Well, it seems that I am back with another chapter! Rejoice or curse, for I do both during this process. I'd like to mention that I appreciate all the people who are following this story and that have given suggestions. Now moving on…
Disclaimer: I do not own Bakugan or Teen Titans, since there are many references to it in here!
Child Labor
I trudged down the dirt path toward the front gates, clenching and unclenching my fists and feeling my nails digging into the palm of my hand.
"Stupid Julie….Stupid salon…" I muttered to myself jumping over the wall and quickly slipping into my room through the window. "I can't believe this."
I slumped against the wall beneath the window, squeezing my eyes shut and flattening my hands against the floor. Wrenching one eye open, I groaned at the horror that was my perfectly manicured nails. I tried to take deep calming breaths, but it didn't work. The image of my nails painted pink—pink!—was burned into my retinas, and breathing didn't make it any less hideous.
You know, I would have been fine with just getting them filed.
And I would have lived through all those oils and whatnot that the lady poured on my fingertips.
But Julie—being the pink-obsessed freak she is—insisted on painting them pink, of all colors.
I resisted. I really did. I knocked over display tables and supplies, and I was almost out the door when she caught me. Julie grabbed my shirt and dragged me backwards, forcing me into a seat, and then proceeding to strap me to it with duct tape.
Who the hell keeps duct tape in a nail salon, anyway?
As if that wasn't enough, Julie also taped my mouth closed, just so I couldn't call for backup. I swear, she planned it all out beforehand. She almost got me into a tanning bed, claiming that I was "as white as sour cream," except that she'd made the mistake of taking off the tape, at which point I threatened to call the police. Again.
I was up a creek without a paddle.
Gramps would freak if he saw my nails painted. He never did agree with anything I did that was remotely feminine (such as having long hair), which I've kept short since I was fifteen. Hell, he didn't even like it when I cleaned, since that was "a woman's job."
I usually didn't pay any attention to his over exaggerated fears because one, the dojo had to be cleaned at some point, and two, Grandpa had always been paranoid of anything that threatened his traditional way of life.
Somehow, I figured that if Rice Crispy didn't have a heart attack on the spot, he'd kick me out of his house for good.
Living on my own couldn't be that hard, right? I was practically an adult, so maybe it wouldn't be too bad. Of course, I'd need to get a job, and a place to live.
On the other hand, if Gramps died suddenly, then I wouldn't have to leave, and I'd have the dojo all to myself. It'd be much the same as the getting kicked out, only I wouldn't have to get a job or a new place.
Was it wrong to like option two more than the other one?
I'd convinced myself that it was entirely within my rights to think that way when my door slid open. I sat on my hands, noticing the way Gramps eyed me. He was suspicious, all right.
"How was your trip?" he asked politely, inviting himself in.
"Fine," I answered curtly.
"Just fine?" he pressed, pushing his glasses up with a mischievous smirk.
I narrowed my eyes at him. He had better not be implying that—
"Well, it's alright if you don't want to tell me, Grandson, but remember that your grandfather will always be here when you need to have a man to man talk. You're coming of age, and it's only natural that certain, ahem, urges present themselves—"
"I don't want to hear it," I growled, making sure to increase my glare tenfold.
He chuckled, but didn't say anything more about the subject. As soon as he left, I let out a quiet sigh. That had been a close one. I examined my nails and their repulsive color again.
"Oh, by the way, Shun," Gramps added, and I quickly shoved my hands behind my back. "You need to be up an hour earlier for tomorrow's training." He gave an uncharacteristic wink, and I rolled my eyes.
What did the old man have planned now? It could have been anything, but I quickly moved on to the more pressing issue at hand.
Where in a dojo did you keep nail polish remover?
---
I spent half the night slinking around the dojo in an attempt to find some acetone. I'd checked every single room in the dojo from head to toe except for the kitchen. Dejectedly, I rummaged around in the cabinets until, what'll you know, I found it hidden behind a box of super natural granola bars.
I don't know why the old buzzard liked to torture me so.
Tired and cranky, I dragged myself outside for training, working on only three hours of sleep. I yawned, waited for Gramps to make his grand entrance. The sooner I finished training, the faster I could go back to sleep. A musty smell reached my nose, and my eyes jerked open.
Old & Putrid himself had waddled up, again in a bathrobe. He, though, was wide awake, subliminally mocking my lack of sleep. He cleared his throat, and I resisted the urge to hold my nose against the smell. I was positive the fetid odor was coming from him, and it wasn't just "old person" smell. Had he reeked like this yesterday?
My sleep-deprived brain couldn't remember.
He didn't say anything, merely motioning for me to follow him down the path leading into The Forest. I stumbled along the path, slowly getting my bearings back. He led me to a vermilion arch composed of two beams curving upwards at the ends attached to two sturdy poles.
The Arch of Fate, he called it because our ancestors had built it, and it had decided the future of every Kazami man…or so Gramps said. Legend had it that if you had a problem, you'd come to the Arch of Fate, and it would give you a sign of what your next move should be.
I called it the Arch of Ancients, and I found that it, like many of the other things my grandpa said, was a load of crap. The Arch never bothered to help me with my problems (not that I ever came to it), and that was either because it didn't like me or it didn't work. The only thing mysterious about it was that it looked brand new after standing for five hundred years.
"Shun," he called, motioning for me to step forward. "A ninja has to be incredibly fit, supple and strong to perform the acrobatics—or any other death-defying act, for that matter—and I saw your performance lacking yesterday."
"You weren't there to train with me," I pointed out matter-of-factly.
He shook his head in disappointment. "It is not the ninja way to blame your failures on others—"
"How do you expect me to perform acrobatics alone?" I asked, but he continued as if he hadn't heard me. Great, now he was deaf, too.
"—and so today you will be strength training." He tossed me a set of white, breathable clothes because I wouldn't be able to train in jeans. My shoes had to stay behind, too. Then he shoved two buckets at me.
"This is your task, Shun," he explained, "You must carry water up the mountainside, and leave it at the ba—I mean, location I designate. It will be up to you how you accomplish your task, but it should be finished before nightfall."
At that, the old man walked away, disappearing along the path. I glanced at the aforementioned mountain in the distance. I'd never climbed it, but it couldn't be too hard. I could clearly distinguish the path, leading up to it, and as far as I knew, there weren't any vicious forest animals on the island. This would be a piece of cake.
I made my way down the trail with the empty buckets, swimming across the stream that divided the island and filling them up on the other side. Another arch loomed over the riverbank, only this one wasn't "special." The water seemed murky in the darkness, but it was crystal clear in the daylight. I continued along the path with ease, buckets in hand, reaching the base of the mountain.
I began the sloped path upward, flinching when rocks began to dig into the soles of my feet. I set the water down, kicking a few rocks out of my way. "Next time a crazy old man tells you to leave your shoes," I muttered to myself, "take them, anyway."
I picked up my water, ready to quicken my pace, when I spotted Rice Crispy ahead of me. I saw him limping and barefoot, a stick in his right hand. It wasn't the usual beating stick, though. This one was longer and thicker.
"Gramps?" I asked. "How did you get up here so fast?"
"The same way you did, I walked," Grandpa answered sagely, handing me his stick. "You should use it to carry the water."
I draped the rope handles over each end of the stick and placed it across my shoulders. Keeping a tight hold on it, I followed Grandpa a little ways up.
The water sloshed against the sides of the wooden bucket, threatening to spill over. "How far until I reach your location?"
Gramps didn't answer for a few minutes. He turned to me suddenly, and asked me whether I had said anything. I repeated my question, clenching my hands against the stick.
"That all depends on you, Grandson. How fast can you make it though this cave?"
The rocky path had evened out a bit, and we stood before the entrance to a damp cave. The rising sun failed to penetrate the inky darkness. Another red gate was erected at the entrance. Again, no powers for this one.
With a sigh, I felt my way around the inside, feeling the sleep crawling back into my eyes. My shoulders were beginning to ache dully, but I fought it off.
A few feet into the cave and I couldn't even see the entrance. Blindly, I treaded along the surprisingly smooth surface, holding my charge with one hand and reaching forward with the other. I bumped into rocks and something slimy, but I made it out eventually with minor injuries. A fourth of the water had spilled out.
"Fantastic," I drawled, eyeing the rocky cliff in front of me. No more path, so I guess I had to climb it.
Climbing while carrying water turned out to be as easy as controlling Dan's temper: nearly impossible.
"There has to be an easier way to do this," I mused aloud, reaching a broad outcropping of rock. The quickly diminishing water rippled.
"There is an easy way, and there is the right way."
I glanced upwards, noticing Old & Putrid sitting cross-legged on another protrusion. No way, I'd left him behind!
"How'd you get up here?" I asked irately.
He leaned back, his ponytail rubbing against the dark stone. "Same as you, I climbed."
I glowered. "Well, how much farther is it?"
"If you keep stopping to chitchat, you'll never make it up before sunset," he reprimanded. He never was a fan of straight answers.
I rolled my shoulders to get some feeling back into them. The sun was about barely above the horizon, so it couldn't be later than nine.
A gate shimmered up ahead, and my half full buckets weighed down on me like bricks. Past the arch, a set of stairs extended up the mountainside.
"Finally," I sighed. A lone crater rested at the top, empty. "This must be where he wanted me to put it."
I carefully poured the water in, watching as the three foot deep hole filled a few inches. I sat down to rest, getting ready to fall asleep right then and there.
"Shun!" Gramps interrupted urgently. "You are not finished yet."
"I'm not?"
"That was merely one round. That does not make you stronger. You will continue until this crater is filled," he announced, gazing down at me.
Well, he was right about one thing. It didn't make me stronger.
It made me angrier.
One round had worn me out enough, but the continued trips ground me into a pulp. By the last trip, I was dragging myself up the stairs and tossing the water in bucket and all. Collapsing beside the crater, I vaguely noticed that steam was rising from it.
Later, it clicked that the water was being heated by an underground source. At the moment, I only realized that the geezer was shedding his bathrobe—at which point I turned away because I didn't need any more mental scarring—and climbing into the crater.
"What are you doing?" I asked, already suspicious.
He chuckled nervously. "Shun, nothing beats an old-fashioned bath."
"What?" I whispered venomously. "I did all that for your bath!?"
Suddenly, it all made sense, the stink, the bathrobe, the work. He was taking advantage of my youth!
I sat up, regretting it immediately as pain shot though my body. Every muscle hurt, and I couldn't muster the energy to glare. Falling back, I picked up a rock. I threw it at him as hard as my remaining strength would allow.
"Hey!" he whined, holding the spot where it had struck. I smiled to myself, knowing his shoulder would have a nice bruise there to remind him of this, at least for a few days.
"I hate you, Gramps," I mumbled unconvincingly before shutting my eyes and drifting into dreams.
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Cocoacharm15