Augusto Vega

Friday, 3:10 PM

Augusto had just finished his homework. Being in advanced mathematics, and being taught arithmetic this week, he had lots of trouble with his homework. Well, not trouble, exactly. He had been stuck on a few things that his teacher, Mme. Thiers, glossed over when talking about the basics. Being good with math, you'd think he'd be able to figure it out on his own, but he hadn't bee able to. Thankfully, his uncle was even better at math then he was, and had managed to make the time to help him with his schoolwork.

They had finished earlier than expected, Augusto's Uncle, Zio (Uncle) Eliano, had guessed that it would take three hours and a half to finish this, yet they finished with fifteen minutes to spare. August was beyond relieved that he had finished all the schoolwork for the weekend right after school today, so he would have the rest of the weekend to recharge his batteries. He had been working extra hard this week due to the fact that his grades had fallen a bit and he needed to keep them above a 15, and he had fallen down to a 0 due to a minor incident with Chloé, the spoiled brat, who demand that his perfect 20 be replaced by the worst grade he could ever get due to an off-hand remark in Spanish that Chloé couldn't even understand.

His uncle had to physically restrain him from beating Chloé's face in.

He was an exchange student from Argentina, so falling below a 15 meant that he would be put in line to go back to Argentina, and then below a 5, he would be immediately sent back on the next flight. The schoolboard had taken pity on him, knowing that he had done nothing deserving to warrant such a punishment, so they gave him a week's worth of work to do over the weekend and cranked up the value that it would account for his grade, so if he got above 95% on all of them, he would get his perfect grade back.

His Zio Eliano had retreated back to his study, having to continue his work as a lawyer.

Augusto leaned back in his chair, groaning at the mental exhaustion he felt and using his hands as a pillow. He stared down at the pages of work, taking pride in his accomplishment. He had successfully saved his grade, and his parents a couple thousand bucks.

His uncle had said to wait in his room, because he wanted to tell him something, but he was feeling a bit encaged. Like a… like a… caged lion. Nice simile, Augusto mused, standing up and fiddling a bit with the lamp that was on his desk. It ticked metallically as he flicked the lamp to the side, causing to jump back to its right position. It was on odd issue with the manufacturing, and the brand who sells these lamps now market them as 'stress relievers'. Well they weren't exactly lying.

"I'm going on a walk," he said to no one. He had an odd tendency to talk to himself when he was alone as if there was somebody else in the room. He quickly grabbed a pen and wrote a note for his uncle if he came back and saw his absence. He quickly scribbled down that he was on a walk in Italian, knowing that his uncle would find it much easier to read it that way, and stuck it on top of the papers on his desk.

He briskly changed out of his sweater, pulling on a t-shirt and hoodie since it was mid-fall, and put on some jeans. He grabbed his phone, and headed down the stairs towards the first level.

His uncle made big bucks as being a lawyer, so he could afford a fairly large house. It had three levels, Augusto's room which his uncle had always kept prepped for when he visited.

He swiftly made his way through the living room, parlor, and then the foyer, reaching the porch. His uncle lived in a more suburban part of Paris; still close enough to his school to be there within five minutes of walking, but far enough that it wasn't like the center of the city. It was also a plus that the house door opened up to a park-like section, where vegetation grew freely in an area in between the houses. It was still mowed and everything like every other yard, but was allowed to keep some of its natural aspects. It had a small pond that had a couple of benches on the side, and the whole thing was surrounded by trees with blood red and mustard yellow leaves. It was all quite beautiful, and Augusto cursed himself for deciding to leave his camera back in Argentina. He made a mental note to go out and get a decent-quality camera later today; until he got back home.

There was quite a breeze. It blew Augusto's hair into his face, getting into his eye. He instinctively shook his head, screwing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, his face was covered by multiple strands of hair. He moved them all to the side, walking forward and deciding to just walk around randomly. That's when he felt his phone vibrating roughly against his leg.

He had always made fun of how when his phone was on vibrate and someone called, it sounded and felt as if the phone itself was clawing its way out of the depths of hell, making such a noise that it was about as loud as the ring on full. He chuckled at his string of thoughts before pulling out of his pocket to see who it was. It was his zio. Looked like his walk was postponed for now. He shrugged, answering.

"Augusto? Where are you?" his uncle didn't sound angry or annoyed; he never really was. Augusto guessed it was part of being a lawyer. A good lawyer didn't have impatience as a valued trait. "I was just outside, about to go on a camminare," (walk) Augusto answered, turning around and staring at the looming house. "Well, come into my office; I want to give you something," Augusto's zio ordered. He could sense an edge of excitement and pride in his voice, his natural curiosity getting the better of him. "Alright," conceded Augusto, ending the call. He glanced at the sheer beauty of the scene before him before turned around and entering the house once more.

0-0-0

"Yes, zio?" Augusto asked. He was currently sitting in a desk in his zio's private office. He had never been allowed in there as a kid, understandably. There were many sensitive sheets and papers all over the place, and he had been notoriously clumsy as a kid. Now he was allowed in, but only when his zio was with him. He guessed it was because of client privacy and such, so he ended up barely ever coming here. The last time he had been in the office was a couple of months ago, and as he had learned in his younger years, his zio was never one to become stale. Despite being in his early thirties, his uncle was an incredibly trend-influence man.

His office somehow seemed different every time Augusto entered, whether it be as unnoticeable as him cleaning up the 'lived-in' look that his zio liked to flaunt or as significant as changing the furniture, it always seemed separate from his last visit. Now, everything was modern and clean and tidy.

A glass-topped desk with a computer to the side was in the middle, a swivel seat behind the keyboard. In front of the computer were two white chairs, matching with the carpet. On the sides, there were cubic black cubby-like shelves that held normal things, like office supplies or client folders, to random things that his zio liked to call his 'quirks'. There were things labeled 'candy', 'toys', and even 'piggybanks'. Elianos' explanation was that clients felt more comfortable knowing that he wasn't a cold, professional like many lawyers, but was more of an affable person, which meant they'd be more open about their cases.

Currently, Augusto's zio was seated in the swivel chair, a vintage box in front of him. His curiosity, which had already been eating at him since he had gotten the call, had now turned into a roaring flame, consuming him entirely. His gaze was fixed on the box, and Elianos' seemed to notice this. "Interested in what's in here?" he asked, grinning gleefully like a kid would on Christmas. "Si," (yes) he nodded, sitting down, his stare never leaving the seemingly-wooden container. "Well, what's in here is very special to our bloodline," Elianos started. Augusto knew that his blood was related to a bunch of nobles during the Italian renaissance. What he didn't know was why his father, uncle, and aunt were always talking about this. He understood that knowing where one came from was important, but once they know, why do the need to know anymore or focus on the past? This had been over 400 years ago, and it was history.

From Augusto's view, it didn't matter what their ancestors had done; it didn't define them. This instantly caused his curiosity to dampen slightly. Slightly. He was still metaphorically dying to find out was in the container. He could see a slight glint of orange behind one of the holes that would serve as handles to carry it. "Well, this was found by Corso da Roma, one of our sources of noble blood, who went on a trip to the east. He returned six years later with this. It is very important to our heritage and a sign of our bloodline to all of those who see it," he then opened the box.

Augusto's curiosity had fluxed several times now, but he doubted he had been as curious as he was now than during the conversation. He stared down into the box… to find an armband? For some reason, he didn't feel the disappointment that he expected to come in waves. It felt magic, to be truthful. It was orange, with claw mark designs on the side, as if a cat had scratched the side with its claws. It beckoned to him. Augusto gingerly lifted it out of the box as if one single touch in the wrong place would break it. "I see you found it just as engrossing as your father and I did when we were first shown this by our padre," (father) Elianos grinned wistfully, nostalgia, pride, and glee glimmering in his blue eyes.

"You are dismissed; study it and find out why it is so enticing to you," Elianos suggested, mischief and wisdom dancing in his eyes as he adopted a spaced-out look. Augusto had grown accustomed to this. His zio was an extreme fan of going down memory lane, and liked to tell him stories of when he, Augusto's father, and Augusto's aunt were younger.

He, careful to not drop or damage it, carried the arm band to his room. He swept the pages out of the way, gently placing it on the desk. He examined it, noting the intricate weaving of both fabrics and metals. Whoever had made this was a true craftsman. He the noted a little slot that, if not looked at with excruciating precision, would've been easy to miss. He opened his drawers and pulled out a pair of tweezers he kept with him for the occasional science experiment he had to for class. Careful to not hook any of the fabrics or metals, he gently slid the tweezer into the slit, feeling something like wood at the end.

He slowly gripped it with the metal instrument, pulling out excruciatingly slowly to make sure that he didn't pull on any strings of the cloth and ruin it. When it finally came into view, it seemed to be a torn page that had become splotchy over time. He didn't know why or how it had done this, but his natural curiosity didn't care about that; only about what it said. It was folded neatly, and looked pristine save for the odd stains that seemed to not have anything to it. Hands shaking with anticipation, he started unfolding it. His fingers worked gently to not even bend a micrometer of paper. It felt as if time had stopped and he was the only one left able to move, inquisitiveness the driving force behind every action. After about a minute, it had become a full piece of paper. It was a little bit smaller than Augusto's hand, but he didn't care about the size. What peaked his attention was the fact that there were discernable words on the paper. They weren't crystal clear, and the edges were blurred, and the colors were faded. But if Augusto put it under the bright light of the lamp he had, he'd be able to read it. Hands trembling, he placed it under the intense glare of the bulb.

A chiunque stia leggendo questo, sia un mio discendente o un altro [...] completamente, questo [...] è un potere [...] reattivo. Deve [...] sedersi a beneficio dell'umanità, perché se non lo fosse, tutti ne soffrirebbero. Puoi [..] correggerlo dicendo "Rybbos, hackle sollevato!".

(The "[...]" are words that were too damaged to figure out. Translation in AN.)

It was in Renaissance-type Italian. From what he could manage to discern, the arm band was a "tool of great power" and needed to be used for the "great good". What did that mean? It couldn't possible refer to current world problems, since this looked well over a couple of centuries old. It was also old Italian. There were some other sentences that Augusto couldn't read due to a combination of foreign handwriting, odd words, and damaged ink.

It also said "activated" from what he could tell, so he followed the instructions. "Rybbo, hackles raised?" he asked uncertainly. Nothing happened. Maybe he needed to say it louder. "Rybbo, hackles raised!" he said with more force. Still, nothing. "Hmm…" he mumbled, deep in thought. He stared at the arm band intensely, half-expecting it to just 'activate' then and there. Maybe he had to wear it? Yes, that's it, he thought determinedly. He lifted the left sleeve of his hoodie up to about his mid-upper-arm. He gently slid the arm band upwards. It was light, and he didn't even feel like he was wearing anything. He had expected it to be heavy and noisy, but it was silent. He jiggled his arm for a second, flabbergasted at the noiseless moving of the metal and cloth. "Alright…" he breathed in, bracing for nothing to happen again.

"Rybbo, hackles raised!" he shouted. Nothing. But the air in the room had changed. It had gone to tame and dull, to what felt like tangible energy crackling from the air. His body felt tense, as if his instincts felt something he couldn't. Abruptly, a sphere of orange light appeared, energy crackling from it. He shouted in alarm. If his zio was in his office, then it was useless. That place was sound padded.

Augusto ran to the door, desperate to get away. He tried the knob. Locked!

"Stop. Please," the voice made Augusto freeze. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. It felt like he had been turned into a statue. He felt something gently hit his back, instinctively making him gasp for air, sputtering. "Ah, good; you can breathe," the voice felt relieved. A little orange blur zipped into Augusto's view. This caught him by surprise, causing him to stumble backwards and hit the desk, sending a few pencils onto the floor.

"Sorry if I, uh, startled you," the orange thing said. Now that Augusto could get a good look at it, he mused that it looked a lot like a tiger cub. It had a whitish belly with dark orange fur and dark stripes of blackness. It even had the tail, ears, and everything! Even little whiskers. "Wh-What are you?" Augusto struggled for words. He was still calming down from the near heart attack he had gotten when it first appeared. "Not what! I'm a who! And I'm Rybbo; your kwami, I believe!" the now-named Rybbo grinned in glee. "Kwami?" Augusto echoed densely. "Yeah! Kwami! I'm what gives you your powers!" the small tiger creature responded energetically. "Powers?" he was on the verge of forgetting how to breathe again. "C'mon, buddy, you humans need air. I think," Rybbo playfully zipped into Augusto's chest, forcing him to gasp. He hadn't even realized he wasn't breathing. "Powers?" he repeated dumbly. "Yeah, powers! You get to be a defender for the innocent! I hope," Rybbo added the last part bleakly, as if he was withholding information. "So… like a lawyer?" asked Augusto, final managing to start calming down. "No, no, no. Not like a lawyer. Like a superhero!" he grinned playfully, his ears swiveling around, "Anyways, I've been asleep for 500 years and I'm famished. Got any sort of seafood that I could eat?"

"Er… we have some calamari in the fridge…" responded Augusto. Rybbo looked around the room incredulously. "Could you take me there? I'm not really used to these modern amenities yet," Rybbo grinned sheepishly. Augusto nodded, leading the kwami down to the kitchen in a daze. He silently opened the fridge door and searched around for the calamari. "Muerda!" he cursed in Spanish. Rybbo gave him a confused look. "Sorry, we don't have any calamari… but we have fish…" Augusto apologized. "Fish!? I love fish!" Rybbo grinned enthusiastically zipping right next to Augusto. The brunette teen pulled out the left-over salmon he and his zio had eaten yesterday as dinner.

He glanced at Rybbo and chuckled a little as he saw that the kwami was literally drooling at the sight of the salmon. As soon as Augusto had taken the plastic wrapping off, Rybbo zipped right into it, biting feverishly and swallowing as if this was the first morsel of food he had ever tasted. He downed half a salmon in thirty seconds. The brunette teen just watched cautiously, unable to believe what he just saw. Funnily enough, even though Rybbo had literally eaten like an animal, he had actually been very clean while doing it. Not one bit of salmon was on the table, and the pan had been licked clean.

"Boy… you sure were hungry, I guess…" Augusto chuckled, fully calming down now. The tiger kwami looked around furtively, then returned his gaze to his wielder. "Now, c'mon!" Rybbo grinned, "Let's transform!"

AN: And there you have it.

Translation: To anyone reading this, either my descendant or another [...] completely, this [...] is a reactive [...] power. It has to [...] sit down for the benefit of humanity, because if it were not, everyone would suffer. You can [..]vate it by saying "Rybbos, hackles raised!".

Anyways, please review what you think about my OC character and kwami so far! Sorry if the end seems rushed, I had to go to school the second I finished it.

So, again, reviews! I LIVE FOR THEM! :D

PS: I'll be breaking the lore in the next chapter with how the kwamis can separate from their wielders without lowering the masks and suits for story reasons.