Such trivial things mean nothing to me."
Reality shuddered with the tone of her voice.
"I gave you a girl to manipulate and mold to your will, what else matters?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.
"Nothing!" she retorted "Nothing means more to me than an ~heir~, an apprentice."
"Then what are you raving about, you dim-witted woman!" his wand was gripped tightly in his bony hand.
Avasiah lost all control with his impudence; her eyes blinked to pupil-less and entirely violet. Something broke behind them.
She leapt up deftly before Voldemort had scarcely a moment to register the movement--up higher than any witch, wizard or muggle could ever hope to soar. With bitterness seeped in vinegar and absolute ire, Avasiah shot out to his throat with her hand and lifted his body easily under her grip.
She saw beyond the /seemings/, the suppositions, the dreamings and she saw plainly that the so-called 'Dark Lord' was fragile. An old man whose strength had long since faded into the depths of an ever-regretful youth, and waned into not even a shadow of what it once was—he was nothing more than a Shade, sacrificing everything in his false ideal of superiority.
He cowered without realizing it. His soul was plain and open for her to read; there was nothing he could hide from her, not even the most insignificant moment of weakness in his life.
Pain made a noise in his throat. Guilt made him choke.
Voldemort gurgled.
"~Never~ assume me as blind--or a follower of your trivial cult." She whispered "Never."
She dropped his weak body without care.
"I have more important things that I am charged to attend to, than your blind-sighted revolution."
Someone in the vast crowd called to her, perhaps the fool Avery, yet it was unnaturally distant as if suffering an alternate reality, and her gaze lingered on. Voldemort shifted, hissing in pain.
The crimson eyes surveyed her spitefully. /He is not the pharaoh that I serve, nor Anubis who may take my soul all too soon. I have nothing to fear of him, ~male~ that he is . . . or perhaps not even that./
"Perhaps you would find a suitable candidate at the ~school~." He said in mock sweetness, his tone lofty "Once we conquer Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you can find a naive little girl yourself. A mudblood, for all I care."
"Hogwarts . . . " she tested. It sounded oddly familiar, somehow . . .
He righted himself, retaining again his all-powerful demeanor, much to her disgust.
"Yes," he told her, as one might a small child "~Hogwarts~."
Without a word, she left them all, striding through the lines in a faint huff, briskly as they watched through dark masks and dark expressions underneath. She had publicly humiliated their Lord . . . Avasiah mentally scoffed.
/I have no intention of waiting around for you, if you are so sure that this school will enclose successful results . . . I will gain an apprentice myself./
~*~*~*~
When she fell asleep that night, she dreamed of a faint, smiling face and something about brown hair. An ordinary dream, and the only glimpse she was gifted with of any true importance.
And oddly enough, of a child-Ryou, giggling and bouncing his feminine locks over his ears . . . and she was peaceful.
She woke to Avery's screams downstairs, and Voldemort's eerie, contented laughter.
~*~*~*~
Ryou stood, his legs wobbling slightly after a few hours of sitting silently and stiffly. He squinted delicately against a sudden glare beyond the sheen of dribbling raindrops, eventually bringing up a hand to shield his dark eyes.
"I think the rain is clearing." He noted quietly, to no one in particular.
His Yami shimmered to sight beside him, donned into rough black robes, folded around his neck. He stared off into the same semi-hopeful reverie as his Aibou--but was dangerously unsure of what to expect.
No one really understood what to expect. Not even the strangely thin and looming man who suddenly stood from the conveniently-placed bench, though he did look quite odd in the plastic bus stop.
Ryou glanced over at his two companions; the unlikely sort, or at least, would have been unlikely--say, a year or two previous. Nothing really seemed unlikely anymore.
"No," said Alucard, his deep voice vibrating in the small shelter. He pointed to the right, and Ryou craned his neck to follow the gaze. "Over the hill, you see? A storm approaches."
"We just got out of a storm." The Hikari soul said wearily.
The vampire fixed him with a stare, concealed with round, yellow-shaded sunglasses perched atop a pointy nose. He sneered elongated and sharp canines.
"A more severe version is nearly upon us."
"Best we make the best time we can, while we can." Said Yami Bakura softly.
Neither of them held any better advice. They started off toward the sun.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
RBMIfan – Woo! I censored myself in my notes ~_^ But that's understandable if you don't want any foul language. The only semi-bad things I'm seeing in the future of this story is violence, and boyxboy love. FAR from explicit or extensive, mind you ^^ Heehee! I hope you'll still read *bites fingernails*
Psychopathic Sixth Grader – Eh, complications ~_^ I've heard that silver bullets kill many things, and make people drunk too . . . *cackles at bad pun* I'm glad you liked it, regardless ^^ Like the longish chapter? *high- fives*
ruth 4 kai – I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner . . . many, many issues o.O
manga-nut – Congrats dearie, shounen-ai it is ^^
onlyHAUNTED – Woo for weirdness and bedlam . . . rah! ^^ This probably makes a little more sense, though there are a few subtleties involved--a lot of stuff you need to read between the lines, just to warn ya. Did this chapter meet your expectations? ^_^
Sakura-chan – Thank you! I'm glad you like it . . . comments like that make me feel all gigglish and happy ^^
Elle-FaTe2x1 - *huggles* Don't worry! Wow. I really did put a lot of Yuugi in this chapter . . . geez. Barely any Ryou at all! *sniffle* I'll have to remedy that next time . . . ~_^ Oh, and I was just wondering . . . how did you come up with your name? ^^ It seems as though it has an interesting story behind it . . . heehee
Windswift – heehee, of ~course~ they have issues--they're some of my favorites! Lol Less mystery than the last chapter, I hope ^^ If not then . . . blah. It'll all come into its own soon, I promise! *huggles*
~*~*~*~
So, uh . . . yeah. Sorry about the lengthy update time--I was filled with much angst and a severe case of the horror that is often referred to as "Writer's Block", so writing was rather difficult. I hope I haven't angered any of you.
I'm really, really exausted right now. School softball is starting up, and I've been practicing every day . . . I'm swinging from varsity to jv, so that's pretty cool, as I'm a freshman . . . and my mother is convinced that I have a D+ in PE. What the f*** is that?! Yeah, I know *sighs*
My teacher pointedly told my class to ignore those grades, but I think my mother is just enjoying being irrational right now. She said that I am limited to an hour a day on the compy, until I 'get my grades up', hence the long pause in which I 'died'. Like I really need to ~study~ for PE . . .
Okay, end rant. *snore*
Reviewsies, please? Please please please? ^^ Ease my aching head . . .
giggle
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
"There was a boy . . .
A very strange, ~enchanted~ boy.
They say he wandered very far,
--very far--
over land and sea . . .
A little shy, and sad of eye
but very wise, was he.
And then one day,
one magic day, he passed my way.
While we spoke of many things,
fools and kings,
this he said to me:
'The greatest thing you'll ever learn
is just to love . . . and be loved in return'"
- Massive Attack & David Bowie, "Nature Boy"
~*~*~*~
It was the next Wednesday when they actually started something constructive in the name of their intention.
Yuugi was ~hardly~ put off in the meantime. The castle was endlessly fascinating to him, and he often found himself wandering deserted hallways, while though silent, which whispered with that large aching silence that was a testament to the magnificence of their years. Gaping yesterdays had made its mark on the ancient castle, and Yuugi was amazed.
Gothic archways strung with gold and golden shades of polished wood donned every doorway, and even some doors that just as you went in, you came back out again. They were ordinary tricks by the spirits of the castle, he discovered, and the spirits were lonesome enough to be amused.
He giggled along with them, though his laughs were empty with the impending stressor.
No matter how sincerely he attempted, the impending curiosity of his purpose there was stifling to say the least. Nothing really fit together-- not that anything usually did in his life--but the unexplainable feeling of dread often consumed him into melancholy mulling. He spent hours of worrying on the sides of the halls, his head and back resting on mysterious murals which taunted him with secret smiles and prancing depictions of free creatures.
Usually he could count on Yami, with his millenniums of experience, to offer some sense of wisdom to still his fears. But even Yami was swimming blindly.
They weren't even sure which side of ~this~ complication was fighting for goodness and tranquility. This Albus Dumbledore was leading them to some sort of a sniper mission, he could sense it, and Yuugi was startled. He seemed like a pleasant man, yet who with a pure heart would kill someone in cold blood?
As he read the loopy-written piece of parchment on his bedside table Wednesday morning, he and his Yami agreed that they would decide their place, if anywhere, today at the meeting assembled that afternoon.
He dressed in black all around, which brought out the interesting curves of his eyes to particular prominence, and gave his reflection in the mirror a sort of permanent half-glare under florescent bangs. Snapping on a few heavy buckles and no less than three studded belts adorning his waist, the end result was rather intimidating despite his size. Which was exactly what he intended.
Finally, he threw on a black, common robe over his arms as he whisked out of the door in a brisk pace set by his strong, known determination. Harsh, steel heels clicked on the marble as he made his way through now-familiar halls.
As he did not feel the inclination to button up his over-robe, it swirled behind him with the consistency of oil in churning water. The patterns made by the loose cloth were lovely among shuddering candlelight placed conveniently on the walls.
The intricately-carved double-doors were closed when he came upon them. Bracing himself and his delicate hands strung with numerous gold and silver rings he had picked up from convenient friends and his renown work in Egypt, he flung the doors open dramatically with both arms, not even slowing his pace in the slightest.
He finally halted in front of the startled onlookers with a somewhat glazed expression of indifference, adopted readily from Yami's personality. Black robes churned ominously for a second, before faltering, as if dead.
The only distinguishing factor of the room was a plain, yet useful, oval table in the center. There were a few of what he supposed were ordinary- looking witches and wizards scattered haphazardly around the table in improvised groups, and they looked upon him in surprise. The slightly reproving glares through (often times) glasses made him wonder if they were the faculty of the peculiar school.
The ever-wise Professor Dumbledore stood slowly at the head of the table.
"Ah, and there is Mr Mutou. I trust this meeting is ready to begin?"
Not sure precisely what to do, he nodded slowly, adopting a nearby seat to sit upon. His otherwise solitary neighbor was a tall, thin man with dark hair that looked as though it had been cut with a ragged knife. He glared at the boy, folding his arms contemptuously.
Yuugi felt his eyes narrow.
"As far as we know, Voldemort has been unusually silent following his recently successful break-out of the wizard prison of Azkaban." The old headmaster appeared suddenly a decade or two older, and as if he were resisting the urge to sigh heavily "However, this brief respite is yet another thing we cannot count on. It seems as though the Dark Lord has little planning in which he relays to others."
The man next to Yuugi fixed Dumbledore with an unfazed stare.
A red-haired motherly sort of woman leaned forward, pursing her lips and holding herself in check of apparent calm. Yuugi felt the effect of the puzzle's slight empathetic abilities, his churning stomach expressing the tension around the room.
"Do we know who escaped?" Asked the woman quietly.
"Unfortunately, not precisely." Responded the old man warily "We can only assume that Voldemort would be thorough in his mission."
A heavy silence followed.
"So ultimately, everyone we had worked so hard over the years to capture-- those who many of us have died to stop--they're ~free~?"
Yuugi felt anxious, shifting in his chair to better accommodate the trapped feeling in his stomach, but it did little to calm it. No one around the table seemed to need to confirm the voice of the red-headed woman.
A dark-skinned man with another grave (ordinary) expression felt a need to voice his part. "The ministry is unsure of the severity of the situation, however, the Dementors have most certainly joined the Dark Lord's forces."
"Is that it, then?" spoke a graying man, who was abnormally pale under a fringe of dusty brown hair "Quite honestly . . . what can we do? There is no prison to send them to . . . so" he swallowed "must we--"
"Catch them and kill them." Confirmed the sour man next to Yuugi. "It is all we can do."
"Severus, I doubt that it is truly that dire . . . "
"If you were to kill them," said Yuugi suddenly, silencing them all "you would be no better than they."
Nods of agreement echoed, catching the reincarnated Pharaoh with relief. So they ~did~ have the best interests in mind. He straightened his torso, not looking so dreadfully short in the face of the rest.
They seemed to be more relaxed of him, now. Except for Severus, who looked at him as if he were something unsavory found on the bottom of his shoe.
"Do you have any better ideas?!" the man hissed.
"That is why I called him, and you, here, Severus." Dumbledore's voice rang of deadly calm and all was silent and obedient again. The man had a commanding presence.
//I think it is his beard.// Yami put in randomly.
/He's old enough to have been ~their~ headmaster, I think./
"Pardon my forgetfulness for not introducing him sooner; this is Yuugi Mutou, a man joining us from Japan."
"Are you from the Japanese Ministry?" asked someone.
"Erm . . . " he was rather confused.
"He is unaffiliated with any outside power as of yet." Dumbledore offered.
"Why is he here?" asked a tall, balding red-head "I'm sorry to be frank, but what benefit does he present to us?"
"His magic, from what I understand, could help us considerably."
"What sort of magic is this?" the room buzzed with whispers of suspicion.
"I have yet to experience it." Dumbledore admitted, shrugging. "But power is one thing that does not lie."
/Is he power-hungry?/ Yuugi abruptly wondered, blood draining from his tanned face.
//I do not believe that is what he meant, Aibou.// Yami thought wisely.
/What did he mean then?/
Severus did not look at all convinced. Neither did a tight-lipped, strict sort of woman sitting to Dumbledore's right. Her hair was bound back in a tight bun, which was actually so tight that it began pulling at the edges of her eyes . . . because they were oddly almond shape and wrinkle-less, like a cat's.
"Let's see this ~power~ of yours, then." Sneered Severus.
"I don't trust him, Dumbledore." The woman whispered to the weary Headmaster, supposing that Yuugi couldn't hear.
/Funny how we don't trust them, and they are suspicious of ~me~./
//You have that affect on people.// noted his Yami fondly.
/Am I really that suspicious . . . ?/
"I would rather not abuse what I was gifted with."
Severus stood suddenly, looking menacing and intimidating as Yuugi shrunk back slightly.
"Get out!" he exploded, obviously a man under too much stress to think without anger. "Get out if you have nothing to aide us with!"
"Severus . . . " began the Headmaster hesitantly.
"Hush."
Everyone in the room stared at Yuugi, or more specifically, Yami. The Pharoah, the Game King, the Shadow ruler.
His eyes were narrowed in anger.
"Nothing is keeping me here," he continued "perhaps I should leave. I have no place in your foreign affairs, I have no reason to help you.
"I know nothing of what you are, what you stand for, and honestly," his eyes flashed dangerously "~neither do I particularly care~."
"Now, Mr Mutou, don't be hasty . . . "
Concerns and whispers flew around the conference room behind him, as he whipped around, intent on leaving despite Yuugi's slight protests with little substance. His tumult of anger at them all, and his short temper inspired by a childhood of royalty fell prominent in his conciousness.
He wouldn't hurt them . . . he couldn't hurt them, as Yuugi was adamant about it . . . he would walk away . . .
Someone grabbed his arm.
Instinctively, he lashed out with pure, undiluted shadow magic and the world was swarmed with darkness.
Stiffled screams sounded as echoes around him, but he was unafraid as the power ruffled his hair and eyelashes as wind would. The swirling vortex was under his control, and he glowed with the lavish semi-personality of the puzzle and it's abundance of power.
They were turning and fainting and falling to become nothing more than lonely shades with no memory of themselves. Soon, they would become nothing, they wouldn't even remember to feel pity for themselves.
Yami grinned.
"No . . . no . . NO!" a strangled gasp.
/YAMI!/
The Hikari tore away his control, shifting into a ray of light that broke and cut through the hungry shadows as if parting water with a hot knife. Yuugi released all he knew . . .
The souls about him, beginning to realize who they were once again.
Twisted and withering among the shadow, wings appeared on bare back and his eyes grew so wide as if to consume his face. He hissed.
//Yuu . . . gi?//
He faltered, and all swarmed back to the conference room rapidly. Yuugi was in shade form, gasping on the floor, and Yami stared at his hands.
All of the members of this odd, obviously secret society looked to the identical pair.
"Yuugi!" the ancient spirit collapsed to his side, all honor and appearance forgotten for the sake of his Aibou, his balancing Hikari. He swept him up in his arms, as shades of the same soul became just as solid as their other sides to each other, and wept on his shoulder, muttering strange things.
The rest of the room remained silent in fear, or perhaps too startled to explain or to act. Yami and Hikari fed off one another till they came to notice the world again. Yuugi situated himself back into his body, Yami shamefully stored back into his mind.
He stood, taking in a shuddering breath.
"Please . . . you must not startle--me." He tried to explain.
"Th-that wasn't ~you~!" cried the strict woman, now looking close to breaking down.
Yuugi sighed. It would have been so much easier if they had believed that . . .
"You must understand . . . we can't release you upon the world with such terrible power." Dumbledore spoke up quietly.
"Are you a dark wizard of some sort?!" cried a man in the back.
/Dark . . . /
"I suppose you could say that." Tried Yuugi.
Everyone began suddenly talking at once. The impending headache kept him from understanding at all what they were raving about.
He was at a loss, and he hung his head with the weight of everything.
"Silence!" said Dumbledore, who had the rare gift of commanding attention without a strong voice.
They all complied, lips trembling and eyes wide.
Yuugi took this as a chance to cut in.
"You're all dark wizards, or whatever, in my opinion! Would you consider it 'dark' to cause harm to someone! I--don't understand your philosophies at all!"
His overlarge eyes glittered helplessly with confusion and tears of worry.
"Mr Mutou is ~not~ a dark wizard by the standards that we would understand." The old man sunk lower into his chair, his fingers braced in a steeple shape. "I myself would testify of his innocence."
"You just saw what he did, Dumbledore!"
"You cannot pretend of what destruction he is capable of . . . "
"He nearly ~killed us all--"
Dumbledore halted their protests with a warning hand, looking down.
"I've been on my own for years." Said Yuugi quietly "I don't intend to hurt ~anyone~."
"That is very true. We must consider ~facts~, as to not be blinded by senseless destruction." Agreed the Headmaster. He turned, bearing a firey- blue gaze that took the young man by surprise "My offer still stands, Mr Mutou."
Again, the group began to whisper, as if their opinions would have any effect on his decision. He felt himself yearning for peace, and for quiet; far far away from that strange place with the suspicious people . . .
But there was something nagging in his mind, that for once was not under the jurisdiction of Yami, or some supernatural power. He realized it finally as ~guilt~.
/I can't just leave them on these terms./ he thought to himself, finally faltering with a heave of silent emotion /Ra, that's not it . . . /
//They need our help.//
/I ~have~ to help them./
//They will never succeed without us . . . //
Yuugi looked up.
"I'll stay."
~*~*~*~
Rain barraged heavily on his coat, strung up over his head in a makeshift hood. He shivered and rubbed his arms, rubbery from the wetness as he attempted anything to preserve what little warmth he could gather.
Finally spotting a shelter on the side of the messily-paved road, much like a bus stop of some sort, he wobbled precariously over mud and grime to it's protection from the rain. Instantly, he warmed in the semi-enclosed mugginess.
For a long while, he was unexplainably fascinated with something beyond reality, as he seated himself on the bench, his head hanging limply. He was unsure of precisely how long he stayed seated there, only aware of just how much it didn't matter in the first place, and knowing that he was there so long that his head spun as he tried to right his posture again.
The clear dribbles of rainwater were drying on his chin and slightly chapped lips. He wiped his nose absently, dreamily surveying the falling rain as it formed a sparkling shroud of other things--distant things.
A familiar trinket about his neck felt oddly and uncomfortably heavy on the worn chain supporting it. Much like the limbs on his body--he dearly wished to shed them . . . he had been walking for so long . . .
A presence shifted beside him.
"Just . . . who are you?" asked the dark man, naive and simple again.
Ryou raised his head, his dark eyes churning depths of emotion on a pointed and chiseled face. His hair fell into his eyes and face as he stared beyond the rain. It was clearing now, slightly.
"I'm Ryou . . . forsaken, forgotten and one too weak to kill you."
~*~*~*~
Avasiah hated this place. She looked about with that permanent disillusionable disdain under her thick eyelashes. They curled away, surrounded by stencil which curled at the tips. It was a permanent glare--a permanent expression among expressionless fools.
The souls standing stiffly in too-straight rows were meant to intimidate her, she supposed. They were meant to stand faithfully still, as an impressive testament of his power . . . though she found them hardly worth any consequence at all.
Without expression, raw souls were simpletons, and she had lived among raw souls much of her life, as it was her birthright to do so, passed to her from her mother.
Those pointed, absurd masks were making them out to be weak-looking, and they were too caught up in the useless sort of reality to understand themselves, and the obvious doom upon them.
Their lord waited at the head of the crowd, eyes closed as if he were asleep, but he was examining them . . . down to the meddling Avery . . . and eventually to herself. She sniffed, raising an eyebrow.
Snake-like eyes shot open.
Crimson, pale, and contorted, he grotesque face watched her directly for a moment, before it's body straightened and bone-like fingers snapped in a conjuring motion.
"Avasiah, come forth. Wormtail, attend me." Voldemort said lazily.
Feeling her eyes narrow at his pitiful misconception of superiority, she brought herself up, deep magenta robes exposing her shoulders, and her hems trimmed in gold, folding elegantly around the heels. She stood conspicuously among the hordes of black-clad, cowering followers, her light of purpose and (as assumed more importantly) ~power~, shining upon them to fade their black.
She no longer bothered with sandals on her feet. Starting forward, her toes brushed the lush, wood-paneled floor boards with care. Avasiah allowed her severely stenciled eyes to close as she walked; bowing her head and feeling her long hair brush over her facial features delicately. Her arms were limp at her sides.
Each empty face turned as she passed, and she noticed Avery's unusual twinkle behind the mask, but she allowed no expression to confirm any of their blatantly deadpan expressions.
Her feet halted. The oddly deep and all-consuming eyes opened smoothly.
The so-called Dark Lord stared down at her upon a luxurious, black velvet throne and through the midst of dark robes entirely to baggy to be taken seriously around his abnormally thin frame--littered with much fuss by the 'Worm' and folds down to the faithful serpent at his heels. Her opinion remained that the picture was more awkward than anything, his thin, slightly hunched frame was consumed entirely.
There was the whimpering man with slightly gray, pasty skin standing next to him tensely as if he were trying to avoid the gaze from his vicious master.
/At least ~his~ name is appropriate./ Avasiah thought dryly /Useless worm . . . /
"Tell me of our splendid triumphs at the wizard prison Azkaban." He demanded in a drawling tone. She was tempted to refrain from gracing him with her words.
/Imbecile. Who does he believe he is, which god bowed before his power-- does he see me as another of his blind followers, of his pathetic and short- sighted little army? ~Imbecile~./
Her lusciously extensive hair, as dark, or perhaps darker than sin, shook as waving rivulets with the consistency of violently disturbed waters. It finally settled over her bronze shoulders without folds, only allowing barest tendrils to whisper forward past her arms. Blinking away annoyance she sighted him with a warning look devoid of much patience, and matched every bit of nastiness as he in her reply.
"As you can see quite well enough on your own, I believe," she gestured sarcastically to the widespread lines behind her "your wishes have been easily fulfilled."
His unnatural face contorted dramatically.
"You shall not--"
/You will not tell me what I may and may not do. I am in the service of the gods./
"Have you found me a disciple?" she interrupted him impatiently.
The red slits narrowed.
"Parkinson!" he shrieked.
A figure began to stumble forward without a mask, but dressed in an identical black uniform as the other drones. Her would-be plain face was spoiled angry and discontent, pudged cheeks nearly swallowing small, pale eyes.
Yet the girl was white with fear for the unknown. Avasiah gazed at her desolately, watching her face slowly fade painfully into a precariously controlled tumble of emotion.
Indignance. Surprise. Wariness. Fear. ~Blind~ fear. The girl trembled.
Avasiah snatched up the girl's round chin in her graceful hand, looking deeply into her eyes. The girl gasped and sobbed--the nails dug deeper into her soft skin.
/Filth . . . a stupid little girl . . . unworthy! This filth could never survive following me!/
"Unworthy." She whispered.
The girl closed her eyes, beyond tears, and willing for the scrutiny to stop.
But her terror and helplessness was no where near comparing to that of the Egyptian woman.
/No./ she could no longer cry or violently attack everything in anger--she was beyond it. She was ~tired~.
. . . And despite her intentions, she ~still~ could not find an heir as Holy Caretaker. Her lip trembled.
/I cannot afford this--this STUPIDITY!/
She could not . . .
With a force beyond measure and power beyond the senses of any individual sharing her presence, the girl suddenly was thrown through the air, crashing into a stone wall and finally collapsing to the floor in a still heap. Avasiah's eyes were the fire of her own anger, burning beyond rationality, burning beyond reality.
She focused her might of will on the Dark Lord entirely, whirling.
"I have done ~everything~ that you have asked of me." Her voice trembled in considerable rage "Yet you have not even fulfilled the ~solitary~ request I have made, in charge of my services."
He stood angrily "I have done all of what we had agreed and more! I have given you riches, I have given you ~power~--"
"Such trivial things mean nothing to me."
Reality shuddered with the tone of her voice.
"I gave you a girl to manipulate and mold to your will, what else matters?" he asked, his voice deadly calm.
"Nothing!" she retorted "Nothing means more to me than an ~heir~, an apprentice."
"Then what are you raving about, you dim-witted woman!" his wand was gripped tightly in his bony hand.
Avasiah lost all control with his impudence; her eyes blinked to pupil-less and entirely violet. Something broke behind them.
She leapt up deftly before Voldemort had scarcely a moment to register the movement--up higher than any witch, wizard or muggle could ever hope to soar. With bitterness seeped in vinegar and absolute ire, Avasiah shot out to his throat with her hand and lifted his body easily under her grip.
She saw beyond the /seemings/, the suppositions, the dreamings and she saw plainly that the so-called 'Dark Lord' was fragile. An old man whose strength had long since faded into the depths of an ever-regretful youth, and waned into not even a shadow of what it once was—he was nothing more than a Shade, sacrificing everything in his false ideal of superiority.
He cowered without realizing it. His soul was plain and open for her to read; there was nothing he could hide from her, not even the most insignificant moment of weakness in his life.
Pain made a noise in his throat. Guilt made him choke.
Voldemort gurgled.
"~Never~ assume me as blind--or a follower of your trivial cult." She whispered "Never."
She dropped his weak body without care.
"I have more important things that I am charged to attend to, than your blind-sighted revolution."
Someone in the vast crowd called to her, perhaps the fool Avery, yet it was unnaturally distant as if suffering an alternate reality, and her gaze lingered on. Voldemort shifted, hissing in pain.
The crimson eyes surveyed her spitefully. /He is not the pharaoh that I serve, nor Anubis who may take my soul all too soon. I have nothing to fear of him, ~male~ that he is . . . or perhaps not even that./
"Perhaps you would find a suitable candidate at the ~school~." He said in mock sweetness, his tone lofty "Once we conquer Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you can find a naive little girl yourself. A mudblood, for all I care."
"Hogwarts . . . " she tested. It sounded oddly familiar, somehow . . .
He righted himself, retaining again his all-powerful demeanor, much to her disgust.
"Yes," he told her, as one might a small child "~Hogwarts~."
Without a word, she left them all, striding through the lines in a faint huff, briskly as they watched through dark masks and dark expressions underneath. She had publicly humiliated their Lord . . . Avasiah mentally scoffed.
/I have no intention of waiting around for you, if you are so sure that this school will enclose successful results . . . I will gain an apprentice myself./
~*~*~*~
When she fell asleep that night, she dreamed of a faint, smiling face and something about brown hair. An ordinary dream, and the only glimpse she was gifted with of any true importance.
And oddly enough, of a child-Ryou, giggling and bouncing his feminine locks over his ears . . . and she was peaceful.
She woke to Avery's screams downstairs, and Voldemort's eerie, contented laughter.
~*~*~*~
Ryou stood, his legs wobbling slightly after a few hours of sitting silently and stiffly. He squinted delicately against a sudden glare beyond the sheen of dribbling raindrops, eventually bringing up a hand to shield his dark eyes.
"I think the rain is clearing." He noted quietly, to no one in particular.
His Yami shimmered to sight beside him, donned into rough black robes, folded around his neck. He stared off into the same semi-hopeful reverie as his Aibou--but was dangerously unsure of what to expect.
No one really understood what to expect. Not even the strangely thin and looming man who suddenly stood from the conveniently-placed bench, though he did look quite odd in the plastic bus stop.
Ryou glanced over at his two companions; the unlikely sort, or at least, would have been unlikely--say, a year or two previous. Nothing really seemed unlikely anymore.
"No," said Alucard, his deep voice vibrating in the small shelter. He pointed to the right, and Ryou craned his neck to follow the gaze. "Over the hill, you see? A storm approaches."
"We just got out of a storm." The Hikari soul said wearily.
The vampire fixed him with a stare, concealed with round, yellow-shaded sunglasses perched atop a pointy nose. He sneered elongated and sharp canines.
"A more severe version is nearly upon us."
"Best we make the best time we can, while we can." Said Yami Bakura softly.
Neither of them held any better advice. They started off toward the sun.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
RBMIfan – Woo! I censored myself in my notes ~_^ But that's understandable if you don't want any foul language. The only semi-bad things I'm seeing in the future of this story is violence, and boyxboy love. FAR from explicit or extensive, mind you ^^ Heehee! I hope you'll still read *bites fingernails*
Psychopathic Sixth Grader – Eh, complications ~_^ I've heard that silver bullets kill many things, and make people drunk too . . . *cackles at bad pun* I'm glad you liked it, regardless ^^ Like the longish chapter? *high- fives*
ruth 4 kai – I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner . . . many, many issues o.O
manga-nut – Congrats dearie, shounen-ai it is ^^
onlyHAUNTED – Woo for weirdness and bedlam . . . rah! ^^ This probably makes a little more sense, though there are a few subtleties involved--a lot of stuff you need to read between the lines, just to warn ya. Did this chapter meet your expectations? ^_^
Sakura-chan – Thank you! I'm glad you like it . . . comments like that make me feel all gigglish and happy ^^
Elle-FaTe2x1 - *huggles* Don't worry! Wow. I really did put a lot of Yuugi in this chapter . . . geez. Barely any Ryou at all! *sniffle* I'll have to remedy that next time . . . ~_^ Oh, and I was just wondering . . . how did you come up with your name? ^^ It seems as though it has an interesting story behind it . . . heehee
Windswift – heehee, of ~course~ they have issues--they're some of my favorites! Lol Less mystery than the last chapter, I hope ^^ If not then . . . blah. It'll all come into its own soon, I promise! *huggles*
~*~*~*~
So, uh . . . yeah. Sorry about the lengthy update time--I was filled with much angst and a severe case of the horror that is often referred to as "Writer's Block", so writing was rather difficult. I hope I haven't angered any of you.
I'm really, really exausted right now. School softball is starting up, and I've been practicing every day . . . I'm swinging from varsity to jv, so that's pretty cool, as I'm a freshman . . . and my mother is convinced that I have a D+ in PE. What the f*** is that?! Yeah, I know *sighs*
My teacher pointedly told my class to ignore those grades, but I think my mother is just enjoying being irrational right now. She said that I am limited to an hour a day on the compy, until I 'get my grades up', hence the long pause in which I 'died'. Like I really need to ~study~ for PE . . .
Okay, end rant. *snore*
Reviewsies, please? Please please please? ^^ Ease my aching head . . .
giggle