"Come on, you never know for sure! Let's go see."
Angel stands in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.
"Okay, okay. I'll go."
The pair practically skip into the band room, scanning to find their respective sections. There were so many students around their age. Some were in the color guard, carrying their rifles and flags to and fro, occasionally opening and closing the door with the sigil that the twins saw earlier. One group crowded around several drums on stands, tapping away on drum pads with their sticks. Another group stood with mallets of various sizes and shapes, playing short warm up exercises on what Angel assumed was the pit section and their marimbas and xylophones.
A few upperclassmen already were claiming some of the freshmen. Now and then one would walk in and a senior or junior would swoop in and introduce themselves, forming a bond and basically welcoming the new kid into their circle of friends. Then, once those freshmen became upperclassmen, they too would claim freshmen. Band kids were obsessed with their legacy, but that was just a thing that felt like second nature. It was a phenomenon, a spectacle to behold. It was in their DNA, whether they knew it or not, because they knew that in a matter of years, no one would know that they had stood in this very room except for themselves and those that they've bonded with.
Our bonds have a power that humanity itself doesn't understand, Angel notes.
Human bonds. It felt like there was something she wasn't remembering, something that she should know. But what?
Angel shakes off the feeling that's creeping into the back of her head, trying to clear her mind.
You shouldn't be thinking about other things right now, you know. There's a band you're supposed to be a part of. She scolds herself, scanning the room for any students with cases similar to her own.
There was always some sort of disadvantage to an instrument choice. For example, a flute would always stick out if they were out of tune. A trumpet's ego would inflate to the size of the moon. A trombone would become…"impure". (She still remembers the things she came across when she came here for middle school band night, try as she might to forget.) But bass clarinets? Bass clarinets had next to no players, let alone a section.
This was their disadvantage.
This was what Angel had feared. Would she have to practice alone? What would she do? Who would tell her about the ways the band worked?
She sighs as she continues her scan of the room. There were plenty of normal clarinets, that was for sure. The bass clarinetist could've sworn she'd seen about fifteen of them.
"Don't see any yet, do you?" Allen murmurs, barely audible above the drumline's tapping.
"Not yet… I hope some show up. It would suck to be alone for my first year."
"Oh hey, I see a few mellos. I guess I'll go check them out. Gotta make my mark, you know?" The mellophone player strides over to his section, easily meshing with the group.
That left Angel on her own.
"...Oh."
She watches him from a distance, the sensation of loneliness already setting in.
Now that she thought about it, she didn't really have a section at her middle school. She was the only bass clarinet in that school's symphonic band, mostly due to the overall cost of the instrument.
True, she should have been very much acquainted with the familiar feeling of band desolation, but that didn't make it something she enjoyed, much less welcomed willingly. Often she longed for a large section of her own like the flutes, or a tight bond of trust like the percussionists had amongst themselves. But alas, this was merely a fantasy of hers she so often dreamed when the instructor wasn't giving off notes and instructions to her (not like he looked her way anyways, since bass clarinets were very easily forgotten in the sea of countless others with, you know, a purpose). So there she was, alone, barring the instrument that could have been noted as "The Runt of the Pack".
A melancholy sigh escapes her lips as she wanders to where she assumed the bass clarinets were supposed to go, only to be booted away very rudely and very quickly when a sousaphone makes it known that she was, unfortunately, not in the bass clarinet section. If she could, she would have blown the world's most unbearable note into the band mate's ear, but with better morals, she decides against it, and resumes her search for the nonexistent bass clarinet section. Eventually her fruitless search takes her to the wall. She slumps against it with her instrument carefully arranged on the carpeted floor next to her. A faint sigh leaves her like a restless ghost, quiet and never heard of again.
"Hey, you okay there? You look like you're zoning out. Did you get enough sleep last night?"
Hah, look at that. Now I'm hearing voices. Isn't that just lovely?
"Helloooo? Come on, you know there are better places to take a nap than on the ground, right?"
...That sounds too real, actually. Oh gods.
The bass clarinetist lifts her head ever so slightly, blinking off the faint drowsiness that was barely settling in. In front of her crouches a boy who appears her age, wearing a tank top that bore the sigil plastered around the room. His hair was colored a royal shade of blue, unruly and ruffled. When she blinks at the sight of him, his face lights up and he smiles.
"Oh good, you're awake! Gods, it'd be embarrassing if you fell asleep on your first day of band camp. Though it's my first day too, so I get where you're coming from. Come on!" He stands up, extending a hand towards Angel to help her.
The girl takes his hand and the boy grips it firmly as he pulls her up, barely avoiding a full on collision with each other, and steady themselves as they take the other's appearance in.
She didn't notice it before, but the boy had a sigil on his shoulder just like the one on Emmeryn's forehead, along with almost every flag and banner in this room. It reminded Angel of the symbol etched on the skin of her (and Allen's) right hand, but she wasn't as...open about it as this group was. She made sure to at least cover the six eyed brand with a glove or concealing makeup, but it made her feel uneasy nonetheless.
"Gods, aren't you warm in that jacket?" The boy laughs, trying to break the silence that fell between the two as they sized each other up.
Angel could have sworn she felt something prick at the back of her head, trying to remind her of something. What am I forgetting? Hmm…
"Aren't you cold with your tank top? I can feel a chill whenever I look at you!" She replies with a joking tone.
"Fair enough, fair enough." He paused briefly, gathering his thoughts. "What's your name?"
This feels familiar. Am I trying to remember something? What is it?
"My name's Angel. I play bass clarinet, so I was looking for the others, but I don't think there's any… What's yours?"
The blue haired boy smiles warmly as Angel introduces herself, sparking something in Angel that she can't quite name.
"My name's Chrom. Chrom Cimbalo."
The name clicks in her head.
She doesn't remember what happened or where she is.
She's running, running from (or at?) something, grasping onto what feels like a tome as if it were a lifeline. The dusty book carries a heavier feeling than the tomes that are used in everyday life.
Her sight is a bit fuzzy and her legs feel like lead, but she can't stop.
She feels herself leap and push a blue haired teen out of the way of what appears to be a purple ball of energy just before it hits him, all before it fades to white, then black.
When she comes to, she registers pain, blinding pain, raw and burning pain, but seeing him safe makes her relieved. He runs to her collapsed body and props her up with a mixed look of concern sprawled across his face.
She barely realized what's happening before the tome that she gripped in her hands activates and has launched a bolt of lightning in his chest, a dark feeling running through her veins.
Angel remembers screaming before everything fades again.
Chrom.
"Angel, are you okay? What happened?"
Angel's eyes shoot open as she takes in a deep breath, as if she were underwater for a long time. She's leaning against a wall with her heart pounding at a breakneck pace. Her eyes darted back and forth, taking in the situation.
You're in the band room. Chrom. Chrom's safe, you're safe, she reassures herself. You just remembered a dream, that's all. Despite her attempt to calm down, she can't help but feel a growing sense of dread.
"...I'm fine. I just…" Angel trails off, avoiding eye contact. The words are a lot harder to form when there are a million thoughts racing through her head all at once. "This doesn't...usually happen."
"Take your time. Breathe," Chrom murmurs. He takes one of Angel's trembling hands in his own, hoping that the gesture will help. Eventually the bass clarinetist's shaky and erratic breathing calms and she wipes her clammy forehead with the sleeve of her free hand.
"...Sorry."
The words escape her lips before she even registers them, and immediately Chrom responds.
"Don't apologize. My sister has these all the time, and from her perspective, it's a lot better when someone's there to help you through it." He smiles warmly and Angel could've sworn that something different had sparked in the back of her head, but she pushes the feeling away before it gets out of hand like the last one did.
"Do you have any relatives in the band?"
Angel's grateful for the subject change. "Y-yeah, I have my twin brother Allen here. We're both freshmen, though he plays mellophone."
"Ah, so you're both in band! That's nice to hear. My big sister's a senior, and my little sister is a freshman like me. They're both in band." Chrom looks over to the rest of the band, taking note that they're still setting up. "My whole family's been in band, even my parents and my grandparents. What about yours?"
She has to think about it for a second, since she doesn't even remember what her father looked like. Sure, she's heard stories, but he wasn't a major part of her life. Hell, I don't even remember half of my childhood! The thought is bitter in her head, part blame and part understanding.
"I know my mother was, cause she used to tell me stories of how band was back when she was in it. She even writes drill in her free time." Angel pauses, absentmindedly gazing at the sleeve of her hoodie. "I don't know about my father, though. I don't remember him at all."
"...That's rough."
"Mhm."
After a brief silence, Angel continues. "I don't think I needed him, either. It took me a while growing up to realize that most families have two parents. Whoever he was, he can suck it. He must've been a real jerk to leave Mom on her own." A chuckle escapes her lips, but she grips her sleeves tightly. "Mom gave Allen and I the jackets that she got from her time in school. Said some of them were Dad's. Allen tries not to wear them too often. Says he doesn't want Dad rubbing off on him." She falls silent, tracing the creases in the purple and gold jacket with her finger. "I wear them for Mom, since it makes her happy to see us wearing them. Allen, though..." The thought trails off, leaving the younger twin to gaze at her counterpart from across the room, oblivious to the conversation taking place.
Chrom places a hand on Angel's, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know a thing or two about horrible dads myself. I haven't exactly been on good terms with him," he murmurs. "Though you know, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I know what it's like."
"...Thank you."
Their heartfelt moment was cut short by the piercing call of a whistle, effectively silencing the band members scattered across the room. The source of the signal was the same golden haired woman that Angel had met when she walked in.
"That's my sister," Chrom whispers to Angel. "She's in charge of the whole band."
That's right, Angel thinks. She mentioned something like that when we walked in, huh?
"Chrom," Emmeryn calls, causing everyone in the room to look at them. "Come over here so we can introduce you and Lissa."
"I'll be back. Don't fall asleep, okay?" He chuckles as he leaves the bass clarinetist to join his sister in the middle of the band room.
"Alright everyone, introductions are in order. My name is Emmeryn, and I am the leader of this band."
Emmeryn then gestured towards Chrom. "This here is my brother Chrom. He will be aiding me throughout the year as the assistant drum major."
At this, some of the upperclassmen whispered to each other, though it was cut short by Emmeryn's gaze. She continued.
"Chrom will be helping with warm ups, scales, marching basics, and other such activities. He is more than qualified for the position, believe me. When the time comes, he will take my place as the main drum major."
Chrom's the assistant drum major...that basically makes him my boss. Oh gods. Aren't we the same age, though?
She then gestured to a teenager with her hair tied up in twin ponytails.
"This here is my sister Lissa. She will be co-section leader for the flute and piccolo section."
At this, the teen's face lit up with a smile, and waved at everyone.
She looks so familiar...I shouldn't think about it too much, though. I don't want to remember another one of those dreams if I have to.
Emmeryn smiled at her siblings, then motioned to the rest of the room. "Section leaders, come forward for introductions."
At this, a few people stepped through the crowd of band students to join Emmeryn at the center.
There were all so unique, each one having their own sense of authority.
"This is Frederick. He will be in charge of the drumline." At this, a brown haired man who looked like he was in his junior year bowed, then stood behind Chrom and Lissa. Angel watched as Frederick's eyes scanned the room. He must be like their bodyguard. Didn't Chrom say his entire family was in marching band? Are they famous or something?
"This is Miriel, librarian and section leader of the clarinets." A woman with glasses and a book in one hand waved, never looking up from her reading. I like her, Angel thought. She probably has this whole thing figured out already.
"This here is Cordelia. She will be the alto and tenor saxophone section leader." A redheaded teen who seemed to be in her sophomore year smiled, her back straight and her posture completely perfect. I can't see any flaws with her, but that can't be everything to her. Something's up. She'd ask later if she felt up to it.
"This is Stahl." At this, Emmeryn pointedly looked at the trumpet section, where a blonde teen with messy hair visibly pouted. She resumed and gestured towards the green haired student next to her. "He will be the section leader of the trumpet section." There's some tension here. I might ask Chrom about it later...wait, is that guy eating? Didn't he eat before he got here?
"Here is Maribelle, the other co-section leader for the flute and piccolo section." A young lady with a closed parasol in one hand stood with a noble aura around her, yet had her other hand intertwined with Lissa's. They must be good friends. I'm not sure how to feel about Maribelle, though… Hmm.
"This here is Anna. She is the treasurer and the section leader of the low winds section. That includes low brass and low reeds." A redhead with the biggest duffle bag Angel had ever seen smiled at the band, in the midst of a transaction between another student. It looks like an entire store is in that bag…
"And finally, this is Olivia. She is our talented color guard captain." Emmeryn motions to a blushing teen with pastel pink hair who is currently trying to cover herself with a flag. She tries to say something, but it comes out as nothing but stutters for the most part. She really seems shy...is that because there are so many people here? I can relate to that.
"Well, I think that's everyone," Emmeryn says. "Now, let's make this a great year! We have a lot of work to get through if we want to beat Plegia High!"
A deafening cheer burst from the room, startling Angel and the other freshmen around the room.
"Time to get to work, everyone!"
If Angel said she was exhausted, that would be a great understatement.
She's sprawled out on the ground, still stubbornly wearing her parents' jacket as she glared up at the blazing sun that drifted across the sky overhead. She can still feel her back damp against the warm artificial blades of grass and bits and pieces of turf.
Angel reaches for her water bottle, crying out pathetically when she realizes it's empty. Her hand drops to the floor as she thinks back to the events of the day.
Emmeryn had personally taken it upon herself to teach the freshmen (along with some shaky veterans who had forgotten or never got it in the first place) to march.
They stood on the yard lines and Emmeryn and Chrom showed them how it was done.
Dear gods, was it difficult. She wasn't sure at first if she could do it, but then Chrom leaned over her shoulder and whispered that she was doing just fine. He had walked away to help out other freshmen but the brief (although one-sided) conversation had boosted her confidence.
Angel also asked about her section leader, but felt down once she heard that there were no other bass clarinets, and that her section would be merged with the low brass section.
She had heard things, sure, but she wasn't sure if this was a good idea.
Emmeryn had told her that she'd figure it out. Angel hopes that she'll like the others.
The bass clarinetist groaned, trying to lick their lips so that they'll maintain some sort of moisture, but the action is futile. She stares back in the direction of the sun, wishing that some rain clouds would drift over them.
Now I get why they asked us to bring water. Ugh…
A shadow came over her, followed by a very concerned Allen. "Gods, sis, are you okay? You look like you're dying."
"It sure feels like it...do you have water?" The words come out raspy and weak.
"I don't have much left," Allen mutters as he looks at his own water bottle. "And those water fountains near the track are being avoided. I think we should stay away from them too."
That's right, the water fountains. It looks like they'll be too hot to drink out of.
"I guess...does Chrom have any?"
"Maybe," Allen responds before he realizes that his sister knew the assistant drum major. "Wait, you met him? What's he like? Did he say anything to you?"
Angel's hesitant to respond now that she thinks back to the dream she had remembered about the blue haired teen in question.
"I... remembered a dream about him. He died in it. I think I killed him, but I had one of the weaponized tomes, not the everyday ones we have. I don't know why I had it. I don't even know what to do about it, especially because Chrom's such a nice guy." Angel trails off, falling silent.
"I don't know what to do."
Allen sits down next to his sister's sprawled out body, making sure his shadow covered Angel's face.
"Listen sis, I don't know what to do either. But that never stopped us. Remember when we left our old home and Mom took us here?"
"Not really," Angel mumbles.
"Well it happened, and we got away from there. We're safe here. Everything will be fine now."
"But what if it isn't?"
"It will be, okay? Now sit tight, I'm going to look for Chrom for you. Maybe there's a wind tome around here that we can borrow."
"...okay."
"Oh come on, she fell asleep."
"Again? Man, your sister really needs to adjust her sleep schedule."
"Well, it's more of her just sleeping whenever she wants, if she ever sleeps at all."
"Wow, so you're really twins, huh? You two look just like each other!"
"Lissa, that's what twins are."
"Yeah, but you know, there are twins that don't look alike either!"
"Come on, let's wake her up."
Angel felt a hand gently shake her shoulder, trying to wake her without much trouble.
"C'mon sis, I got water."
She muttered something and rubbed at her eyes. When she opened them, there was Chrom, Allen, and the two section leaders that she had seen earlier.
"Good morning again," Chrom said, a smile in his voice.