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| False Hope; Anya makes progress with Fisher. Unfortunately, it's not really Fisher. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Feb 2 2012, 05:39 PM (252 Views) | |
| Hexiva | Feb 2 2012, 05:39 PM Post #1 |
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Friendly Neighborhood Cuttlefish
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It had been a long morning, and Valentine had discovered nothing of interest except that he had apparently forgotten a great deal of the information his high school teachers had tried to impart to him. No obvious terrorists had tried to contact him. He considered that he might be more likely to be contacted if he were away from prying eyes, and pretended to give his Elite supervisor - who was, in fact, his direct subordinate in the infiltration department and in on his plans - the slip. He stopped by the dormitory to pull on Fisher's ragged old coat, and then went outside to seek solitude, his head low and his back slouched, the picture of an antisocial teenager. It was a sharp contrast to his usual straight-backed walk. He pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the school wall, and stared sulkily out - waiting. Having just finished her morning cleaning of her room, Anya decided it was now a good time to reward herself with a nice drink from the cafe across from campus. As she made her way out, her attention was promptly drawn to the side at the sulking of a familiar presence. “Mr. Cross,” she said, a hint of surprise evident in her voice. “Good morning.” Valentine looked up, his eyes hardening a bit at the sight of Anya. In truth, he was glad to see a familiar face, despite the worry that she would scare off any potential Messiah Complex agents. “Oh,” he said. “You.” A nasty thought occurred to him. What if Anya was in the Messiah Complex? She always had seemed to be too innocent to be real. It could all be a fake, or she, like Fisher, could have been misled by Aidric Carter into thinking the Messiah Complex were the good guys. “Good morning,” he said, grudgingly, in reply to her greeting. He didn’t want to scare her off, but he also didn’t want to break character. He liked Anya, but he had no faith whatsoever in her ability to keep a secret. Anya replied with a small bow, unsure of what to do now that she had made her greeting. It was just an act of formality, but now just turning to leave seemed like it would be a terribly rude thing to do. “I was about to go for a drink,” she said. “Would you care to join me?” Valentine pulled Fisher’s ratty coat around him, with a slight shiver, and eyed her with an air of nervous distrust. “Why would you want to drink with me? You stole my staff.” He hesitated, and pulled the coat tighter around him again. Fisher, he knew, would be distrustful. “But a hot drink would be nice, I guess.” He got to his feet, sliding off the wall with an actor’s imitation of an acrobat’s grace, and slouched beside her, waiting for her to lead the way. With a slight shrug of her shoulders, the redhead continued on her way, at least grateful that the boy had accepted her invitation. The mentioning of his staff reminded her that it was still collecting dust in her closet along with her collection of scabbards, and looking over her shoulders, she supposed if Fisher was here, it was about time to bring the matter back to light. “Would you like it back, Mr. Cross? Your staff, that is.” Valentine trailed after Anya. “It’s mine,” he pointed out. “You have no right to it.” “I did say I would give it back if you returned to the academy did I not?” She gave the boy a smile of assurance. “To be honest, Mr. Cross, I had begun to worry that you did not have the courage to do so.” Valentine glanced away from her. Personally, he was impressed with how much more assertive Anya was with someone her own age. But Fisher would not have been, he thought. “I didn’t return . . . they made me come back. The Elite.” He scowled. “They caught me and hauled me here.” Anya crossed her arms with a frown of thought upon her face. The feeling of snow crunched beneath their feet as they at last made their way off of the shovelled pavement of the school courtyard and onto the less-attended sidewalk that lead to the cafe across the street. “Have you considered running away again?” Her finger went to push the button at the crosswalk. Valentine shrugged glumly. “Where would I run to? My adopted parents? They’d kill me if I tried. My real parents? Dead. There’s nowhere to run. At least here I’m away from my parents.” “Hmm?” Anya hummed, a sense of curiosity beginning to swell within her. “You had seemed quite sure that you would be fine on your own the last time we met.” The light changed from red to green, signalling for the two teens to cross. “Are you truly satisfied with where you are?” “That was before I got hauled back by the Elite,” Valentine said, not missing a beat in covering his mistake. “The officer who interrogated me told me he’d send me back to my parents if I didn’t play nice.” Valentine followed her across the street. “And no. I’m not satisfied. But what else is there?” This, he thought, would be her cue to betray herself if she really was with the Messiah Complex. “That is a question you must answer on your own, is it not?” Anya shook her head, bewildered at just how troubled a person could be. “What is it that you want, Mr. Cross? I am certain that there are more possibilities out there that await you than you may think.” She pulled the door to the cafe open, motioning for the disguised Fisher to enter. Valentine led the way into the cafe, considering the question. What did Fisher want? “To be safe,” Valentine hazarded. “It’s the one thing that I never had . . . between my parents, and the Elite, and the other students . . . it’s a miracle I’m still alive.” Anya followed inside, making a beeline straight for the counter to order. “Two hot chocolates, please.” Her attention then went back to the brooding boy. “If I return your staff, will you then feel safe? If that is truly what you want, Mr. Cross, I will be more than glad to lend you my assistance in achieving your goal.” Valentine thought, Compassion. We could use more of that in the Elite, and if he hadn’t had to maintain Fisher’s character, he would have smiled at Anya’s well-meaning suggestion. “What good is a staff against people who have the law on their side? My parents are Elite. Like you. And the bullies here can shoot fire out of their hands. I wouldn’t stand a chance, and even if I could, I can’t fight. I just - ” Valentine broke off, shaking his head. “The blood - I’ve seen too much blood, okay?” Anya took a deep breath, brushing her hand through her hair as she attempted to think of a proper response to Fisher’s rant. “You are not making this very easy for me, Mr. Cross.” She had wanted to avoid this option if at all possible, but it was obvious at this point that the boy was beyond any hope of walking on his own two feet. Perhaps some training wheels were in order after all. “Hot chocolate!” The voice of the man boomed behind the counter as two cups were placed on a rack at the end of the stall. “Very well,” the redhead said, taking both cups before offering one to the boy. “Until you become stronger, I will protect you.” “Thanks,” Valentine said to the guy at the counter, before taking the cup from Anya. He frowned into the hot cocoa. “Why would you want to protect me? You’re Elite. You’re Professor Ener’s protege. What do you want with me?” Why indeed... The question followed Anya as she took a seat at a table facing the window. “It is only natural, is it not?” She laughed at her own contrived sense of humor. “After hearing you grieve so much, it is the least I can do.” Valentine considered this. While Anya’s offer was kind, the last thing Valentine needed was another Elite - one who wasn’t in on his scheme - following him around while he tried to contact the Messiah Complex. “Is it natural?” he asked, while he tried to find a way out of this. “No-one ever tried to help me before. When my parents were - were - no one ever stepped in. People don’t help.” The imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth, Valentine thought; but he had already said that to her. He doubted she believed him. “Why would you want to help?” “Because...” Anya recalled back to the words Hector had used back then in the school cafeteria. “Because I am strange,” she said, her voice all too serious accompanied by a just as serious nod of affirmation. Valentine was a little bit surprised that Anya recognized that. At least this mission would not be for nothing if he failed to contact the Messiah Complex; he was learning things about his young friend. “Strange in a good way, though,” he said, and although his tone was grudging and his eyes remained fixed sullenly on his hot chocolate, the words were his, not an imitation of Fisher. “Thanks. If nothing else, it was . . . a kind offer.” “It is not an offer, it is a promise,” the redhead said, lifting her cup to take a sip. All the while, her eyes looked at Fisher questionably, as if expecting some sort of mushroom or plumage to sprout from the boy’s head. A thank you was the last thing she had expected to hear from him. Still, perhaps it was a sign that she was finally starting to reach him? Oh God, a promise. He scowled and gulped his hot chocolate. How could he dissuade Anya? He only hoped that she wouldn’t go talking about how strange Fisher had been acting. “Like I said, thanks,” he said, “But I don’t . . . don’t think it will do me any good to be . . . safe only under your protection. What kind of life is that?” He took another gulp of hot chocolate. “Maybe this is something I have to do for myself.” It didn’t sound much like Fisher, but the fact of the matter was that, while Fisher might want safety, Valentine wanted exactly the opposite right now, and some amount of breaking character might be necessary under the circumstances. “Oh?” Anya had to blink several times over, doing her best not to choke on her chocolate at the surprising amount of gusto that the blonde had seemingly drawn out of thin air. It was nothing short of impressive, and if he could say all that, perhaps there was hope for him yet! But then again, he had shown tendencies before to be nothing but talk. “If that is truly how you feel, I can return your staff later today... But--!” she paused, holding a finger up in front of her. “I would like to request that you to participate with me in daily training sessions so that you can at least gain some experience in self-defense.” Valentine’s scowl deepened, although in fact he was fine with Anya’s suggestion. If the real Fisher returned, training would do him good, and if Valentine was still around by that point, well, it would hardly hurt him either. “Alright. But I already know how to defend myself. I just can’t fight because I pass out at the sight of blood.” “We will take it one day at a time, Mr. Cross.” |
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7:42 PM Jul 10