Journey to the East // Book One

[Deleted]

and maybe one day you'll

CHAPTER - 01

everything you touch surely dies

"Mustang, Quirrit."

Somewhere in the back of the classroom, a soft voice answered.

Moments later, the professor called on him: "Sinclair, Phineas."

Finn answered the call.

"Son, Gomen."

A voice filled with mirth and glee twisted itself into a near cackle and cracked the air with its monkey-like chirp. "Son Gomen, is here! THE One and Only of Mount-"

"Sura, Tiami," the professor said, cutting through Gomen's fantastic tirade.

Finn was already looking at Gomen when Tiami answered the professor's call. At first captivated by how odd the boy looked, with his five-o'clock shadow and his bushy sideburns, Finn's attention shifted towards Tiami once she spoke. Her distant voice seemed to draw his attention like a vacuum drawing in air and storing it up. Something about her felt earthy; and since she tucked herself within her hoodie, even hiding her rose-colored hair within the body of her jacket, she was also covered with mystery. She wore finger-less gloves, too. Which he thought was pretty neat. It gave her an I-can-kick-your-butt-in-forty-different-ways sort of feel, even despite her apparent cowardice. Mostly, though, Finn was attracted to her pale-yellow skin. He was curious about its texture, wondering if she'd feel like a rock, or a plant or a cat or a human, if he touched her.

"Ininka?"

At the sound of the professor's voice, Finn became self-aware. He remembered where he was, and that it was impolite to stare, so he settled back into his seat. He missed Tiami's shifting gaze, from her desk to him, and failed to even notice that Gomen had been shifting his gaze between the both of them, the entire time. And that the professor had called out Ininka, and his sister because they were talking.

"Isishu . . ."

The girl snapped to attention, like the perfect soldier, and that was the end of that.

The importance of some of the names on the roll call escaped Finn. Son Gomen, Mustang Quirrit, Oda Ninigi, Sura Tiami, Asura Isishu and Asura Ininka—he had no clue, just how much weight those names carried; however, the name were certainly pretty, so he definitely bothered to remember them.

There was Son Gomen, Mustang Quirrit, Oda Ninigi, Sura Tiami, Asura Isishu, Asura Ininka. Son Gomen, Mustang Quirrit, Oda . . .

He shook his head.

Oda . . . Ni-ni—

"Alright. Everyone is here, except two. That is unfortunate, but for you who were diligent enough to make it here, and on time, I am Professor Tolkien, Head of the Literature Department for ASG, and, for the rest of the year, your homeroom adviser."

Finn held his fingers to his temples and tried to remember the other names. But he kept stopping at Oda; which was weird, considering that he remembered Tiami. Sura Tiami, he clarified. He tried his hardest to remember, so hard that it felt like he was squeezing his brain just to get the information out. But it was like squeezing a lemon that had no lemon juice inside of it.

"Mr. Sinclair."

Finn looked up, and the pain disappeared.

"Do you need to see the nurse?"

"No, sir. I only bear the wei—"

" 'No, sir' is fine enough, Mr. Sinclair. No excuses."

Finn nodded. "Yes, sir."

It suddenly felt as if the class was staring at him. He leaned forward and buried his gaze into the cover of his notebook in an attempt to ignore it. That didn't help much.

"Eyes up front, people," Professor Tolkien commanded. Finn looked up as he was told; however, he lowered his eyes again when they met with the professor's knowing gaze. The Professor allowed it. "I understand that some of you probably don't like to read. By that, I mean all of the official documents that ASG gave you, to inform you about the school. I was the same way at your age, so—" the professor shrugged. "For you who share my lack of jurisprudence: You will not have classes, at all, today. After homeroom-which ends in about forty-five seconds-you'll be escorted to the gymnasium for student-orientation. School policy favors a stress free introduction to the environment, which basically means that they want you to feel good about yourselves. You'll have the entire day to explore the campus, to sleep, to form friend groups, to etcetera. Have fun."

Just moments later, the bell rang. Finn waited for the room to empty, before he moved. He sat there, still trying his best to remember those names. He remembered Sura Tiami, and Son Gomen, and Mustang, but . . .

"I understand that you're a Westerner, but it isn't exactly good to look like one."

Finn followed the stale-but-alluring voice until he found the face to match it. She was pretty, and had long silver hair.

"This is my twin brother, Ininka," the girl said. The slim-and-cheery silvered-haired boy who stood beside her waved. "He likes, you, I think. At least, he was interested enough to want to speak."

"Shut up, Isis . . ."

The girl acknowledged her brother, but her face lacked emotion, even as she looked at him. "He calls me Isis—"

"And she calls me Inki—"

"But my real name is Isishu. Call me Isishu, if you talk to me. I won't answer to anything else." Finn nodded. "This is what I came to say: For his sake—" she motioned to Inki—"stop looking so lost. Learn to fit in."

"And what if he doesn't?" said Son Gomen, his unusual chirp blasting into attention.

"You can't tell?" Inki asked. "I think it's obvious."

"I wasn't talking to you—"

"What might be the particular meaning of your implication, Mr. Asura?" Finn asked. He noticed that the remaining students were all staring at him. Wondering if he said something wrong, he dropped his gaze.

"Inki means that you're very vulnerable. And an easy target for anyone who wants to take advantage of you," Isishu explained.

Son Gomen scoffed at that. "Like you two?"

"My brother is simply concerned—"

"About what? His sex-stick? Its obvious that he just wants something."

"Just like its obvious that you want something, too," Isishu retorted.

"Right. But what I want derives from a crippling sense of obligation that birthed itself from my terribly terrible sense of very low self-worth. That's much better than your brother's raging hormones, I like to think."

"Are you saying that you will protect him, instead; and keep him safe?"

Son Gomen stopped to think. "Yeah. Matter of fact, I will."

"Then, he is in good hands, Son of Huaguo," Isishu concluded. "Inki, we should leave him."

Inki bit down on his teeth. He looked like he wanted to say something. Like he wanted to fight, even. But a sudden wave washed over the room and settled the atmosphere. Every head turned towards the source of the wave, to where Professor Tolkien stood, leaned against his desk.

The professor cleared his throat. "We should all leave, rather, Ms. Asura-Mr. Son, Mr. Asura, Ms. Sura, Mr. Mustang: We're about a good minute or so behind everyone else. Line up at the door, please."

---

(decided to keep these little tidbits below, even they're old)

Of course, comments and criticisms and suggestions are always welcome. I've never written anything so short before; and I've never winged anything, before; so this is a first. I might have to revise it, even.

Writing this was much harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I lost a bit of my original idea, in translation, because this chapter felt so tricky. However, I really like the characters, and feel like I portrayed them near-perfectly, so it should improve as the characters begin to dictate what happens. Anyway, I hope that this was the least bit enjoyable, at least!! (Please, love me D:)

@tagged, words, notes, etc.

EDEN OF GS.

[Deleted]

and maybe one day you'll

CHAPTER - 02

everything you touch surely dies

(i may have to revise this.)

Finn closed his eyes. He slid his hands across his bedsheets, combing through their texture with the pads of fingers. In his mind, his hands rubbed against an idealized version of human skin; of dark and soft and silky black skin. The pads of his fingers combed out the stranger's pain, and at the same time, encoded the texture of the stranger's affection into memory. He felt that softness wrap around his body until he was comfortable and okay with where he was. Until he was so uncomfortable that he snapped back to attention and wished that he could remember that person. But this was the most that he ever obtained from himself—just random snippets that triggered because of the most random stimuli. He was left thinking about the softness of his sheets, and little more. The softness of his sheets, and the residue of forgotten pleasures on his fingertips.

The corners of his mouth, for a moment, hitched. He press his fingers against his lips, found himself wondering about the memory (like, how could he be sure that he wasn't making things up as he went along, and creating false memories just to appease himself?), and shook himself of the feeling that the world around him was fake. Because it wasn't. It was real. Everything was real—he . . . just . . . he couldn't remember. That was all: He was just unable to remember his past.. And according to the man who had adopted him, that was a blessing. "If you could remember," his guardian had once admitted, out of pity, "you probably wouldn't know how to live."

"I already lack the necessary capacity for existence, to any human degree of the term," Finn had said. To which, Bryan, his guardian, had nodded, saying, "That's my point, Phineas."

He shrugged his shoulders, remembering something else that Bryan had told him: That the only thing that mattered was that he recorded whatever felt like a memory, to him, in a journal; to date it and to express that truth in his own words. It didn't matter if his memories were false. It would all be sorted out, with him, until the truth was pieced together. His job was just to document. Not to worry, not to question; just to document. That was all that mattered. So Finn removed a clean and pristine journal from his bag and wrote. Somehow, he used up the whole of the front page.

"Eh! What? were you gonna stay in here, all day?"

Finn jumped, then, clenched his journal; then, he slammed the book shut. That monkey-chirp was just too piercing . . .

When he looked up, he saw Son Gomen walking into the room alongside Mustang Quirrit. Finn turned his attention to Mr. Mustang and said, "Would it be of accurate prudence to assume that you, and not he, are my roommate?" For the second time that day, he was glared at, as if he had something wrong. He gripped his wrist, in response, and said, "I . . . express much remorse, if I have, thus far, been offending against some predetermined order. I mean not to bring affliction against anyone's pride, nor is it my intent to affront another person's manner of living . . ."

Son Gomen looked at Mustang Quirrit, as if he were trying to decipher a foreign language—as if to say, What is this sorcery? It was only once Finn became droopy that Son Gomen changed his attention. That familiar chirp filled the air, causing Finn to jump, again: "You're making me feel bad, dude."

Finn rubbed his arm, not knowing what to say. He had already apologized.

"Um, how did you know that I was your roommate? And not him?" said Mustang Quirrit.

Finn seemed to perk up, then. He explained, in his idiosyncratic manner of speech, that it seemed to be the only reasonable conclusion. If Son Gomen had been his roommate, he said, then, there would have been no reason for Mustang Quirrit to tag along. Which was to say that it made more sense to believe that Son Gomen had approached Mustang Quirrit and asked to tag along, after learning his dorm number, as opposed to believing that Mustang Quirrit had befriended Son Gomen and been invited to the room, or otherwise.

For some reason, Son Gomen laughed at that. "Did you just say that Mustang sucks at making friends?"

"Uh . . ."

"It was a joke," Mustang said, his voice still as soft as ever.

"But . . . you blushed . . . ?" Finn stated. After that, Mustang's blush seemed to deepen, and a smile tugged at his still countenance.

"He's clueless, right? Super-weird, right? I thought that it was just me," Son Gomen said to Mustang. Mustang shook his head, and his smile seemed to dwindle, a bit. Son Gomen didn't seem to notice that, but Finn did. "Sure, it was a joke; but it was also true," Son Gomen added. "Mustang sucks at making friends, and that's why he blushed. You exposed him."

Mustang shook his head, again. "Douchebag . . ." Son Gomen shrugged. "You can call me Quirr, by the way. I prefer Quirr," Quirr said to Finn.

"And stop calling me 'Son Gomen'. What the hell, dude? Just say Gomen. You get it? 'Go-men'. You sound like a robot or something."

Finn nodded. "Quirr. And Gomen. My nickname is Finn."

Gomen shook his head. "We really have to teach you how talk. You can be weird, but that's just too weird. It's like you were, as the Westerners say, born yesterday. But literally."

"You chirp like a monkey, though," Quirr pointed out.

"That's not the point—"

"And you were ragging on the Asuras, earlier, for trying to change him."

"Fuck you, guy," Gomen said. "Hypocrisy makes the world work. All I'm saying is that he's gonna get bullied, if he keeps talking like that."

"So, the Asuras were right, then?" Quirr said.

Gomen shook his head. "I don't wanna fuck the guy. I just wanna help him."

Quirr shrugged. "He speaks fine, to me."

"That's cause you're a weirdo, too."

"And you chirp like a monkey—"

"I chance to assume that to be the quandary, then, yes? That the reason that I obtain awkward stares upon speaking is because of my abominable diction?" Finn said.

There was an awkward silence. Finn lowered his gaze.

"Who's the hypocrite, now?" Gomen said. When Quirr failed to respond, Gomen continued. "Anyway, that is exactly the reason. It's like you're three-hundred and seventy-two, man. It's not cool. At all. So we just have to teach you how to talk. Like a normal, prepubescent fifteen year old."

"Your sideburns and face-stache are nothing to brag about," Quirr said. Which made Finn giggle.

"What the hell!" Gomen jumped back, as if he was startled. "He giggles! Oh my fuck, we're gonna die."

They all laughed, then.

"He's not a serial killer, Son," Quirr said.

Gomen shrugged and said, "He could have fooled me. He was staler than a box of old crackers, at first. Anyway, Finn never answered my question."

"What inquiry might it be that you—"

"Were you planning to say in here, all alone, all day?" Gomen asked.

He nodded.

"Hm, I guess that's fine," Gomen said. "What if I told you that Tiami wanted to meet us, to tour the school, though? Would you go?"

He nodded, again.

"I will stay here," Quirr said. "I have to unpack and stuff."

"Lucky me," Gomen said. He walked over to Finn and grabbed his wrist. "Lucky us. Come on, Finn."

Finn had just enough time to toss his journal onto his bed. Next moment, the door was closing behind him.

---

Of course, comments and criticisms and suggestions are always welcome. I've never written anything so short before; and I've never winged anything, before; so this is a first. I might have to revise it, even. (Please, love me D:)

@tagged, words, notes, etc.

[Deleted]

and maybe one day you'll

CHAPTER - 03

everything you touch surely dies

(i have to revise this)

"So far, do you like me?"

Finn scraped the bottom of his shoes, before stopping just where he stood. He fixed his gaze on Gomen, who had suddenly become a canvas, to him. A canvas upon which Finn brushed images of distance and loneliness, and the desire for acceptance; accompanied by images of hostile males and indifferent females, all projections from his brief tenure as a student of both private and public schooling. This image confused him. He was unsure how to interpret it.

"I-"

So, he stopped himself before he could begin, nodding his head, instead.

Apparently, that was the end of the discussion. The two walked in silence after that. Finn wanted to ask if he had said something wrong, but he knew that would only worsen things, whether those mysterious "things" were good things or bad. He was unsure; but he knew that Gomen hated his diction, so he refused to speak. Or, rather, he was afraid to speak. Around Gomen, at least. Just the thought of it curled his fingers, and charged his hands with lukewarm energy.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, and soon began to wonder if what he was feeling was normal. The two had only just met, but Finn was already afraid to lose Gomen.

"You feeling good?" Gomen asked.

Finn nodded.

"Really? Cause you look sort of like you did, earlier, in class."

He nodded, again.

Gomen scratched his face-stache. "Why aren't you talking?"

Finn shrugged.

"Well, if it's because of what I said earlier, then, you're an idiot."

Finn slowed himself; then, he shifted his gaze towards Gomen. As silent as before, he searched Gomen for some kind of an answer. For the first time, though, Gomen was beginning to emerge as an enigma, to him.

"You're so helpless . . . Just don't do that with Tiami. She isn't expecting you to come along with me, and if you do that, it'll leave a bad impression," Gomen said.

Gomen had lied? So, Tiami wasn't interested in meeting him, after all. So, what were they doing?

Finn wanted to think that he was walking into some sort of set-up, and that he was only five steps away from an ambush, but he couldn't bring himself to believe that Gomen was such an evil person. It seemed more likely that he had a good reason for doing whatever he was he was doing. It was more like he believed that his actions would be proven by their results, and that anything else was irrelevant.

That was what Finn sensed, anyway.

He fixed himself to question Gomen, but anxiety held his vocal chords stiff, and nothing came out. He dropped his head, and stayed that way for the rest of the walk, unaware of Gomen's worried gaze. He was too busy figuring out a new way to speak to notice.

In the distance, Tiami stood within the school garden, off to the side; a golden-haired girl took up all of the immediate eye-space, so that Tiami was more like the edge of a person's backside just barely poking around a distant corner. When Gomen announced his arrival, the two separated. Conflicting actions occurred, then: Tiami gave an approving look towards Gomen (Finn could just read her "O mighty son of Huagao" through her eyes) and a more skeptical one to Finn, but the older, golden-haired girl did the opposite. The problem? Finn didn't care what Golden Hair thought. Tiami, on the other hand, had caused a deep pain to flare within him, so he stopped at the garden's entrance, just outside the gate.

Again, he fixed himself to speak-to say to Gomen that he should return to his room-but again he was silent. Was it rude to just walk away?

"You brought company."

"I brought a friend."

Tiami stared at Finn, as if he were an abstract painting. Like he were something to be figured out. She looked at him like Bryan looked at him, and like every other agent of his country's investigation bureau. "You trust him?" she asked.

What did she know?

"You're acting like we're throwing a coup!-"

"We're doing worse, actually-"

"Shut up, Tia. You worry too much, about stupid stuff," Gomen snapped. The statement seemed like Gomen's regular humor, to Finn, but his opinion changed when Tiami lowered her gaze. At that point, he turned to Gomen, whose expression stilled, even though Finn's eyes were unassuming, and filled with the trust that Gomen was too good to spite a friend, on purpose.

Gomen apologized,then, correcting his words by instead telling Tiami to "just be nice". She nodded, and the two sat down across from one another. Finn remained standing near the garden's gate.

"Is he just going to stand there?"

"You just gonna stand there?" Gomen asked him.

His chest tightened.

"That's a yes," Gomen said. "What did your sister want?"

Tiami shook her head. "I might talk about it. Maybe. Not here, and certainly not with him around. I can't risk word spreading."

Finn's right foot slid backward.

"Tia. Stop acting like that."

"Shut up."

Then, his left foot.

"What's the point of us even doing this, then? If you're just gonna act like your parents-"

"That's not even-"

Finn stepped on a leaf, and the conversation stopped. Both Gomen and Tiami turned towards him, but neither one spoke. What did they expect him to do?

He waited for an answer, but none came. At least, there were no words. There was, instead, the voice Gomen's sudden dullness, and the song of his sigh-and the rhyme of Tiami's damaged gaze as it settled upon Gomen, and the frustration that lined her features once her eyes returned to Finn.

It was the pain of adolescence, not knowing what to do, and not wanting to change anything. Waiting, for the fear of the worst, in the case of normal people. But, in the case of Tiami, Gomen, and Finn, it was the more subtle fear of making things worse, of being the reason that things fell apart, that accommodated such an awkward silence.

"No one spoke of an after-assembly get together." The foreign voice was accompanied by a foreign touch that pressed upon Finn's shoulder. "The air seems dry, though, so I assume a less than extravagant morning?"

Finn-he said, "Hi."-and it made no sense to him, why he suddenly spoke. So calmly, and so readily. But there was an energy vibrating within him that seemed to loosen his inhibitions, like molecules vibrating through the stages of matter. When he asked himself "why?", the words of the stranger reentered his mind, and he found himself taken with the female's cadence. So bold, measured, and strong, and so pressing-her charisma changed the atmosphere, completely. Answer: The stranger felt, to him, like the opposite of Gomen: Finn was utterly comfortable.

"Hello to you, too, my foreign friend. My name is Oda Kamui. You can call me Kamui. Kam. Mimi. Anything that you desire," Mimi said.

"Mimi." Finn chose the name, instantly. It made him tickle. And when Mimi smiled at his choice, he giggled, for the second time that day.

Then-"Mimi? And Nini? I chance to assume relations of familial likeness between yourself and Oda Ninigi, yes? Are you two sisters?"

Then-"Oda Kamui!-you were one of the two students missing from the roll call, in home room?"

Mimi smiled, again. Finn felt as if he had finally done something right. "Right on, actually," Mimi said. "And can you guess who this is?" she asked, pointing to the short boy beside her.

Finn thought hard. So hard that Gomen coughed, interrupting the brain-splitting ritual. As the pain behind Finn's eyes fell, so did all of his comfort. When he remembered his abnormality, he turned an apologetic gaze towards Gomen, and that was when he noticed Tiami, guard raised and tension high as she watched the conversation between himself and Mimi. Naturally, Finn blamed himself, and retreated from Mimi, but Tiami stayed her ground, ahead of Gomen, one foot extended so that her thigh crossed over the image of Gomen's legs.

"Trouble . . . Altercation? Altercation!: This is not my patron's cause, with you two?" said Mimi's compatriot, his voice bigger than his body. But, even then, there was much to his tone, and much behind the boy's rounded and elegant pattern of speech. Much that unsettled Finn, because it all reminded him of himself-that despite the beauty of his voice and the strength of his tone, the young boy spoke his words as a question, searching Mimi's expression for approval. It was as if he had a dictionary of words within his mind, but no idea how to put them together as a functional human being would. Which, perhaps, was just a projection from Finn, but he felt that he was right. "Interrogation: That is her hope, from this encounter."

Mimi ruffled the boy's hair, and he smiled. "Not quite an 'interogation', but yes, questions. Gossip. Answers and knowledge. We don't have any friends, but we wanted to talk about the assembly. Isaiah was the one who spotted you three-he really likes to meet new people."

Isaiah's smile became a toothy grin, as if he were proud of his proclivity. It was sweet, and returned comfort to Finn, who spoke up: "Isaiah. Mimi. I am Finn. Formally known as Phineas Sinclair. Legally, rather. Your company is much appreciated-"

"Don't speak for us," Tiami snapped. "No one invited them."

"Friendship: Sometimes, if not the vast majo-"

"She wasn't talking to you," Gomen said, which caused Isaiah to falter. The boy's mirth disappeared as he retreated behind Mimi's thigh. He went back to being silent, like a flip had switched in his mind. Worse was that Tiami now shared, towards him, the same attitude that she gave Finn.

No one seemed to notice Finn's discomfort, at the sight of that. But, only he could feel the growing itch on his brain's surface. So, he kept quiet, and actually fought, for once, a rising memory.

"And he wasn't talking to you. Nor you to me. Yet, we spoke. And in defense of another, yes? Might it be that, between myself, you, Tiami, and Isaiah, Izzy was the only one who was concerned with Finn's well-being? And that Finn, likewise, was the only one amongst your group who was concerned about Izzy?" Mimi said. "And about myself?" That was the first time, since home room, that Gomen had been silenced. And Mimi continued: "Perhaps, we could learn much from these pure hearts. So, will we talk, or should we leave?"

The way that her gaze shifted, Finn assumed that her last question was directed towards him, mostly. He said, "It was my hope that this event would liven up my day, but your punctuation was my only relief. If you must abort your stay, might I seek your company, back to my room?"

"No," Gomen said. "You're not leaving with them."

"Actually-"

"Tia. Shut up." Gomen advanced. "We'll have to talk about your attitude, later, girl." He stopped beside Finn and stared Mimi in the face. "He's staying; I invited him. You came; he invited you. Let's make this event special, then, yeah?"

Without words, Tiami left the garden. Mimi and Isaiah entered, and Finn followed. When everyone sat down, Gomen apologized for Tiami, adding that she would ease up overtime.

"I understand," Mimi said. "It isn't easy to come from families like ours. When a name means so much, it messes with one's spirit. Trust me, I know." She turned to Isaiah, then, saying, "Fortunatelty, Izzy is adopted, and your friend is divorced from this stuff-but we all bear the weight of someone's name. To some degree. I think so, at least."

"Eh, I don't think so hard about stuff. Stuff like that, at least," Gomen said.

"What about the assembly, then? Those words that were spray painted in black and red, on the walls, after the program ended? That was exciting," Mimi said.

"Sure," Gomen said, "but it may have been just a prank." Mimi gave him a look that said, is that really what you think? Gomen laughed. "I like to imagine that it was legit. Just to see the reaction of the SBG-they're pricks. They gave us shit-face just cause we were escorted by our professor, rather than them, like everybody else. And we were on time. Asswipes."

"Ah, so poetic justice would have been your motive?"

"If I had done it, maybe. Unfortunately, I'm not crude enough for that."

Finn retreated from the conversation, at that point. Closing his eyes, he struggled against the ache in his brain, somehow knowing that he didn't want to see the memory that was trying to surface.

"What about you?"

Finn wobbled into consciousness, then. "Um . . . "

"The words? What do you think-" Gomen stopped. "Finn? You okay?"

"Yes." But, the ache in his mind, unlike the pain behind his eyes, remained even after his attention shifted. It begged his attention, even; held it fast.

It wasn't normal. And the more that Finn focused on the ache, he noticed that it was not arising, but pressing. It was foreign and forceful and invasive, and would not take no for an answer. It squeezed his mind as if squeezing a lemon that had no juice, but so adamantly that it kept squeezing anyway. Until the meat had gushed out, and the rind had split, and the lemon was a scrambled mess of stuff in its hand.

No matter how hard Gomen shook him, Finn wouldn't wake up.

---

Of course, comments and criticisms and suggestions are always welcome. I've never written anything so short before; and I've never winged anything, before; so this is a first. I might have to revise it, even. (Please, love me D:)

@tagged, words, notes, etc.

[Deleted]

and maybe one day you'll

CHAPTER - 04

everything you touch surely dies

(i will have to revise this)

Heel, ball, toes, big toe-step.

Left foot.

Heel, ball, toes, big toe-step.

Step number sixty, as he walked to and fro, grabbing clothes out of his bag, unfolding them, checking the creases, refolding them, and storing them within his side of the dresser that he shared with Finn.

To his left, a wall; large, two windows. Overlooked the rear of the school, where the courtyard was, and the recreational courts and fields for outdoor sports. To his right, the door to their room, tucked within a narrow hallway that was purposefully designed to hide the room until the students reached it's end.

Quirr knew that ASG designed the hallway for aesthetic reasons, and there was beauty to be found in it; but it created a choke point that unnerved him. He was so good at hiding his feelings, though, that Son failed to notice how claustrophobic he had felt when they entered the room together.

Rather, no one had noticed him, period. Not even Finn, who seemed so sharp, compared to everyone else. A creepy kid, but he certainly caught Quirr's attention.

He was adorable.

But Quirr shook the thought. There was little room within his mind for pleasant thinking.

He was trying his best to fold his anxiety away, one piece of clothing at a time. To steady his breathing and purse his control-but it was harder now that he was alone-when he had no one to hide from, and little reason to feign confidence. Because for him, ASG was more than just a school. It was a refuge, and yet a battlefield. And it frightened him to know that, whether he won or lost, he would probably never really win.

Heel, ball, toes, big toe-step.

That was the last of his clothing. Next were the things from his two backpacks-books, action figures, stuffed animals, underwear, and the accessories that he used to hide the Mustang family crest, burned into his hand. He wore gloves, at the moment, but preferred wrapping and sleeves because he liked to wear short-sleeved shirts. But, for the first day, he decided not to draw too much attention to himself.

Heel, ball, toes, big toe-step.

His favorite heroes stood on his bedside table, overlooking the room from all angles. In his bed, three bears sat in front of an assortment of pillows, and the room finally felt cozy. Safe, he heard his sister's voice say. It feels safe, not cozy. And she was right-under his sister's guidance, Quirr had learned to use his Power to turn his toys into sensory units. He could use them all to spy and record, with great effectiveness, making them into tools of the trade. Efficiency-nothing can ever be, without reason: Your toys may have sentimental value, but they must be practical, as well. If not, you must discard them. By the age of twelve, he had done exactly that.

Her voice had been inside his head, ever since he entered Professor Tolkein's classroom. Ever since his eyes settled on Finn, who was so much unlike everyone else that it was tangible. It was like what he imagined standing in the presence of God to be like, just so fundamentally different from any earthly being that it could be readily sensed. That was Finn. But the voice in Quirr's head said "no", to stray from him. That he should not dare play hero. So, he didn't. And when the chance arose to deny the company of Son and Finn, that voice convinced him to take it. And now, he fought the urge to regret that decision. He was a Mustang, he told himself. That was as good as being a curse. Especially when there were bound to be students at ASG who had been afflicted by a Mustang, in some way. And in the East, history never died. If Finn became his friend, he'd be an easy target for anyone who wanted to spite Quirr, just as Quirr was an easier target for anyone who may have wanted to spite any of his older siblings. He wanted to convince himself that it was better for him to be alone, for that reason, but if he held to that opinion, what was the point of fighting so hard, anyway?

Then, the image of one his older brothers, Quinnit J. Mustang, who was one of his sister's triplets, formed within his mind, and a new guilt tugged at his stomach.

Quinn was actually the Mustang family's first prodigal. He was the first to abandon the family profession in search of something better, and decided to attend ASG. Quirr had decided to do the same, for Quinn's sake, but now, so easily, he had someone turned the focus towards himself. As if being at ASG had anything to do with him, anyway.

A knock against the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Who is it?" When a woman's voice said "room service", Quirr shook his head. "Please leave." No footsteps. Anger bothered his fingertips, so he spoke again: "I don't care what Dad told you. Just leave. Please."

When the doorknob rattled, he knew which of his siblings his father had sent. Even the worst Mustangs could pick a lock without noise, until the inevitable click: And only one of his siblings liked to play games like these.

Quizzit Q. Mustang, Quirr's favorite sibling, after Quinn, and his closest brother, ever since Quinn stopped talking to him. Which may have sounded like a good thing, but Quizz scared everyone, even their great-grandfather, the Patriarch.

The current moment was the best example why. Just by rattling the doorknob, Quizz had revealed every bit of knowledge that he wished Quirr to have. It was enough to cause Quirr to panic, and to fear, but not enough to actually Quizz's intent. Quirr was simply harming himself.

"Fuck him!" The words carried Quirr's tears through the door, and the rattling stopped. "Tell him to come down here, himself! Tell him how much I hate him, and that I want to claw his guts out of his stomach. That I'll kill anyone who he sends to take me back." And that was what Quizz wanted. His game was to get Quirr to play their father's game, which was to see just how sharp Quirr really was. If he had lost his edge even a little. But Quizz was never that simple; so Quirr assumed something else, too; that his brother wanted to see just who he would choose to be.

"I'm not going back, Quizz. You can't make me."

Murder was the Mustang way, so how would Quirr escape the situation? If he fought, he would lose. But fleeing when victory wasn't certain was also the Mustang way. So was manipulation. So was hiding, and deception. So, what sort of man could he be, if he really wanted to flee his heritage?

That was the riddle, Quirr thought.

The doorknob clicked, and he stepped backward. The choke point squeezed all life out of Quirr's confidence, until he found his breaths too short and twisted. Then, the door opened before he could get even halfway towards the the choke point's end. He was stuck.

An old lady of fair-skin stepped in, holding a briefcase. She bypassed him. When he turned around, she was dusting off his dresser.

"Can you stop?" he said.

She stopped, and looked towards Quirr. She seemed to measure him. "Those are very cute toys that you have there. Who bought them for you?"

"This isn't funny. Stop."

"Perhaps, you misunderstand me, son," said the crone. "I do not joke. My question was fairly serious. Understand that, please?"

Quirr wiped his eyes. "My brother. I have many of them, but I've only ever connected with two. Quinn and Quizz. Though, Quinn doesn't speak to me much, anymore-not since he started working so hard to come to this school. When I was feeling bad about that, Quizz started to bond with me more. He was the one who bought me the toys."

"Hm. He must love you, a lot?" the woman asked.

Quirr shook his head. "I don't know."

"Explain."

"He . . . Trusting my family-it's like . . . Mustangs aren't reliable people. Trusting them feels like falling through the air while hugging an anvil, I guess."

"I see. So, you consider Quizz to be just as bankrupt as the rest of your family?Just another Mustang," she said.

"That isn't an easy question, actually. Quizz is strange. He may love me, for example, genuinely, sometimes, but not care for me at all at other times. Who he is, in actuality, I don't know."

The woman sighed here. Quirr flinched. Then she said, "And what of Quinn? You two may not talk, but he must mean a lot for you to follow in his footsteps?"

Again, Quirr shook his head. "I don't actually understand my affection for him. But, I came here for him, not because of him, if such a dichotomy is possible."

She nodded. "And what would you do if your family suddenly forced you to leave?"

"The thing that I came here to prevent."

At this, the woman raised her eyebrow. "And what might that be?"

Quirr's answer was simple: "Quizz knows."

The woman finished dusting her dresser, placed a note on the dresser, and left. Mustang business was just that simple.

The letter read: There are two things that We are not well acquainted with: telling the truth and expressing the truth. There was no better way for you to win.

I was sent here because He heard of the trouble at the assembly: "Blood is life, in black; death is peace: and vengeance is chaos; and chaos is the unseen lifeblood, in red." No matter what the school officials tell you, these are serious words. So serious that He wanted to bring you home because he felt that you were not ready. But, he will know that you are, and will trust you to decipher this trouble and deal with it.

But, he wants you to understand just how important this is: WE never involves itself in foreign affairs. You are the first, an entrusted agent of We, by virtue of circumstance, by your own volition, by the administration of He.

Your skills and your merit are on trial, but also the merit of We: HE does not expect you to grasp all of what that means. However, if you are not ready, then, strike through the part that is of your own volition, and return to We of your own volition.

If you are ready, then, succeed: That is the way of We.

---

When I first wrote this, I wasn't all that taken by Quizz, but seeing his character psychology in retrospect, he might be my favorite character in the series, already.

@tagged, words, notes, etc.

[Deleted]

So I just remembered this and I thinknI might still try to finish it even though I have no ideabif anyone is reading it lol