Chapter 1: Like a Breath of Fresh Air, O.O.
Richilieu lay on his bed, sheets ruffled, pillows and comforter thrown off, and eyes, despite his best efforts, stubbornly open. To his side, a metallic night stand stood, wobbling on three of its four feet. On it, a lone digital clock read '0345'. The rest of the room appeared to have been ransacked, rented history books from the local library strewn across haphazardly, having long since given up on any sense of order. His desk, seated directly across from the bed in the relatively tiny 20x15 ft. room, loomed twice as tall as it normally would, having had its height augmented via heaps upon mounds of handwritten essays, books, manuscripts, and whatever else have you. His finely polished wooden floor wept as its brilliance was dulled with piled volumes of books on the occult and magical happenings, as well as many a dictionary, from Oxford to Scientific to Philosophic to Occult, strewn with pages open to the word 'Geass'. In fact, the only segments of the room that seemed to be devoid of literature appeared to be the walls, and, even then, the sill of his now drawn window was not immune to the effects. Needless to say, the past weekend had been quite the study.
All I've been able to discern, despite my best efforts, was that Geass is a product of the Britannian government, and even then I had needed two days and two nights to even gather the information necessary to infer that. But this raises more questions than it answers, namely the involvement of Britannia. How high exactly does this go? A Duke? A Baron? The royal line itself? Dammit, I shouldn't have let her go! That stupid bitch left me high and dry with this Geass, this power that I barely even understand!
This last statement, however, could be taken the wrong way. Richilieu indeed understood a great deal of his Geass, the power to possess another person at will.
Likely a reflection of my ability to read others and establish a false persona of my own. If such is the case, does this mean Zero was always able to order others, since his is most likely the power to command?
This wasn't all he understood, though.
Up to a range of 250 ft., if I make direct eye contact with a person, I may possess them for a period of thirty minutes, maximum, (during which my body remains dormant in a pseudo-comatose state), after which time I return to my body regardless of location or condition. Things such as eye glasses and sunglasses do not hinder my ability, however, I cannot be recorded and possess someone, nor can I do any such thing through a camera. It must be my own eyes that see theirs. I can also safely assume that I need be the only one that sees the other. There is no limit to how many times I may cast it, and I may cast it on any given person as many times as I wish. As well, I may transfer from one person to another in mid-geass, the process of which not resetting the half-hour timer. It also seems that whomever I possess has no recollection of what I've done whilst in their body.
What he meant was that he understood nothing of where it came, why it existed, and how it worked. These were the facts that eluded his ever-curious mind, and these very same facts gnawed at his psyche as a hamster might do a piece of wood. With quite the superiority complex, having always been able to read his fellow man as an instruction manual to their thoughts, this inability to discover irked him to a degree he'd thought himself unable to feel.
Suddenly, a creak. Eyes shooting open even further, Richilieu ignored his basic senses to start, instead remaining in exactly the same position.
The loose board outside the door. Is someone attempting to enter?
A shadow choked the minuscule volume of light that struggled to stray under the door, having itself started once the noise was made. Its owner likely hadn't been expecting evidence of poor maintenance in such a, as one of Richilieu's classmates had put it, 'ritzy' place.
My options aren't varied. If it's a burglar, which is likely the worst reasonable scenario I can infer, it's not suggested that I attempt to converse with him. He'll be resolute if he's a veteran, and panicky if he's a novice; neither case allows me much room to manipulate. However, if I could disguise myself as a-
His thought process was cut off as the door opened, flooding the depressingly devoid of light room with the dim hope of a bulb at the end of its life.
That silhouette. Is it really her?
The flick of a light switch by the fumbling hands of his intruder revealed a young girl, curvacious and busty, with hair as crystal and eyes as the dangerous and mystifying depths of the ocean. Her long coat was coated with water, as well as her hair, and she almost appeared to shiver at the arctic temperatures commonly kept by LeDieu.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't think you'd be awake."
Richilieu, of course, was very much awake. The proof of this could be seen as he, in one fluid motion, stood and stamped over to the girl, angrily demanding, (Likely the result of his defeat by means of lack of information,) of her one query.
"What in the bloody Hell does Britannia have to do with Geass?"
O.O., rather than provide a straight answer, only calmly glanced once around his abode, her mouth resisting the urge to whistle at the impressive volume of material. "I assume this question stems from your amass of information regarding," She casually bent down and retrieved a dictionary, dripping water on the yellowed pages. "Geass?"
"Don't answer my question with a question." This time his voice was more restrained, having gotten over the initial shock of seeing her under such circumstances.
"Then I suppose I can drop a hint, if it'll make things more interesting." She smirked, her snowy teeth barely showing through her lips. Looking up at him and meeting his eyes, O.O. stated, with both malicious taunting and genuine concern in her voice, "Britannia granted me this ability, and, believe me, they did it on purpose."
A grimace formed on Richilieu's lips as he took another step forward, narrowing the space between their bodies to a mere inch. "I had assumed as much."
"Ah, good, then I didn't underestimate you." A giggle from the speaker and a pseudo-growl from the spoken.
"I'm not the first. In fact, there were at least two others before me."
One hundred eighty degrees and the teen was already pacing his room. Almost as quickly as his retreat were his words spoken.
"So it's a secret project?"
"I said a hint."
"How high does it go?"
"I can't say."
"How long has it been happening?"
"I, quite honestly, don't know that one."
"Are you implying that you know the answer to the former question?"
"Oops, guess you caught me there."
Turning around, murderous eyes glared at this young girl who both gave him hope and dashed his ambitions. Just as they were about to shoot daggers, though, his mind suddenly seemed to comprehend the effect that sixty five degrees Fahrenheit could have on damp skin and clothing.
A sigh escaped him rather than the inevitable beratement. "Would you like to change out of your wet clothes? I realize that it's raining."
In fact, he'd never realized the fact. The flying water had been blowing against the opposite side of the dorms, so the not-so-ubiquitous patter of liquid on brick had never met his ears.
"I would, thank you."
She wasted no time. Immediately stripping her jacket, Richilieu's eyes barely had enough time to widen as he forced them to turn away, averting his gaze from the now lifted black shirt and the exposed white bra.
Looking up at his sudden silence, she stifled a chuckle, settling for a conniving smirk. "What, you don't like what you see?" She took off her shirt fully now, tossing it carelessly to the side. Playfully, she meandered over to him, relishing in the sudden power she had over him. Hands on his shoulders and breasts putting an ever-so slight pressure on his back, her voice, barely audible, sounded in his ear. "C'mon, it's nothing you haven't seen before, right? Especially with your particular set of talents."
She had him. She had caught him off guard only to taunt him with his weakness of respect. Was she not above revealing herself to control others? And, for that matter, her voice indicated an enjoyment of the event.
She enjoys this, she enjoys knowing she's better, knowing that she can manipulate me... And she's taunting me with it!
Breaking from her grasp and turning back around, he glared. He would not lose this game, and he would prove to her that he was above such manipulation. He would not be subject to anyone's command, even at the expense of social conventions.
And then, of course, his resolution was broken by the sudden sight of exposed cleavage. His cheeks reddened, and he again turned away, fearful of his primitive lusts.
A genuine laugh escaped her lips as she fluidly turned around, nearly doubling over in amusement. Delicately, she unhooked the bra and let it fall to the ground.
"We're not going to have to do that again with my panties, are we?" It was clear her tone was mocking, not at all attempting to conceal her enjoyment of his torment.
Gritted teeth was his response. I won't be shamed in this way again, O.O....
"Regardless, we can talk in the morning." O.O. spoke, yawning. Richilieu dared a look behind him, discovering that the girl was already in the process of slipping one of his shirts over her head, the neck itself almost exposing that which he had been defeated by. Smirking, she dove for his bed, landing on it with an impressive bounce.
Again, poor Richilieu struggled to argue. "Indeed we can. Off of my bed, please." Carefully maneuvering around the volumes that O.O. had simply stepped on, he eventually made his awkward way over to the side of the bed.
"Nuh uh, to the victor go the spoils." A small chuckle, and O.O. was buried chin deep in his comforter, having already gathered his assorted bedding from the ground adjacent. "And I think we both realize that I won that one."
Gritted teeth met her. "Off my bed, please..."
Disappointed eyes met him. "Aw, c'mon. I haven't had a real bed in a while..." Grabbing her collar and pulling only slightly on it, she threatened to expose herself yet again. Seductively, she continued her argument. "What do I need to do to convince you...?" A finger to her lip only added to the effect, noticeably shaking the normally controlled student. Cheeks reddening, but his mind refusing to let him retreat once again, Richilieu defied at least one of his instincts.
"We can discuss it in the morning. Out."
A pout. "Fine, meanie. But I'll remember this." A threat? Certainly. An empty one? Probably. Throwing the comforter up in the air, not particularly caring where it went, O.O., sighing, delicately climbed off. "I'll be asleep on your couch then. Night." A slam of the door, and she was gone.
Sighing himself, Richilieu lay down on the bed, none of his questions answered, and at least fifty more presented. Nonetheless, he'd at least accomplished something this evening, even if that something had literally thrown itself at his doorstep. O.O. was the most vast source of information he had, and she knew it. However, on the other side of the coin, Richilieu was the most vast source of entertainment she had, and he knew that.
O.O., I can't help but feel our relationship will be a very strained one, despite however necessary it is. Nonetheless, I intend to carry our contract through to the end. I simply pray you do, as well.
---
Ashford Academy was certainly a school for the affluent, whether privileged or otherwise. Despite rank of birth, it was money that allowed one to enter the campus in the end. Of course this inevitably lead to a large supply of nobility, such as Kallen Stadtfeld, Millay Ashford herself, and, of course, (Albeit unbeknownst to his classmates), Lelouch Vi Britannia. However, commoners were not unhead of, and it was in this latter group that, despite his very aristocratic name, Richilieu Marquis LeDieu belonged.
"Rich, yo!"
This, of course, amounted to the lack of respect he received from those that were nobility.
A loud banging sounded throughout Richilieu's entire dorm room as someone slammed on the entrance room door.
"We've got like five minutes, you awake?"
More banging forced open the groggy eyes of Richilieu, who, despite his fatigue, still had the sense to turn his head to the left.
0730? I've only had three and a half hours to sleep...
And then he noticed the far smaller, but far more important, indicator in the lower left corner of the clock.
MON...
"Oh crap!" He shouted, his torso immediately rising, forcing off of it the forearm of O.O., who had apparently slept by the boy's side clad in only a T-shirt three sizes too large. Having no time to even notice her state of under-dress, nor even process the fact that she had apparently crawled into bed with him, he paid her only minor notice as he dashed across the room, literally diving into his closet and forcing on the school's jacket and dress pants, attempting to miraculously put the pair on whilst simultaneously taking his previous wear off.
"Gimme a minute!" He shouted, barely opening doors before sliding through. Jacket unbuttoned, pants half-off, he emerged from his under-decorated living room into the stylized and regal hallway. Portraits hung of emperors past, founders of major institutions, benefactors to the school, and, of course, Lady Ashford herself. Potted plants stood proud on stands at regular intervals in the halls, and the rug stretching its extremities from one end to the other held with it an ornate and intricate pattern in each of the school's colors.
The seriousness of the setting only augmented the hilarity of Richilieu's unprepared appearance. Thankfully for the unranked child, only he who called him was immediately present.
"Bit casual there, eh?" Charles (Named for the current 98th Emperor of Britannia. His family actively sought a promotion in rank, and surely such a passive maneuver couldn't hurt.) remarked, chuckling a bit.
The newcomer was, at least in comparison to Richilieu, fairly built, as one might say. His ancestors having been knights, the son of a Baron was naturally muscular, semblances of tone showing even through the layers of clothing. His facial structure was no exception, and even his jaw looked as if it could take a punch from a golem. Straightened hair carelessly strewn across his face, partially concealing his black eyes, he began his dash down the hall. "Well, c'mon then! Class starts soon!"
Richilieu, however, only sighed, pulling up his pants and casually buttoning his jacket as he strolled down the hall, the soles of his shoes barely audible against the plush floor.
O.O. won't reveal herself; she'd be afraid of ruining the game she's set up. She may not stay in the room, but at the very least she won't reveal that she knows me, nor that she even has a dormitory here. As a best case scenario, she simply will stay put, despite the incredible amount of hope that statement contains. Worst case... Well, worst case is that she'll decide to present me with a challenge.
A worried voice sounded from the end of the hall. "Aren't you at all worried about being late?"
A nonchalant voice responded. "I'm already late. Why rush the inevitable?"
A laugh. "That from one of your philosophy books?"
A chuckle. "That was my own, actually."
Charles, you're far too carefree and nonchalant to be a noble. I suppose that's one reason why I like you, but your honesty is truly what impresses me. There hasn't been a moment since we met that I've observed you in the act of a lie. I've no idea if you're one of the few good people in the world or if you're simply naive, but even if it's, perhaps, a foolish strategic move, I respect you
highly for it.
Others. Kallen, Lelouch, Semore, Millay, and damn near everyone else at this school. They all have something to conceal. Their deception is enough to fool others, but from my omniscient eyes, they can't hide.
A bell sounded. Charles was already far gone, but Richilieu himself had only just emerged from the dorm building. A careless yawn escaped his lips as his feet carried him forward, unwillingly, to Britannian History.
Such a day shouldn't be wasted inside... He pondered, looking around at the serene setting. Green trees, blue sky, pleasantly upkept buildings and gardens; it would certainly pass as remarkable even in the homeland.
"Why was I even in such a rush this morning?" The question was asked aloud to no one in particular, his eyes even averting themselves skyward in a vague attempt to aid the thinking process.
"Heh, I must've deceived myself into thinking I cared. It's the natural reaction when one's late, I suppose, to attempt to rush." Reaching up in a habitual manner, Richilieu attempted to reset his glasses on the bridge of his nose. The only problem, of course, was that his glasses were lacking in presence.
"... Crap..."
Sighing and searching every pocket, it was only a few seconds before the poor boy determined that he'd left them back in his dorm room. Spinning around on a heel, he attempted to face from whence he came, only to come face to face with Millay Ashford. The busty blonde's deceivingly serene eyes playfully glared, disapprovingly, at Richilieu, seeming to pierce his eyes and enter directly his soul. One could say that she had a gift similar to Richilieu's geass, in this manner. Hands were menacingly put on the hips of her heavy green and muted yellow uniform as she spoke.
"Richilieu, c'mon! We're considering you for Student Council, and you can't even be bothered to come to class? We can't afford two Lulus!" Her shrill tone. Even if one understood nothing of what she said, the effect one's ears got was likely the physical equivalent of her beratement.
"I... What?"
And, keeping true to form, the only thing Richilieu had gotten out of that statement was that Millay Ashford was considering him for Student Council. Now, to Richilieu, this meant three things.
First and foremost, it would be a lot of paperwork.
Two, when Millay said, 'considering', she meant, 'planning to kidnap'.
And three, that it would be an excellent opportunity to observe Lelouch further, whom Richilieu had caught some odd body language from whilst the two were viewing a rerun of the Zero Incident in Current Events.
"C'mon, to class you go!" With a firm slap on the back and a guiding hand, Millay somehow managed to lead a somewhat dazed Richilieu to the entrance of the history building before he could break from his thoughts long enough to form a coherent sentence.
"Wait, what are you doing out of class?!" Suddenly he stopped, digging his heels in the ground in a desperate effort to avoid entering the doors to a florescent Hell. "A bit hypocritical, don't you think?" Head desperately snapped back, eyes pleading, Richilieu tried valiantly to use his skills in manipulation.
"I'm actually doing errands for several of the professors. And your excuse?" She smirked in playful victory, daring him to find such a thing. Unfortunately for him, Millay Ashford was infinitely resolute.
"I didn't get much sleep." A sigh and a smirk. This, at least, was an optional defeat, as he'd already deemed it too much effort to go against her steadfast persona now. He'd simply have to resign to his fate of an hour-long lesson in propaganda.
A roll of the eyes and she was at it again. "Guts! C'mon, suck it up! Get in there!" Ever enthusiastic, the sheer force of her eagerness forced the student through the doors and begrudgingly searching for his class number. Waving him off with a tad of mocking, she continued on her way, becoming concealed behind opaque walls.
I just wish she'd let me have my glasses.
---
"Thus, from an aid to escape to a force in and of itself, the knightmare has served Britannia well for the past half-century, saving lives and maintaining Britannian dominance with its superior fire power and maneuverability. Thank you."
Half-hearted applause for the half-hearted report sounded throughout the ears of the students as Richilieu took his seat. The report had been nothing more than a concoction thought up minutes prior, but nonetheless would likely land him a B, at least.
They force so much propaganda down your throat that its no wonder I was able to pull that off. This entire system is a joke.
The classroom followed the example of every other public section of the school. Regal in style, large arching windows, portraits and plants and pottery abound. It wouldn't be surprising, Richilieu pondered, if they'd spent more on decor than on tuition. However, it wasn't the interior design that the student was focused on, nor was it the actual lesson at hand. In fact, it was Lelouch Lamperouge, who also, Richilieu noted, seemed a tad out of his element. Hands interlocked and covering his nose, eyes to the desk, a slump to rival that of Quasimodo; all were indicators of one deeply in thought. Richilieu, however, simply wasn't good enough to determine exactly what it was that troubled him.
His mind is on something, but what I can't say. If I'm to infer from before, however, I'd have to assume it's about Zero. His body language no doubt indicates that he's personally familiar with him, if I'm to trust my prior observations, anyway, but I really don't see how. Surely Lelouch is brilliant, but for a masked terrorist to consult him? Or perhaps this has to deal with his hatred I've noticed of Britannia and its king. Am I misinterpreting familiarity with identification? No, I'd never make such an amateur mistake. I'm no armchair psychologist. But then what? What connection could the two possibly have...?
He... He couldn't actually be Zero, could he? Zero's mask and cloak make it insanely difficult to determine his base characteristics, but from what I've been able to discern about both of their personalities... No, that's too broad a conclusion to even be considered right now. Remain objective; don't jump to conclusions. All I can determine about Lelouch at this point is that he is somehow familiar with Zero. Nothing more, nothing less.
... However, my dilemma can be remedied.
A hand absentmindedly reached upward to conceal his right eye. After all, wasn't this Geass to be used to solve problems he couldn't on his own? To make easy what was once difficult? To make a god out of men?
LeDieu... Well, let's once again prove my family's name correct. Lelouch Lamperouge, all of your secrets will soon be revealed, as not even you will be able to conceal yourself from me.
Yet, even as he thought this, he couldn't help but glimpse from the corner of his eye Lelouch observing him as well, his eyes ever so slightly turned in Richilieu's direction. Though the hidden Britannian royal had little reaction to his tiny display, (A smirk and a hand on one's face, after all, weren't causes for alarm,), Richilieu himself felt that perhaps Lelouch's eyes had opened a bit wider after his cloaking of the eye.