Disclaimer: I don't own Geneshaft or any of it's characters!
AN: Ah well, its been a while since I've post a new chapter. I've been putting some real thought into how this fic will evolve into something resembling a plot. After watching the series again I decided to wave the fic through a few other events. Beware the spoilers from here on out. You have been warned. Also added a new but very cannon couple, Mir/Sergi.
Chapter 5: Add On: Self Destruction
Thunk, fwomp. The repetitive two step dance of the students of the afternoon physical training echoed in the gym. The spring bored slapped down again before launching another into the air, a lateral spin adding to the difficulty level of the exercise. Followed by a knee jarring impact, planting both feet firmly into the matted flooring. The blue hue of the matting was criss-crossed white lines, marking the landing area which gauged for the accuracy of each of the students.
A middle aged woman bearing the characteristic choker of a register stood watch, her fingers flew over her portable computer, logging the scores mercilessly, without a word of encouragement. She simply stated the scores, allowing for all to hear, her pleasant voice transforming into a weapon which clutched at the ego of each student. A very cruel class indeed to have as a last period.
Jean stood ready at the end of the runway. The white tank-top and deep blue shorts allowed him optimum mobility. His eyes flashed as he carefully envisioned the next few seconds. His bare feet rubbed against the textured floor, his mental preparation nearly complete. Rising up on the balls of his feet, his muscles tensed, his mind completely focused. The gym grew quiet as everyone watched the number one student prepare for his short flight. He knew everyone was watching, including Mario.
Taking a last moment to bunch his muscles, collect his energy, he leapt into a full speed sprint. His heart rate climbed higher, the powerful muscle pounded to supply the body its suddenly exponential demands. Perfect timing, he jumped into the air his knees gathering ready for the next step. As the board compressed, he simultaneously extended his legs, giving him an extra boost into the air. The rapid spins were kept tight, compact, his body carving a smooth arch in the air. Coming out of the spin just in time, he prepared for the impact. Landing neatly within the white lines, Jean's knee flashed with a heated pain. The stress of extra practice sessions were was taking its toll on his body. Masking the pain, he stood from his nearly perfect landing, completing his exercise with a victorious smile.
"J. Gedoux, ninety-seven point four per cent." The register turned her attention back to the screen before noting the score. The envious mummers which spread through the other students were Jean's applauds. That had been the best run all yet. Walking back to the group of students, he willed his knee to stop it's throbbing. Mario was next, the initial order which they took their turns was decided by their previous scores. A serious air settled over the Musicanovan, his muscles twitching in anticipation.
Waiting in the shadow of the door way, Jean paused before entering the locker room to watch Mario's final run. The rush of air filled the silence as the dark haired youth charged down the runway. His jump onto the spring bored launched him into the air, seeming to hold the high altitude for a unusually long time as he spun. His plant was flawless, the energy transfer into the ground was fluid, graceful. Watching from the shadows, Jean felt a cord of pride ringing within him. His rival was indeed one of the best, only making it all the more enjoyable to trounce him. Mario stood in perfect form for a brief moment of serine silence before the group of students ruined the moment. Clenching his teeth, Jean watch in frustration as Mario received a congratulatory applaud from their peers.
"M. Musicanova, ninety-five point zero per cent." Her wicked voice hollowed Jean's pride. How he hated that women, a lowly register. A fleeting thought of the exquisite sounds her bones would make as her neck snapped flittered out of his mind as his eyes met his rival's. Why did his imagination not supply a fitting demise for Mario? Narrowing his eyes, they exchanged looks, a silent dialog passing between them. Much like dogs who circled and snapped, they watched the other with a suspicion that they would make the first move. Turning away, Jean stormed into the locker room.
'Why did I want to watch that scum anyway?' He noted the contradiction of his question. The tables had suddenly turned, Mario was the best in yet another test, their grand total of skills tests growing closer. It had been very gradual but Mario was improving, slowing graining the upper hand. A knot twisted over in the pit of his gut, there was nothing more he could do to keep his lead. He was already spending more time practicing than sleeping and still he was losing. His future suddenly seemed like bleak place. Second best wasn't good enough. 'Only one can be the best and the rest are scum.'
Hurriedly changing into his uniform, he stuffed the shorts and shirt into the small locker before forcefully shutting the metal portal. Sitting on the bench, he shoved his feet into his boots, his mind tangling thought-threads until he felt slightly ill. Jean retrieved his jacket and walked down the hall to the paper library. The older building was completely void of life, it was always available to students, although few ever used it. The thick volumes which filled every shelf from wall to wall and were jammed into row upon row of freestanding bookshelves were never used. Each and every book had been digitized and was accessible by every computer world wide. No one wrote books any more. It was a waste of man power and the government had ear-marked it as a, though small, cause of the decay of society up until the 21st century.
Sitting down at one of the large tables, Jean relaxed in his paper sanctuary. Since Mario had moved in, he always had to be on his toes. This was the only place no one visited. He occasional browsed the vast jungle, in fact he had found so called 'band' books on the shelves. Volumes that were deleted from the general digital archives reduced to only still existing in the dense shadows, hiding in the shear numbers of other books. On the few and far between times he opened one of the musty covers to read. He would hide away in the back of the library in the same manner than some of the books hide. Away from everyone, where no one could see.
"Hello," A voice invaded the sacred grounds. Peering around a stack of mismatched books, Jean spired a tall blonde youth. A few years older than he was for sure, placing him between 18 and 20. Piercing blue eyes searching, from under his flaxen bangs. Tucked under his arm was a relatively slim leather bound book. His height was accentuated by the khaki slacks and vest he wore over a pale blue dress shirt. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to be intrusive. I didn't realize anyone still visited this place besides myself." He paused before finishing. "My name is Sergi Sneek."
Standing, Jean quickly realized who he was addressing. "I am Jean Gedoux. It is an honor," Jean bowed to the one who carried the title of Lord Sneek IV. His genes were indeed the closest to perfect Jean had ever heard of. In a way he was what Jean had aspired to be. "What brings you here? Last I heard you were over seeing the training of someone." A weak smile joined a far away look upon the Lord Sneek.
"I was, but it seems there has been a change in plan. I am here to return a book." Quietly handing the book to Jean, Sergi turned to leave, his eyes meeting Jean's for a fleeting moment. A register waited quietly in the hall way. Her hair was of a bluish hue, eyes big but without emotion. There was something there in them, something one could not say was emotion. "It was nice to meet you, Jean Gedoux." As he stepped from the library into the hall the door swinging shut of its own accord. The register rested her hand upon her holster, slim fingers gripping the stock.
'What going on?' Jean stood frozen at the twisted event he was to bare witness to unfolded. He couldn't move, he didn't understand what was happening. As the heavy door shut, the spell was broken. "Wait!" Running to the door, he grab the cold knob. Three shorts rang out from the other side of the barrier. Hand against the metal of the door, Jean could feel his body quiver as he questioned whether to open the portal. He knew what it must be on the other side of the door.
Only those who had a purpose were alive. If they thought one was weak or was no longer useful... well there were hole-filled rumors that his imagination could make air tight. Registers followed all the males, after they turned 16. It was decided that the violent nature of their genes could not be irradiated and there fore had to be watch. The pistols those vigilant dolls carried were a means of stopping a male which had stepped too far out of line. But, here? The Lord Sneek?
His hand shook as he eased the door open. The register stood with her side to the door. Her face still like a porcelain mask, she looked upon her handy work. A few tense moments, he looked past the register to the body of the Lord Sneek the third face down upon the hall way floor. Blood had already begun to pool, the puncture wounds in his back flawlessly placed between his shoulder blades. She watched him for a few moments before replacing the pistol in its holster.
He had never seen death so closely. The fleeting moments he had met his role model were suddenly very distant. Closing the door, Jean pressed his back against the door. He can't be seeing this. Something is very wrong here. The Lord Sneek only answered to the highest committee of the government. Jean ran over what had happened over in his mind. He must be dreaming, having a horrible nightmare. Was that how it would end for him? The register must be insane, that is the only explanation.
His eyes came to rest on the tinny leather bound volume he still held, the one that had been returned. Twisting the lock on the door to try and appease his panicking mind, Jean tried to collect himself. He must have known Sergi for less than minute and yet this was becoming exceedingly more difficult to think through rationally. Slipping down the door, Jean pulled his knees up to his chest.
Voices from the other side of the door came muffled by the thick barrier. The knob was tested, Jean holding his breath until they left. In the growing darkness of the evening, Jean waited. All becoming oppressively quiet. His eyes fixed on the unusual book. All of the books in the library had finished covers with decorative spines. Yet this volume had no title, its plain cover appeared slightly worn. Why did he read this book? That moment where he made eye contact made him feel that this book was important. Reach an inquisitive hand out to grasp the book's cover, he retracted it as the knob was tested again. The metallic rattle of keys knocked against the knob.
Grasping the book in his adrenaline rush, Jean retreated into the recesses of the library. Among the stacks of books, where there was a dark corner of the room where the wall cases stopped a few feet shy of the corner he hid. He didn't want to be found. What if they did the same to him? If they killed Lord Sneek, they surely wouldn't care about a student. Clutching the book against his chest, he huddled down with his back against the end of the book case.
Shutting his eyes he listened. The vast expanse of the library making it difficult to hear. They were looking, he knew they were. The shadows of the book cases grew longer, the sun was setting now. His pounding heart slowly began to still. The perspective of death sent him into a cold sweat. He didn't want to die. His legs were starting to cramp from staying in the tight space. When the door shut again, he peered out from his hiding spot to be sure they were gone. A half-hearted laugh, little more than whisper was his sigh of relief.
A strange chain of events had left Jean with a book and a memory seared into his mind. Looking out into the hall way, he could see the patch of bloody carpet, his stomach twisting again. He felt he would never return to the library again or he would he ever be the same as he walked quickly toward his dorm room. Catching his foot on a uneven section of pavement, he stumbled, breaking him out of his deepening thoughts. Catching himself, the throbbing in his knee flared with a vengeance. It was so unrealistic, he must really be going hallucinating.
Thank full Mario hadn't returned yet from dinner, Jean lay in the darkness, the book still held against his chest. He some how felt obligated to keep the book, its contents still unknown, he lay still.
Flicking the light on, Jean opened the book slowly, cautiously. Finding page after page of hand written journal, Jean turned it to the to the place marked by a pink ribbon sandwich between the pages and began to read:
Mir had progressed fast than I could have ever imagined. As with each day she becomes more beautiful. Her beautiful hair is soft under my touch. I feel toward her emotions which I do not understand, but do not know how I lived without them. But now the council feels that these emotions are dangerous. Mir has been sent on a mission far from me and I am to visit the academy. I feel that time is short now, I know of the two that came before me. To whom ever reads to the end of my entries. This journal had been kept by three people which will within these covers be known as Sergi Sneek I, II, and myself, III. We all have feelings for Mir which the council found were grounds to kill my predecessors and by now surely I am dead as well. I can accept this because Mir will live on. I feel that I love, the archaic term seemingly the only thing to align this with, her. It in itself a fact that I am realizing too late and my hopes are that the one who comes after me will not do the same. This book is the proof that I existed.Sergi Sneek III
Closing the book, Jean studied its plain leather binding. This was the first book written in hundreds of years. Unsure if he could swallow what the book was implying, he suddenly felt as though he had read something he should not have. This book had not been kept on computer so it could not be deleted. It was proof, an undeniable piece of evidence.
Mario ambled down the deserted walkway. The evening air growing nippy, it's wind cutting through the uniform's jacket. He had not seen Jean since the end of school, in fact he hadn't come to dinner. It wasn't like he could have just managed to not see the red head. Mario had wanted to talk to him. He had seen very little of the Gedoux, the other returned to the dorm after Mario had turned off the lights and rose before Mario woke up, painfully obvious he was avoiding him. Despite the fact they had most of their classes together, Jean had managed to place himself as far from the other as was possible.
Although from the little he had seen of Jean, Mario had noticed a significant change. Darkening circles under those ruby colored eyes and seeing progressively less of him at meals mounted up to tonight, where he didn't show up at all. Returning back to were he had last seen him only seemed logical. As he walked pasted the gym, he glanced in. The double doors had been left slightly ajar letting a shaft of soft light fall onto the pavement of the walkway.
Noticing the unique person in question sprawled on their back, Mario opened the door further. Jean lay arms out, chest rising and falling heavily, his body shining with a sheen of sweat upon the a blue floor mat. Eyes closed and mouth open, the gym was completely quiet save for his breathing. Crossing the short distance, Mario stood over him observing his condition for a moment. His face was pale, normally fair skin seemed slightly ashen. His unruly hair stuck to his face, body seemingly listless. Letting his eyes wash over the other, his brow knitted as he came upon an angry bruise. It's purple-ish mass swirled around Jean's left knee in moon shaped semi-circle below the knee cap.
"Hey." Mario's eyes focused back on Jean's face. Red eyes snapped open, startled by the unexpected greeting.
"What do you want?" he shot back venomously. Sitting up, trying ignoring the pain that shot up his leg. Gingerly running his fingers over the injury, Jean moved to stand only to stumble as he tried to put weight on it. Shoving the other away as Mario reflexively offered assistance, he ended up back on his rump with a stinging flop. Shrugging in a put off fashion, Mario continued by stucking his hands into his pockets.
"I was curious where you ran off to since you didn't show up to dinner." He was well aware his help wasn't wanted. It was strange, Mario had been under the impression that health and top performance was Jean's top priority. But the thinning of his already lean frame, showed a soft under belly of pushing himself beyond his limits, expectations of perfection of a less than perfect body.
"What do you know? I wasn't hunger." Standing up, putting most of his weight on his uninjured leg, Jean was quickly becoming aware of how empty his stomach felt. 'What does he care anyway? I'm surprised he even noticed I wasn't at dinner,' Jean thought bitterly. Unable to hide his limp, Jean avoided eye contact with the other as he made his way out. Picking up Jean's abandon uniform by the door, Mario followed after the wounded teen.
They walked quietly side by side down the deserted walk way for short a time. The pain becoming unbearable, Jean was forced to pause against one of the many pillars along the walk way. The darkness was swallowing the last of the sunlight as Jean collected his nerve. "You know that you can't continue in this manner for much longer," Mario stated, his voice even and low. "Its becoming obvious that you are wearing down your body." Straightening his back, Jean shot him a chilling glare.
"What difference does it make to you!?" Pushing off the pillar, Jean limped on, half stumbling to the next pillar. With his hand firmly pressed against the stone, Jean stood with his back to his rival. "No one cares! They only listen if you are the best," he murmured, his voice losing its edge, Jean wanted to run, this vulnerability that Mario could evoke was unnerving. It left him exposed, transparent.
Jean tensed as two strong arms wrapped around his narrow shoulders. Drawing him away from the stone column, he back came to rest against Mario's broad chest. Thankful that the darkness hide his flush, Jean stood in silence, unable to speak. Mario's mouth drew to a thin line as he merely tested the real extent of how thin Jean was becoming. The embrace no more affectionate on the darker one's part then a hand shake or formal greeting. 'Why hasn't anyone noticed?' Mario knew that Jean was checked regularly for the sake of the government's precious. 'They wouldn't just let him waste away, would they?' Letting his head rest against the other, he could feel the small frame shiver against him.
To be continued...
AN: The plot thickens.... like over cooked Jello! XD I really started in on the Mario/Jean relation and Jean hate of registers. Hope I didn't OOC anyone too badly. Please review! The reviews really are one of the main forces that keep me to a story.