A/N: This is a teaser for something I'm preparing to publish, a test, if you will.
If folks like it, you'll get the full version tomorrow.
If not...well, I tried.
A/N: Coeur planted the idea in my head with his now-infamous "In Your Wildest Dreams" story.
I went a step further with it, decided to full steam ahead and embrace the meme.
Hence why this story is marked as the parody category, of sorts.
We're gonna have a mad time here~! Ergo, this is the Tyrian bit from my fragments of remnant plot in, fully realized and improved at that. You'll see him soon enough, just not in this particular chapter. I spent a week working on this story, re-writing it, perfecting it, embracing chaos, as it were. Hope you enjoy it! The lads and I bandied about working titles like "Since when did I open an orphanage,"or "Protect the little ones", but in the end we voted on this one.
So here we go. The fate of this story depends on you, the reader. Your feedback determines the fate of this tale, and many others.
I'm just a humble author trying to make his way in this wild, wacky, warped world, and stay alive, one word at a time.
As ever, I own no references, quotes, themes or memes. Not a wit or a one. A humble writer am I.
Here we go, once more, into the fray! Remember this is a humorous, parody.
This is meant to make ya'll smile and laugh. Let's have a MAD time~!
Looking forward to your feedback!
Obvious quote is obvious~!
"Mortals. Humans. Faunus. Like little children: always fighting, making a mess out of the things. Then we are left to clean it up. Its tiring. They haven't changed since we left. They never will. Surely you realize this?"
"Perhaps. But just as there is a monster inside all of us, so too, can there be faith. Love. Happiness. Even the most vile of souls can become heroes, given half a chance."
"Bah! Just look at them. They haven't even attempted to collect the Relics in the last thousand years."
Because they are not yet ready for our return. They are our children. Give them time to grow."
"Listen to yourself, brother. That's awfully naive prattle, don't you think?"
"What makes it naive? All I do is for the good of everyone."
"That depends upon your definition of everyone."
"Are you TRULY so afraid of lending a hand?"
"Not at all. I simply cannot see the point."
"Then let us make a wager, brother."
...alright. You have my attention."
"The usual terms, then?"
"You read my mind."
"So let it be."
"...you've already chosen a champion, haven't you...?"
"Whatever gave you that idea...?"
"I know what look! How long have you had him down there?!"
"Only a year."
"Brother! That's unfair!"
"What's the saying the mortals use? All's fair in love and war? He leapt at the chance to help."
"No-good-two-timing...! That's the way you want to play this, eh? SO BE IT!"
"Its your own fault for not choosing a champion earlier...
.
..
...aaaaaand he's gone."
~A Wager Between Brothers.
Gotta Adopt 'em All
Someone terribly Important had come to the orphanage.
Cinder knew they must be some big shot, because the matrons were going absolutely mad in their haste to prepare everyone for their arrival. It was kinda funny, watching the nasty old hags scamper about like chickens with their heads chopped off. All the commotion had the other kids stirred up, and even she wasn't immune to the chaos that had overtaken her so-called home. Against her better judgement, she actually found herself almost cautiously curious about the new arrival, optimistic even.
Maybe today would be the Day.
Maybe she would be chosen.
Maybe, just maybe.
She'd already been passed over these last three years and was nearly nine now; she knew she wouldn't have much longer here.
Most people didn't wanna adopt older kids.
Or Faunus, for that matter.
She'd seen older kids turned out by the matrons for having ears or a tail before, and few faunus parents never came here to adopt anymore. Not after what happened Last Time.
The Matrons were to blame for that.
Cruel old crones they were, offering adoptions to all, yes, but only ever giving children to the highest bidder. Anyone who couldn't pay their exorbitant rates was summarily turned away. Those who argued were beaten by the guards. Those who made a fuss were never seen again. Just thinking about it made her want to say bad words.
Yet she couldn't. Well, she could, but she absolutely didn't dare. They'd wash her mouth out with soap if she was lucky, break an arm if she wasn't, or worse, make her scrub the floors with said arm.
She didn't want to end up like surly Samantha. She'd never healed quite right.
But none of that mattered now, the matrons had rounded everyone up today and demanded they be on their best behavior, which was concerning enough of by itself, given that there were at least thirty of them at any given day.
Sometimes kids ran away. Sometimes they came back. Sometimes they didn't.
One of the old hags had washed her face with a rough cloth that she absolutely hated while another did hair up in those ugly buns she loathed. They weren't even real pigtails, not really, more akin to two tufts of hair held atop her head by tight cords.
She didn't like them. They hurt her, pulled way too tight.
And besides, she liked her hair long and down, thank you very much.
Even if the other kids pulled it sometimes...
.
..
...okay, a lot...
But she'd tolerate it just for today, because she looked like a boy like this; no one adopted girls in Mistral; they always wanted boys. Servants. Laborers.
At least they hadn't tried to make her wear a dress...even if her clothes were a mess.
Today she wore little more than a tattered white tunic with a dirty brown apron sling over it and matching black breeches increasingly covered by hasty patches as she grew older. She only had the one pair after all and the matrons were too stingy to get her another...or new shoes for that matter.
Such were the rules of the orphanage. Only keep what you could carry, or someone would take it from you. They might be rags, but they were her rags, she had fought and scratched and bled for these, and she wasn't giving them up for nothing, let alone some silly girly dress.
Give her shorts and a tunic any day!
Eventually, however, the matrons finally managed to round everyone up and in doing so, distracted her from her sullen musings.
One by one they arranged the tallest orphans to the back, shortest ones is the front, with herself, caught somewhere in the middle of the pack. She knew how she must look. Uneven pigtails, sunken cheeks, bags under her eyes. A messy, weak child. She had always been scrawny and today was no different; a bit of spit-shine could hardly fix that.
The door opened, and a hush fell over the room; she strained on the very tips of her toes with the other kids to see who it might be.
She saw the white coat first.
It covered broad shoulders trimmed with pale silver lapels, the like of which glistened in the afternoon sun, gleaming with other medals besides. Those fancy epaulets were a dead giveaway but it was ultimately the man wearing it who confirmed her initial suspicions.
Cinder sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth at the sight.
Even a grungy orphan like her knew what he was.
What on the remnant was a Specialist from Atlas doing here?
Specialist were elite soldiers, they never left Solitas, let alone Atlas. Or so the rumors went.
They certainly never came to the continent of Anima, let alone an orphanage out in the boonies of Mistral.
Beneath his specialist coat, he wore an orange-on-black vest that matched his trousers. Curiously enough he wore a battered black headband proudly around his neck, the frayed cloth connected to a metal plate bearing an odd leaf symbol, or at least it had, before someone carved a deeply jagged line through the emblem.
For some reason, looking upon it made her feel strangely sad. She wasn't sure why.
He walked at a brisk pace, arms swung loosely at his sides, seemingly leaving him wholly at his ease, but Cinder wasn't fooled. Nor did she fail to notice his weaponry. The man was a walking armory of knives and daggers besides. Holsters upon holsters, belts and bars and sheathes scattered about his chest and sleeves and trousers. What purpose did they serve? Did he throw them? Teleport to them with a semblance, maybe? So strange...
Everyone knew Huntsmen and Huntresses -especially Specialists- wielded all sorts of colorful weapons but these were downright simple. Efficient...
Ignoring his bristling weaponry, she hurriedly took in his appearance.
Despite being armed to the teeth he had a kind, smile, whiskered cheeks, blonde, hair, and bright eyes The latter were a blazing, burning blue, one might even say they were unnatural. They almost seem to glow in her peripheral vision, flickering, as though lit within by a mighty flame. Likewise, his whiskered cheeks were a mystery to her; they were either scars or the marks of a Faunus. She wasn't entirely certain herself. It could've been the former, but may well be the latter for all she knew.
He didn't utter a single word, and yet the Matrons cowered before him like so many mice.
Look upon me, weaklings, his presence seem to say. This is true power. Kneel.
Cinder didn't trust him. Nope. Not one bloody bit.
It was the Smiling Ones you had to watch out for, the Smiling Ones took kids away, and they were never heard from again. Nobody ever came back when they went with a Smiling One. His smile looked kind, but it didn't reach his eyes; like he wasn't quite all...there, somehow; as if he were staring at them from a great distance, seeing them, yet not seeing them. All the while, he kept smiling.
She immediately dubbed this smirking individual the Smiling Man.
That, or the wicked Whiskered Man.
Both titles sound scary enough.
Her stomach roiled with uncertainty as those piercing blue eyes roamed across the assembled children. Unbidden, she found herself shying away from the Specialist, even as a small part of her secretly longed to be seen. He would ignore her like the others surely; choose a tall child, a healthier, child, better behaved child...
"Is this how you run an orphanage?"
Cinder stiffened. His words weren't meant for her she realized, but the matrons.
"Well?" he rounded on the two old crones, arching a blond brow. "Is it?" There was an edge in his voice flicker of anger that promised...she wasn't sure what exactly, but it was definitely there. "I knew it would be bad here, but this is ridiculous." he turned a critical eye on her and yet again, she glimpsed a fleeting flash of fire in his eyes. "Half of these children look like they haven't eaten anything better than bread and the rest look downright horrible. Where's the jungle gym? Where's the orange? Where's the damn Ramen?"
One of the matrons flinched in the face of his cutting words, and dared to speak."We don't have any-
"HERESY!"
He backhanded her, a mighty open-palmed smack sending her reeling back.
Cinder silently cheered.
"Not another word from you!" he jabbed a finger at the other, silently stunned matron before she could muster up her nerve. "This entire orphanage is now property of Atlas, namely, me."
One of the hags sputtered. "You can't! You have no right!"
"Ahaha, but you'll find that I can~!" crowing triumphantly, he ripped a document from his jacket and thrust at the closest crone, nearly knocking her back. "Here's the paperwork. I own this place, now. I've already spoken with the city; you'll find everything's in order. By all means, read it. You'll find it quite legally binding."
Cinder couldn't see its contents -or read for that matter as no one ever taught her- but whatever its contents, the sight of them had the matrons silent as the grave. A ripple of confusion passed through the children, and a few of them even dared to smile at one another with the barest flicker of hope.
Cinder didn't share it.
Why would anyone want to buyout an orphanage...?
No, the Specialist was up to something. What was his game?
In the absence of their protests, the Smiling Specialist began to inspect the lot of them one by one, from the oldest child to youngest. He asked them a great many questions, some of which she understood, much of which she didn't. Things like their names, likes, dislikes, favorite foods, that sort of thing.
It was agonizing. Not simply the standing, but the waiting, the realization that eventually it would be her turn.
Her heart began to hammer in her chest. Sweat beaded upon her brow.
Cinder squirmed in place, unable to endure. "Hurry up already...
Without warning the Smiling Specialist rounded on Cinder.
How had he heard that?!
Before she could even think to blink or flee, he stood before her. She hadn't even seen him move. What was he..?!
"Everyone outside." his voice rang clear and strong. "Run along now."
The matrons needed no further excuse; they scarpered, and most of the other kids went with them.
Cinder made to follow them.
"Not you."
Meep.
"Hello, there." Much to her chagrin the Smiling Specialist crouched down before her and blocked her path, blue eyes twinkling ever so slightly. "Who might you be?"
She tucked her chin into her chest and refused to look at him. "No one."
"No one, hmmm?" He chuckled at her, "Strange name for a girl. How old are you?"
Damnit, he knew.
Golden eyes sought the floor. "Twelve."
He gently flicked her forehead. "Don't lie, now."
Horsepiss. How could he tell? Was it a specialist thing?
Reluctantly, she raised her gaze to meet his "...I'm nine."
His eyes lit up. "Is that so?"
An ember of curiosity sparked in her wary ashen heart. "Are you here to adopt someone?"
"I'm actually here on a mission." he replied. "I'm looking for someone. Hunting a target, really. She's known to frequent this orphanage." there it was again, that gleaming grin. "I figured it would be easier to just buy the whole place up, wait her out, and take her down."
Oh. That meant he wasn't here for her, then. Or anyone, really. Her heart clenched in her chest. "Alright...
"Would you like to leave this place?"
The sudden question floored her. She stared at him. "Why?"
"Skittish little thing." He blew out a sigh. and belatedly she glimpsed a fresh flicker of fire in his eyes. "If it's names you're after, I'm Naruto. Formerly of the Leaf, presently of Atlas."
Cinder was a clever girl; she picked up on the way he said that, presently, almost like he didn't intend to linger for long. "Weird name."
He tilted his head and squinted at her, rather reminding her of a fox. "Mind tellin' me yours?"
...Cinder."
Aaaand there we go. As ever, reviews keep me alive. Without them, I cannot write.
So...in the Immortal Words of Atlas...Review...Would You Kindly?
Hope you enjoyed this, and may your day be filled with lots of luck!
See you all tomorrow, one way or another.
Warm regards,
~Nz.