Crowned - 15 | Crash Course

 

Kairo led them to the laboratory on the west end of the Helmire Castle. It was a black tiled tower on the outside, standing upright at an awkward angle to give an illusion of a natural hilltop. 

Kairo led Elvira and a reluctantly dragging Kaeo to the ground floor room, the doors of which opened when he pressed his right palm over it.

A dimly lit room greeted their sight. Elvira felt a chill run down her spine and covered her chest to rub her hands over her arms. The walls were lined with wooden shelves which displayed strange organs floating in bubbling glass jars. Thin white smoke lurked around the shelves, as if guarding the objects at display.

From the farther right, Kairo picked up a mauve vial and held it out for them.

“Do you remember this?”

Elvira nodded, recognising the vial’s contents instantly. “Linch blood,” she stated.

“Indeed!” Kairo exclaimed, “It’s for the research we were supposed to do five years ago! I halted it so that we could complete it together,” he chirped, grinning ear to ear.

Kaeo rolled his eyes, “So that is your research error that you have been droning about for the past years?” he threw a disgusted look at Elvira.

Kairo’s grin turned sheepish. Elvira glared at him.

“What if I were dead and gone for good?” Elvira asked, “Would you just shut the project down?”

“What! No! of course not! We did this because I knew you were alive,” Kairo reassured as he took the vial and led them out of the first room and into a second room on the ground floor.

“So, what’s it about?” Elvira asked.

The new room seemed mediocre with its plain white walls and the floor covered with elongated tables and wooden chairs as its dominant aesthetic. Kairo placed the vial on the first table in front of the door and banged a hand over its top. Instantly, a three-dimensional projection appeared over it.

“Linchs may be E tier Creatures but they are classified under LLL by size. Their sheer mass and ability to utilise the poison they consume make them a predatory species. I want to combine their genes with that of a dragon and create a blood sucking, poison consuming, lethal, end-of-the-world-harbinger dragon!”

“To conquer the world,” Kaeo added.

Brows raised, nostrils flared and mouth pinched on both ends, Elvira uttered, “Obviously.”

“Nothing makes conquering territories easier than a dragon’s invasion!”

There was an ecstatic glint in his green eyes that made him look like a perfect villain as he spread his arms in front of a holographic projection of a dragon over the tabletop.

“And pray tell, how would you acquire the dragon gene considering they have been extinct for about—four centuries and counting, now?!” Elvira demanded, trying to make sense of the idealistic plan.

“Where do you think you can find a dragon skull?” Kairo countered.

“The black market…”

“That’s not how villains work!” Kaeo snapped at Elvira’s reply.

“At the Church Dianthia, of course, those who protect Virae’s direct bloodline more than their own flesh and blood!” Kairo supplied.

Elvira’s brows threatened to jump off her forehead and walk away. “What do you mean a skull; how do you know that it is not the skull?!” she intentionally lowered her voice to a whisper as she shouted.

“Well, who’s to say that your Church is safekeeping the real religious artifact – unless we prove it otherwise?” Kairo giggled.

“Having the skull’s genes would be better though, naturally,” Kaeo supplied.

Elvira’s brain wandered off to history classes back in school.

The skull in question would be the head of the first dragon on their planet Wreath. There was a time when shadow-Earth only harboured two species, the originals being the Dracionious, or Dragon-kind and other being Dinorious, or the Dinosaurs, who were warped onto Wreath after a meteor hit the real-Earth.

The sudden appearance of the Dinorious species was considered as an Act of God, obligated by the Stars, and suddenly, the dominant Dracioniouses not only had competition but also a war of resources at hand. Every giant creature took immense space and Wreath could only host so many.

Amongst the angry dragon-kind, there was one dragon who was able to transform into a human owning to his patience, high affinity to magic and insane spell-crafting skills. He was Virae, the first mage on Wreath who was later worshiped by the Dianthia supporters.

During the Great Evolution Era (F526 – F528) Virae taught the transformation spell to his fellow dragon-kind because he found it more convenient to live as a human. Suddenly, tables were turned and once again, the Dracioniouses had an upper hand when it came to lasting survival. They fell into a leisurely life, calling themselves Blossoms, and discovered the pursuit of sexual pleasures.

Thereafter followed the Sin Era (F527 – F777) until the great curse Morana, created by Virae, wiped the majority of the Dinorious population. The genocide was frowned upon by the Stars and the Heaven. Instead of the curse affecting the rest of the Dinorious population and killing them off, it caused mutations amongst them, altering them and birthing into existences a myriad of Creatures, who were now known as Creatures of God.

The Church of Melantha supported the Creatures and their rights whereas the Church of Dianthia worked in line with Virae’s principals of eradicating all Oddities and establishing Blossoms' sovereignty over Wreath.

It was just a part of Wreath’s extensive history which Kairo lent in order to conquer the world.

“But if we’re caught…” Elvira said through gritted teeth.

“Then we don’t have to go into an elaborate monologue to reveal all our plans, okay?” Kaeo snorted.

Elvira rolled her eyes at his lack of seriousness. Kairo was not proposing just petty villainy anymore, no, he was proposing global religious artifact theft! Elvira wanted to be of help, truly, but at what stake? She never had any qualms about religion or the politics of her world. She could care less since she was rejected by the very people who birthed and raised her. Still...

“How are we getting in?” Elvira asked, licking her lips.

“Now we’re talking!” Kairo exclaimed and clapped his hands. As he separated them, a sheet of paper appeared between his fingers. He held onto it by its corners and Elvira squinted at the blue lines and realised it was a map.

“Where did you get a map of the greatest Church in the world?” Elvira sniffled with admiration.

“I punched it out of saint,” Kaeo stated.

“Diabolical.” Elvira seethed.

“He was drinking at a pub and harassing the barmaid, I didn’t even have to try hard,” Kaeo scoffed.

“Are you defending yourself so I don’t judge you?” Elvira snorted, a laugh edging on her face.

“No, I am stating facts!” Kaeo snapped.

“Let us focus on the task at hand, shall we?” Kairo clapped, “Burn the image into your brain!”

Elvira nodded aggressively and stared at the blueprint, not understanding a thing. Her nose whiffed a burning stench and before Elvira could realise, the paper held between Kairo’s fingers burst into flames and ashes.

“I – I couldn’t even look at it!” Elvira complained.

“Don’t worry,” a jade magic circle appeared over Kairo’s hands which he flicked over in Elvira and Kaeo’s direction, “Your mind will remember it when you’re there.” He explained.

“What?!” Elvira cried.

“Or, just eat this ash if you don’t trust Kai’s magic and the map will appear before your eyes.” Kaeo supplied.

“Are you trying to kill me again?!” Elvira snapped.

“Oh my, was it so obvious?” Kaeo drawled.

“Elvi, don’t worry, that is exactly how the spell works. The ash isn’t harmful at all!” Kairo clarified before Elvira could jump on Kaeo and start pulling his hair.

“Okay,” Elvira nodded. Somehow, Kairo was naturally trustworthy.

“What! You trust him with the same thing and not me?!” Kaeo exclaimed, eyes widened with surprise.

“He’s better than you,” Elvira shrugged.

Kairo flicked his finger and created a wall in between them before Kaeo could lunge at Elvira and indirectly harm himself.

“Now, you must know that Dianthia is a Church so, obviously, it is surrounded by Holy Grounds. There are anti-teleportation wards so we cannot have an easy entry and only natural magic would work within the grounds. Which means no deceptive magic like illusions or creation magic like this wall would work there. The grounds are blessed with divine magic so, spells which have a cause-and-effect relationship with nature would be our only escape.”

Elvira raised her hand.

“Yes?” Kaeo asked, containing a genuine smile at her scholarly antics.

“What is divine magic? Aren’t there only four types?”

“Ah, to work at a church or any holy place you have to pass an exam full of ethics and religious morals and stuff. If you pass, you are hired and taught the Divine Script, it’s a dead hidden language unlike the usual spell writing languages like the Conjuror Runic I use and the Stryn Script used by Alchemy Type Mages. Spells are written in order to satisfy a need, right? That need, depending on the recipient, changes the medium, which is the language.”

Elvira nodded, frowning.

“Like the shape-shifters of Kalmia, they are able do it so easily because they have their own Beast-Script spells. Languages are passed down only to those with abilities,” Kaeo clenched his teeth as he peeked over the wall to mock Elvira.

“No wonder I did not know about them,” Elvira huffed and shoved a middle finger in Kaeo’s face.

“Yeah, the more languages you know, the more powerful of a mage you become! Conjuror Runic lends magic from the world and uses it for a cause. Stryn Script lends magic from the mage and uses it in a cause. That’s the main difference between the two basic ones.” Kairo explained further.

“For example, creating a sword out of thin air would require a Conjuror Runic based spell and crafting a sword and then giving it the ability to throw fire, water or air blasts would require a Stryn Script spell,” Kaeo dumbed it down.

“What is this? A heist plan of the villains or a crash-course in theories of magic?” Elvira scoffed. Though her face feigned nonchalance, her eyes sparkled with gratefulness.

“Right! Now, how do we get inside?” Kairo asked.

“We blast the grounds, send in the troops and steal that head like it always belonged to us.” Kaeo grinned.

Crowned - 13 | A Drain Chain

 

CHAPTER 13

“Do you mind?” Kaeo snapped.

“Yes!” Elvira snapped back, scowling, “Death does not solve anything. Death is cowardly and a means of escape. Let him live,” Elvira spat, “He’ll live with his scars, right here, with his collection of oddities, wondering every day if today would be any better!”

“Well said, child,” the throned Count agreed. “This lad here began poisoning me as soon as he was out of school because I had planned to leave my title and estate to a better successor.”

Countess merely clenched her eyes close and looked away.

“Pfft—I st-til lilived as nobility, y-you will be nothing m-more than a c-curse.” Helif stuttered.

Elvira kicked him in the face and attained a sense of peace.

Kaeo hated that he enjoyed the way Helif rolled after Elvira’s blow. His head hit the elevated platform’s edge and he passed out. The magic circle disappeared from Kaeo’s knuckles and left behind a bloody sight. He would have to ask Kairo to heal him, considering someone else was siphoning the majority of his power so that ancient dead folks could punish their children. 

He walked away, scowling.

“Elvira.”

The girl looked up and smiled at Clary’s acknowledgement.

“I’m glad that you’re okay.”

“Elvira.” Clary repeated, stepping closer.

Elvira frowned as she realised that Clary’s eyes had changed into a murky grey, similar to how Kaeo’s eyes had changed to a deep amethyst.

“Clary, are feeling better now?” Elvira asked. She turned to face Yuna and Lira but, suddenly, she felt Clary grab her waist and pull her in a hug.

“I—thank you, I just wanted to say that.” She sounded so much like the Clary Elvira used to know. Though, there was something foreign in this new Clary’s touch. Something consuming.

“Elvira.”

The girl looked up and found the Count and Countess staring hungrily at her.

“So, that is what your name is. El. Vi. Ra.”

The Count enunciated as he got off his chair and stepped down. Clary did not let go of her as the old Count kneeled in front of her and held out a hand.

“May I?” he asked.

Elvira wanted to step back but his beady eyes rendered her stiff and immobile.

“Allow me,” the Countess said, suddenly appearing in front of Elvira. She grabbed a hold of her hand and placed it over her husband’s palm. 

Elvira felt lightheaded. She was surrounded by dead people, she realised, stuck in a siphoning hand-sandwich.

The Countess did not let go as her husband pulled Elvira’s hand to place a kiss.

Whispers birthed around the hall.

Elvira caught the scandalised gazes of Yuna and Lira.

Her world felt blurry.

She wanted to get rid of them. Their touch clawed at her skin. Jitters ran over her body. Her feet felt cold and her palms turned clammy.

She wanted to take a step back but she couldn’t.

She felt dizzy.

And suddenly, darkness consumed her.

. . .

“Elvi, wake up, it’s time for papa and I to leave.”

Her eyes fluttered open, reluctantly. A heaviness levied them, hindering her comprehension. Yet, she could recognise the bright yellow and blue accented walls even with the faintest of glimpses.

“Don’t go anywhere, don’t invite anyone inside, you know the rules.”

Elvira got up and held her throbbing head in her hands. The heaviness wanted to weigh it down until her forehead was on the ground, yet, Elvira persisted and stood up. Her room was a mess of chrysanthemums, crumpled pages and pencil shavings. She walked past her desk, over which a paper fluttered owing to the open window behind her. There were only two sentences on the page and they were titled, ‘An Obituary.’

She dragged her feet out of her room and into an unending hallway. It was tinged an unappetizing blue, a hue of gloom with a depth of silence.

Instead of seeing her parents’ back, it was Zinna who was standing at the end of the long hallway.

Elvira gasped as she held out a hand, in order to run and reach her. But, every step she took, the hallway seemed to be pushing her farther away. The distance between them kept growing and suddenly, Zinna turned.

Her warm brown eyes glowed scarlet.

Her mouth opened into an ear-piercing scream and threads of darkness connected her jaws.

“Zi-zinnie…”

The walls of Elvira’s house disappeared. Suddenly, they were in an open field. The wind whipped past them. Predatory birds shrieked overhead.

Elvira lost her balance, terrified out of her wits. She fell over a bump in the ground. Slowly, she turned to see what she fell on. It was a grave with the epitaph reading: Here lies, the boy you killed.

The winds carried his voice. A plea. A call. A message. A warning.

Horror blinded Elvira and birthed a screech out of her. Her body shivered violently until a jade magic circle appeared over her head and pulled her out of the haze.

Once again, Elvira opened her eyes. This time, instead of her childhood home, she was in the confines of Kaeo’s living chamber. Her ears rang and her head throbbed to her heart’s beating.

Kairo was sitting by her side and his mouth seemed to be moving but Elvira couldn’t grasp a word.

In a deafened haze, Elvira turned her head. Beside her laid Kaeo, passed out or dead to the world. She did not know.

She knew nothing anymore.

Nothing made sense.

Where was she?

Who was she?

What was she?

What happened to Kaeo, Clary, the Count and the Countess?

What happened to her?

“Elvi…are you okay? Are you feeling better now?”

Her ears caught sound again. Like a flabbergasted chick out of an egg, Elvira faced Kairo.

“You passed out at the Count’s Estate. I think I have figured it out, a part of your magic. I know it is still a theory but, hear me out. Your magic, it reincarnates at its own will, right? I don’t know how or why but what I know is that, when you bring back someone with a lower power level than yours, they seem to siphon the magic out of you. Considering they need an immense stock to sustain in the living realm. You are their anchor, so of course they will drain from you! But, if you bring back someone with a higher power level than yours, you get to feed off their power! Like Kaeo, you made him your anchor—well, now four people are draining his power, BUT, we got to know something new!” Kairo ranted like an excited child.

Elvira tried to sit up but failed.

“Don’t get up, you should rest and eat. You cannot keep siphoning off Kae,” Kairo said and picked up a plate full of fruits from the bedside table. Observing Elvira’s guilty look, he elaborated, “Don’t feel guilty though, even with four people draining him, he’ll live. Because, in actuality, he is draining from whatever your magic source is.”

“It’s a drain chain,” Elvira croaked out.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I will do more research in time.” He passed her the fresh fruits.

“What about everyone else?”

“The other not-so-dead people? They’re back at the Estate. If you want to keep them alive then you should stabilize Kaeo’s power first. Marry him and half of this will be solved instantly.”

Elvira scowled at Kairo’s straight face. “What’s a marriage going to do?” she spat and instantly regretted it she felt the muscles in her stomach pull.

“Everything!” Kairo replied, ecstatic, “We did not know you were alive or where your body went but Kaeo said that he could feel you. He insisted that all the random pain he felt was a share of yours. Then, on the day you used your magic, Kaeo got glimpses of the burning estate and I was able to come and get you. If you marry him, this one-sided bond will merge when you Stars align. You have a shadow star and he has a noon star so I believe that it will help solve a lot of problems.”

“You…believe?”

“Well, it would be strange if I had experience, right?”

Elvira did not have the energy to scoff at Kairo’s snarky retort.

“Why did you take so long…when your father trapped you in the dark illusion realm, what happened?”

Kairo’s face hardened and she felt a shift in the air around them. He stood up and took a step back, “Consider my words, I have priorities as well. Remember, I am your friend, Elvira, not theirs. If they begin to take a toll on my brother, I will not hesitate.”

Elvira clenched her jaw. Her gaze hardened as she nodded.

This.

This was a testament of how less she knew about them.

Kairo walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Elvira held her head again, spiralling.

“I managed to escape the Count and somehow, I’m trapped again, this time by familiar faces. It’s like childhood all over again.”

Rain on You

Weather doesn't make the seasons, it's the memories which do. 

When the summer sun was scorching over their heads, blazing the grounds in some one-sided vengeance against humanity, his kindness washed over her like midnight rain. 

She was knocked to the bite the dust, scraped hands and knees threatening tears out of her five-year-old tolerance. She was supposed to be a brave girl, she was supposed to be a bold girl, but the sand was hot and sharp against her burning skin. It hurt but she was afraid to accept it.

The children around cackled at her expense as if tripping a fellow classmate was them witnessing peak hilarity.

"Can't get up now little rat, can you?" The boy, who tripped her, snickered behind her back.

She gulped a soft cry though as she was about to get up, she heard a muffled thump followed by resounding gasps. She jerked to look behind and saw her bully on the ground with a reddened cheek; tears welled his eyes and snot clogged his nose as he wailed in pain. Everyone clamoured around to give him a helping hand, uttering words of concern, but her eyes were focused on the hand in front of her.

A singular hand sporting rosy knuckles belonging to a boy with a gummy smile. Sweat plastered his hair against his forehead and dirt had made a permanent home on his cheeks, still, her breath hitched as the sun shone behind his head as if haloing him. 

"Come on, let's play!" He exclaimed and beckoned his fingers, urging her to grab his hand.

She took it. It was the first time she had held someone's hand, someone who wasn't a teacher at the orphanage. Someone who wasn't leading her up to her parents' grave. Someone whose eyes burned like the summer sun but upon touching his hand, peace flooded her mind like winter rain.

"I am Dylan," he grinned before bending to dust the dirt off her dress and knees.

"I'm Ellie," she replied, nervous as he kneeled in front of her to examine her injury. She noticed the red t-shirt he was wearing and how well it suited him. The red went along with the darkness of his hair and the paleness of his skin.

"You're like the red ranger. Red looks good on you," Ellie giggled.

It was a comment in the passing upon a tryst of kindness and bravery. Ellie uttered the words quite instinctively, since she liked power rangers so much, baring any ulterior motives of friendship.

Though as he led her to the nurse's room he kept talking about power rangers and when he proposed friendship, holding out the bandaged hand which was hurt to avenge her — who was Ellie to deny?

"Look, Ellie! I made a red lego house!! Is it pretty, do you like it??" He looked at her with a gaze blazing with expectations and he held the lego castle in front of him. 

"Eh-he, it's pretty, but...?" Ellie leaned to look behind him and spotted a bunch of crying kids in the corner of the room. "Did you really have to threaten them for the red blocks?" She mused. They were at the orphanage's playroom, a place they frequented over the past year to hangout with eachother. 

Dylan wasn't from the orphanage but he would stop by, everyday after they became friends, to be with Ellie because without him she had no friends. His absence made the glares of her classmates sharper and the mean comments louder. 

"Why not? You like red so it is all good," he replied, nonchalant. 

No one dared to look at her when he was around. The glances would diminish along with the rest of her problems when she would be crouched on the floor with him, playing with toys or building lego sets. 

He smiled at her with earnestness which would make his eyes crinkle. 

Ellie liked the crinkle of his eyes. Not many people smiled at her with such genuineness considering her parents died while escaping to pay back the money they scammed out of poor commoners. 

Ellie was made aware of the fact when she was twelve and during the 'what's your dream job' presentation she wished to be Dylan's parents who were honorable politicians. She was snickered at by her classmates and shut down by her teacher's harsh comment, "You better pay back your parents' debt first. They owe this world more than your existence is worth." 

When she reiterated the incident to Dylan the crinkle left his eyes and the smile dropped his face. He frowned then proceeded to pat her head and said, "You're different from your parents. You're better. You're my good girl." 

From the next day, a new teacher replaced the old one. 

Ellie never questioned it because of a scar on Dylan's wrist. She henpecked his ears to gain a grain of information but to no avail. In the end, they ended up wrapping a bandage around it in the Nurse's room. She wondered why Dylan wouldn't even make an excuse about it, until he asked her out of the blue, at the doorstep of the orphanage, "Did you like that shade of red on me?" 

The sky thundered behind his head, emphasising the dark of his hair and eyes. The winds howled as if carrying a warning message for her but she eluded them by saying, "You should rush home before the storm starts! Be safe!" 

The storm lasted a week. Power outages and floods busied the adults and terrified the kids. Ellie was twelve and a mature enough person to not be afraid of the dark. The silence of her room was comforting and the tapping of raindrops against her window lulled her to sleep.

"Shh, it's that crazy's girl... isn't she?" 

"Yes yes. She's crazy as well. You know Peter from the neighborhood?"

"The one with the big house?"

"Yeah, he used to play with us. She stole his Pokemon toy when she was a kid. He caught her playing with it behind the swings and she bit his hand and ran away. The next day he tripped her in front of everyone so she called that crazy guy and had him beat Peter up. He never came to the playground again. Tsk." 

"Wah... that's evil."

"Yeah, she's like that."

"Let's lock the door."

"Yeah, she deserves it."

Ellie spent four out of the seven days locked inside a dark room on the fourth floor, wailing for help and banging against the bolted wood for attention. On the eighth day, she was found passed out inside — apparently having survived on rainwater. 

Ellie had been a slender child ever since she was brought in but when Dylan saw her on the white hospital bed that enveloped her small frame, he decided that she would not be staying in the orphanage anymore.

Ellie had never fathomed the thought of a family before but the Wisterias were the closest she could get to it. They let her sit on the same table as them, let her eat the same food as them and let her have a room beside their son. Though they never verbally acknowledged her presence, they paid her school fee and got her new uniform and books each year.

Ellie was thoroughly obliged and indebted but there was a gnawing feeling in her gut that made her hide underneath the bed every night. Because each night, someone would walk into her room and search the bed for her.

The first night, Ellie had been asleep when the sharpness of a knifepoint pierced her skin barrier and broke blood. She flinched her eyes open and witnessed the ever familiar gummy smile and crinkled eyes within whom she had once found warmth.

"D-dylan— w-what are you doing?!" She spluttered her words, eyes alternating between his face and the knife in his hand.

"I wanted to match," Dylan held out his hand and rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal a large cut on his hand, "So we'll both look good in red!" 

"N-no, t-this is wrong! Why are you doing this? Why did you do this?!" 

"Are you afraid of me...? Please don't be. It's what I get for being so close to you. But don't worry, I know you have nowhere to go. You are nothing without me."

His eyes seemed teary.

'You are nothing without me.'

The words resonated through her head for years to come. As the scars on her body increased, the lonliness of the world settled in her mind. She had known Dylan since she was five, he was the rain for her blazing days, the solace of her tormented life. He was her hope, the haloed angel she had witnessed back when she was a kid.

And angels do nothing wrong...right?

So, why did her heart leap into fear everytime she met eyes with him? Why did her body stiffen when he touched her thighs on the dining table? Why did her skin crawl when he whispered dirty secrets in her ear.

It irked her soul but her mind couldn't place a problem in it.

Where would she go if she left the Wisterias? What would she do after offending a political family? Where can she even hide? Would he find her...?

Rain soaked, one night, as she was returning to Wisteria mansion, a drunkard arguing with a tree caught her eye. He debated with it, caressed it, slurred his words of affection for it before hitting it with his fists. 

The droplets ingrained the incident in her memory and the next time Dylan came over with a knife in his hand, she offered him whiskey and wine. The summer of her eighteenth was spent hiding in a mansion while trying to evade a drunk friend who was running at her with a knife. 

"C'mere! I'll make you look so pretty in red! We'll match and be lovers! Don't you wanna be pretty for me? Don't you love me?" 

His shouts were deafened by the rain pouring beyond the imperial windows she ran past. 

"How long will you run Ellie, is this a game we're playing? I just wanna hold you and make you red for me. You know I am always red for you!"

His words haunted her as an echo as she ran up the spiral staircase and flung open the terrace door. A cold gust of wind burned against her adrenaline powered scorching body. 

"Why are you so obsessed with making me red?! What is wrong with you?!" Ellie shouted as she backed into the rain while he neared the terrace door. 

"I just...I used to hate the red on me," he cried as he raised his hands and took off his t-shirt to reveal a scarred body, "But then, then, you, the prettiest girl I know, you said that red looks good on me...so, I just did it. And because you liked it so much...I wanted to share!" 

"But it hurts me, Dylan, you know that. I don't like this red! It's bad and hurtful!" She shouted. 

"But I like it and I want to see you in it." He ran towards her, she backed up for a few steps before crouching down and rolling to the other side. 

As Dylan ran he slipped and tripped, quite like Ellie when she was five, but instead of falling on burning ground his body crashed down many-a-floor, meeting the water he represented. Embracing the red. 

ill timed — 4

the ill timing of smug adults — chapter 4

Mr. Plod's scream was loud enough to breach the walls of Crestmoore Elite, reach his ancestors' graves and echo off of them. 

"Get off me, you little pest!" Mr. Plod announced, chubby hand pressed against the little girl's freckled forehead and pushing hard against it. Her teeth clutched tighter, his small fingers let go of their hostages, Kairos scrammed with wide eyes and a hung jaw, Yasin backed away with a hand against his mouth and tears in his eyes. Tears of disbelief. 

When all saw crises, Henrik Stratford saw opportunity.  

Henrik, baffled beyond belief but very amused, stepped over Headmistress Lissy's wingback chair and jumped over the scene of action. Headmistress Lissy banged her hand against her desk, shouting, "This is a place of discipline! stop this raging buffoonery right away!"

No one paid heed to her. 

Henrik, trying all his rich-boy-luck, stood behind the little girl and poked her sides right over her wais-tbone. 

"EEYAAP!" she screamed with raw terror.

Upon instinct, she jumped away, releasing Mr. Plod's now wet and very red, marked arm, and fell back. Henrik, very swiftly this time, dogged her body and pulled a flustered Kairos as collateral damage. 

The girl fell over Kairos Rodrigo, head and back saved from impact by the Persian carpets spread over Headmistress Lissy's office floors. Limbs tangled, Henrik grinned, a boxy wide smile of fresh revenge, over the groaning bodies of the distressed duo and turned to face an equally distressed trio.

Yasin had Mr. Plod's arm in his hand, very daintily blowing over the fresh, wet, cuts, looking almost motherly with his concern, "Sh… it gets better, it'll be okay, don't you worry, it'll be fine, sir," while Headmistress Lissy was having a whole mental breakdown over her ruined carpets, "My dollars, my pretty sheep's wool—it was hand woven! I fed her—my- silks-!"

The trash-girl bared her teeth at Kairos, kicked him away and stood up. The poor boy clutched his gut and did not even pretend to make any attempts to scrape off his dead dignity and try stand up again. He curled on the carpets, folding his hands close to his chest, but the garbage stench emanating from them made him give up all over again and flinch away from himself. There was a 'do not disturb, i am mourning," sign spiritually plastered on everyone's face at that moment. 

To say that Henrik was satisfied enough for incurring loss to all parties involved would be an understatement. His mind went, 'Ha! If I get puked on, you all take that!" 

The trash-girl had walked up to Yasin, who was fanning over Mr. Plod, and pushed them apart. Standing between the two, she turned to face red-faced-Mr. Plod with her equally furious brown eyes, pointing an accusatory finger at his chubby chin as she enunciated each word with entitled precision, "You will not hurt him! You will not punish him! You will no—"

For a proper second, Yasin's breath was struck right out of his lungs. Then, his braincells acted with cohesion. 

Her demands were cut off my Yasin's hand slithering over her mouth and holding her still as Mr. Plod, who had had enough indignity for a day, spoke up, "You! Who are you?! How dare you little pest disrupt the discipline of Crestmoore Elite! How dare you disrespect me and my orders! I will have your parents called! I will have this slander reported to media! All of you! Crestmoore shall know what hooligans will next inherit her! I am going to ruin all of you!"

His words hit like an ancient gong.

Kairos curled into himself again, hugging his hands to his chest now; breaths laboring and eyes clenching shut upon Mr. Plod's threats. Henrik gulped a shaky breath, fear growing his hands cold. Yasin's hand dropped from the girl's mouth and rested around her shoulders as he started pressing his thumbnail against the skin of his fingers. Over and over. 

"Mr. Plod Danderdan! You will do no such thing that brings shame upon Crestmoore Elite! Do I make myself clear?!" Headmistress Lissy stood up, ceasing the threats with her spine chilling, authoritative, voice that left no room for further discussion. Her molten gold eyes stared Mr. Plod down to a mush. 

Mr. Plod's beady eyes stared down at the furious looking littlegirl, still held back in Yasin's arms, and went back to Headmistress Lissy. His pride had taken a hit upon being denied of his authority in front of children. Rich brats. "Detention, for the whole year, graveyard shift with Mr. Turner," Mr. Plod's words were dripping with vehemence and restrained cooperation, "And I will be calling their families myself. They have the right to know." 

A collective round of sighs were passed around the office. 

"Very well, but it is Mr. Rodrigo's first day at Crestmoore," Headmistress Lissy's golden eyes whisked over her lavish furniture only to find Kairos springing up, from the floor, upon mention. His face had lost all color, so had Henrik and Yasin's, upon the mention of word reaching out to their families.  

"Yes…Ma'am?" Kairos' words were a question, his fingers were twisting a battle amongst themselves and the tightness of his jaw conveyed a lot to Headmistress Lissy's trained eyes. 

"That does not lets him off—"

Headmistress Lissy's hand stopped Mr. Plod from creating further argument. "What were you doing around East Crest when the morning assembly takes place in the West Crest?" Headmistress Lissy questioned the ravenette. 

"I—uh, I, um, was heading to the um—canteen? ...Cafeteria? Luncheon? C-ca-"

"--Crest Dining Hall," Henrik helpfully supplied. 

"Yes! The dining hall, crest I mean, for bread. I feel nauseous if I don't eat breakfast before starting my day—I, um, I am sorry I should have waited!" Kairos finally finished his statement and bent ninety degrees in apology. 

"Wow, you really don't waste time, do you?" the little girl cheekily interjected. 

Seven pairs of eyes glared at her. 

She shrugged out of Yasin's hold in response and smiled. Her smile was wide, her lips were parted with no dignity and her eyes were crinkled with a humorous kindness in them, Kairos noticed. 

She, standing in her stained-shirt, dirty skirt, torn stockings, shoeless, with mousy brown hair a mess. Smiling, carelessly, as if doing whatever her heart told her to do was the only socially accurate response to life. How… foolish. 

In that moment, Kairos Rodrigo realized a very important detail by himself: No amounts of fresh clothes, elaborate backgrounds, titles, gelled hair or pleasant curtsies of his world could amount to a genuine person's confidence from the otherworld. It takes a whole world of lavishes to break him but not make him. 

 

It's sad. Kairos Rodrigo realised that he was a sad person when people were glaring at trash-girl for making fun of him. He's sad alright.

"There will be no phones disturbing Minister Rodrigo from his duty, very well then, off you go, Kairos, to attend the orientation ceremony," Headmistress Lissy cleared out, much to everyone else's distaste. The ravenette was overjoyed, nonetheless of his epiphany. 

Kairos all but jumped up in a flurry of 'Thank You's and 'I am sorry's as the boy slid his way out of the office and politely shut the door behind him. Begrudgingly, Henrik smiled a small smile for his friend. 

"What about Yasin? You gonna go do this to him? He only helped me out--!" the littlegirl began with desperation in her eyes. 

"Please take this girl to Crest Lab, run some scans and find out if she is lying or not. I shall report this to the Sheriff in a while. He'll know what to do with her." Headmistress Lissy gestured her assistants to make a move. Mr. Plod smirked a smug smirk as the little girl tried holding onto Yasin but was pushed away by the blonde boy with bitterness in his eyes. 

The assistants sneaked their arms underneath the betrayed-looking-girl's underarms, raised her resistant body over their shoulders and carried her dangling self out of the office. 

Henrik rolled his eyes. 

"Very well, Mr. Hadid, I must say I did not expect you to be involved in something like this," Headmistress Lissy settled back in her chair and crossed her arms against her chest, scrutinizing Yasin's lanky and scared form. The little blondette assumed posture, folding his hands behind his back before proceeding with explanations.  

"I was at Soccer practice this morning, Headmistress Lissy. Michael kicked the ball too hard and it went out of the field, hitting a trashcan. He was afraid of being reprimanded so I ran to collect the ball in lieu of him. I was simply doing a mate a favor when I saw the trashcan rolling over with actual, human, legs jutting out of it! And there were screams! Imagine my surprise...!"

"We all do," Henrik chided under his breath.

"... I saw Mr. Rodrigo running after it; I was quite frankly very surprised. I remained unacquainted with Mr. Rodrigo at that point of time and merely thought it was a student trying to bullying someone. Hence, I stepped in to help. I remain corrected, of course, for Mr. Rodrigo and Henrik were merely trying to help as well." 

Henrik Stratford raised an eyebrow at the speaking blonde, wondering when they got on first name bases with Yasin Hadid of all people. Nevertheless, Henrik was impressed by Yasin's eloquent reiteration of their eventful morning. Unfortunately, Henrik too had to save his arse and come out in a good light before someone called his parents. So, he would have to, pretty deliberately, soil Yasin's plans. 

There was a sharp twinge of evil in Henrik Stratford's soft brown eyes before he assumed position and started with his impositions. 

"I would hate to interrupt, Miss Head Ma'am, but you see I am merely a victim of circumstances and ill fated friends. You see, Kairos discovered the body—the girl, whatever, and Yasin saved her or whatever—I was merely a bystander of the circumstance." Henrik smiled a smug smile, clearing out his name would be easy.

"They all lie, Headmistress, all of them ran when they saw me! They were clearly brewing some notoriety up," an aggravated Mr. Plod couldn't help but speak up.

"Correction, Mr. Plod Sir, I was very much vomited upon and furious about my lost and very expensive perm. I was very much there. Can't say the same about the other two…"

Yasin, scoffing out loud, eyes going wide at the pure accusatory tone, jumped, vocally, to defend himself, "It was merely an instinct of being misunderstood and receiving punishment!"

"Said every defaulter ever, yes, Miss Head Ma'am, I rest my case here," Henrik smiled, turning around to point at his vomit covered head and showing it clearly, "Damage to private property has occurred and the incompetence of Crestmoore's security system is responsible. I would like you to compensate me by dropping all detention charges on me, effective henceforth."

In a school ran on the terms of adults, where the students were treated as adults, there was no other way but to tackle it like an adult. 

Yasin's fist clenched, unclenched, bit the insides of his cheeks, then folded his hands behind his back again. Henrik was the son of the two most successful lawyers the world would have ever seen— there was no use countering his tactics. Yasin's family was good and honest, not fuelled by illegal activities like the Stratfords. They would always be incomparable.

Headmistress Lissy, upon receiving the outrageous but very accurate allegation of her school's incompetence, stared Henrik down as if he were a piece of filth and picked up the white hand phone resting over her desk. She pressed a button and spoke into it, "I want the security footage of the last twenty-four hours delivered to me. Instantaneously."

Henrik, proud of his argument and ignorant of his involvement in the case by the photograph he had clicked, seated himself on one of the wingback chairs. 

"Mr. Plod, don't you need to get that checked by the nurse?" Headmistress Lissy questioned coldly. Mr. Plod shook his head.

"I will wait for justice to be served. I want to call all of their houses using the Headmistress' phone," Mr. Plod scornfully replied. Yasin's gut dropped precisely how his company's shares would when the news gets out.  

But before Headmistress Lissy could counter Mr. Plod's bold statement, her office doors banged open and in rushed her assistant with a tablet in her hand. 

"Mademoiselle! We ran her prints…and I think you should see this!"

          ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

ill timed — 3

Ill timing of a fangirl's bite — chapter 3

"Your name?"

"I—uh, um…don't know…?"

Headmistress Lissy tipped her navy beret an inch overhead, watching through her cat-eye glasses the audacious presence of a stinking child soiling the beautiful teal velvets of her wingback chair with her soggy arse. "Peculiar," she worded out with utmost resistance. 

Henrik turned to stare at the girl, almond eyes widened as if to say 'it-is-no-time-to-conceal-your-identity-when-confessing-will-let-you-off-with-detention.' In the sophisticated blue and gray palette of Headmistress Lissy's office almost glaring at Henrik's cherry bomber jacket and neon chunky sneakers coordinated over the plaid blues of his school uniform, the small boy pursed his lips with utmost submission, while his mind mused 101 ways to get rid of Kairos Rodrigo without leaving evidence. 

 

Way one: hiding his best friend's body in a trashcan and closing the lid shut.

His murderous reverie was interrupted by the trashcan girl's curious explorations of the stationary placed on Headmistress Lissy's woodcarved tabletop. Her dark eyes greedily took in all curious details, rubbing her fingers over the intricate designs on the table edge and sniffing the fake lilies bottled atop. 

To ask Henrik if he felt more embarrassed than betrayed would be too obvious of a question. 

"What happened to you?" Headmistress Lissy narrowed her jelly-gold eyes at the form of trashgirl's face pressed against her aquarium. The girl had sucked her cheeks in and pursed the ends of her lips to form a fish pout. She hid the fishes from perspective with her big head and aligned her wiggling lips to fake the sight of blowing out bubbles from her mouth.

"Hehe, look, I'm making bubbles!"

Henrik, in that moment, decided to never acknowledge this strange creation even as an acquaintance. They shall remain strangers, forever. 

Headmistress Lissy was taking this ill timed intrusion, rather well, against her reputation of damning a child with detentions at every breathable misconduct.

"How did you reach Crestmoore Elite? I understand that you were found in a trashcan by the East Crest Soccer Stadium, but, how did you get inside the premise without proper identity credentials?" Headmistress Lissy gestured her assistants with her piercing bespectacled gold gaze.

Henrik slithered to a safe side as Headmistress Lissy's assistants gloved their hands with medical gloves. While one of them held the girl's wrists hostage, the other conducted a thorough search of the girl's tattered shirt, brown plaid skirt and ruined socks. She resisted with minor pursuits, but eventually gave up when she spotted a poster of Yasin Hadid pinned next to a door.

He was in his soccer jersey with a headband reading C. E. A. His mouth was pulled in a wide grin as a soccer ball was tucked under his right arm and his left arm was extended in a big thumbs-up gesture. 

"Who is he?" the girl asked with bubbling glee, her knees had gotten jittery and dark eyes pooled genuine prying.

"Why do you want to know?" was Headmistress Lissy's crisp reply.

"He saved my life. I am in love with him," was her straightforward clarification.

Henrik, who was sat on a chair with his legs crossed over his knees, scoffed just as audibly as Headmistress Lissy snorted. Disney certainly was not lost to her. 

"You don't know your name but you know what love is?" Headmistress Lissy sounded amused, the skin around her small eyes crinkled as she placed her elbows on the tabletop and cupped her chin in her palms. Her thin peach lips stretched to a smirk, intrigued by the person standing before her.

'Is she hiding information to avoid punishment? Or...a spy, perhaps? Intresting, nonetheless.

 

"Irrelevant. I just needed occasion to use all these words in my head. Decapitated. Why is that in my head? Hallucinogen? What even? I don't know. But, what I know is, that, he is handsome and I want to know him." The girl's index finger pointed sharply at Yasin's smiling face. Immobile. Unaware. Henrik tsked a little sound of pity for the soccer player. 

Headmistress Lissy frowned at the girl's odd selection of words. Someone who looked eight could possibly not have the word 'Hallucinogen' in their vocabulary. 'What had happened to this girl?' 

Headmistress Lissy's assistants backed away from the girl's body, empty handed. They had found nothing that would not have been visible to a naked eye. Her eyes travelled to Henrik Stratford, son of Jung and Mina Stratford, owners of the biggest Law firms in Crestmoore. Her eyes skipped to the paper in front, reading in bold, the names of Kairos Rodrigo and Yasin Hadid. 

The finest kids Crestmoore had to offer. 

 

'Such a strange gathering of elite folks around a trashcan, finding a missing person… with no memory…did they find her…or was it all a scheme?' Headmistress Lissy's brain ran a mile a minute. 

Henrik's brown hair were stuck up in an odd angle, curtsy the girl's vomit. His face too was smudged with dirt and he too stank of rotting breakfast and misfortune, just not as badly as the girl. He had an air of nonchalance, as always, he sat with confidence and there was no physical giveaway of him having possibly abducted a girl around his age and having shoved her in a trashcan of his school.

'The son of two immensely successful lawyers would know enough to comprehend it a bonkers plan to begin with.'

'Also, there was no motive.'

'Right?'

Headmistress Lissy pondered in her head as the girl had jogged up to Yasin's poster and tried flipping it over, to check out the back side, all the while Henrik's soul abandoned him slowly for he tried crossing his hands at his wrists, whispering, "No! Trashcan! Don't touch it!" and even fell off his wingback chair to gain her attention. 

All of his efforts were vain to her. 

His knees rubbed against the rough carpet underneath and tingled with burns. Instant regret 101 by Henrik Stratford. He sucked in an agitated breath, caressing his poor sacrificed knees over the silky fabric of his uniform, while giving the girl a stink eye.

 

The alleged villain of a girl stood grinning in front of the poster, head empty and all thoughts abandoning self concern. Her eyes only registered the pinned smiling face looking down at her. She in her ragged clothes, he in a uniform that belonged to him. She with no identity of her own, he whose achievements shone as bright as his kind smile. Worlds apart. Yet, for a moment, he had held her whole world in his small hands. 

At her moment of eight, spinning controllably like an abandoned ball, he was there to hold her still.

Unintentionally so.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

The door clicked open and in walked the man of her dreams, pulled by his reddening ear, curtsy the chubby hands of Mr. Plod, along with a wave of nasally, "Ow, Ow, Ouch! Why! Ow! Wow! Why?! No! Wow! Ow!"s in tow. Quite similarly, but much calmly, followed the dragged, lanky, form of Kairos Rodrigo with an upturned smile.

The girl's newfound heart almost lurched out of its cage. She may not know much about the world. She may know nothing about herself. Maybe her mind was plagued with random gibberish like, 'Oral,' 'Amity,' or 'Syndicate.' But the only anchor in her memory is the face of Yasin, who helped her. Whom she must be loyal to. Whom she must protect. 

"Caught 'em sneaking inside the Main Crest Hall," Mr. Plod announced with his smug, thick accent. With a boy to punish on either side, his heart swelled with pride. Henrik, too, cheekily poked his tongue at Kairos' don't-say-anything-i-have-given-up-on-you face. 

The girl, stupefied by the harsh treatment of her newfound idol, rushed to the best, sanest, possible conclusion one could attain instinctually. 

She jumped at Mr. Plod like a spirit from the jungle. Like a true descendent of the monkey ancestors. Like a squirrel at its nut. Like a proper wild animal out of its natural habitat. Like a beast hungry for revenge. 

And bit off Mr. Plod's hand from Yasin's ear. 

ill timed — 2

Ill timing of a picture, ball and perm — CH 2.

[IF YOU ARE EASILY NAUSEATED BY THE MENTIONS OF GRAPHIC TRASH, OR VOMITING OR ARE OFFENDED BY CRUDE BEHAVIOUR THEN THIS BOOK IS NOT FOR YOU. I WOULD ADVICE YOU TO CLICK BACK AND DO SOMETHING BETTER WITH YOUR TIME. G' DAY!] 

A stink.

Something rotting.

Something wet, boldly soggy and awfully sticky.

Numbness in her nether regions.

Her eyes opened to darkness.

Well, not darkness per say, but a strange dirty yellow.

'Am I in a box?'

'Why is it so uncomfortable?'

'Why don't I feel my feet?'

'Ah!'

The upturned stance, feet sticking against a plastic wall and wedged between two closed plastic flaps. She raised her hands only to spot the white fabric of her shirt stained yellow, blotched green and tattered around her elbows. The space was confined and nauseating. She wanted an out.

Miraculously, there was a shriek outside. Two fingers slotted between the flaps, that engulfed her feet, and pushed them up. A pair of blue eyes, astonishingly withholding the same serenity as the hidden skies, greeted her face.

"Uh…everything alright in there?" his question was genuine, his voice was deep, his concern was evident and his awkwardness was conveyed. His eyes kept wandering around, unknowing where to focus. On the smooth, freckled expanse of legs in his direct line of sight, or the tattered shirt smeared with grease and rotting adversities screaming for a desperate wash or the disheveled mess of hair and limbs lying in a trash can that he found on a Monday morning, on the premises of his new school. Crestmoore Elite.   

"Quite upturned of all alright…ts? Is that a word? I can't seem to remember. Could do with a little help." 

Another head pressed itself over the shoulder of the blue-eyed guy. He was a brunette with a boxy smile and much to say about everyone around him. "Let the solar eclipse blind me before I unsee this, lord's holy breakfasts, Kai, you found a girl in a trashcan!?" his voice was husky, his thick eyebrows loved merging with his hairline as he slithered his arms around Kai's shoulders and tip-toed to get a better view inside. Whilst Kai looked taller and leaner with a calmer aura and distinctly dashing features, the other guy seemed to be a tad shorter with broad shoulders and muscular thighs. His face reeked of unchecked enthusiasm. 

"Yeah, surprise! Now, why don't we relish in the marvels of this strange discovery after I am pulled out of this misery? Is it too much to ask?" the girl questions with thinning patience and growing annoyance. The trash underneath felt turning soggier by the second; the wetness seeped through the thin fabric of her shirt and clung onto her skin. It made her squirm with disgust. 

"Why are you in there? How did you get in?" Kai questions curiously, raising his right eyebrow while staying sturdily grounded. No hands moving for help. 

"Is that really a point of concern right now?" her left eye twitched unceremoniously. 

"Wait, let me just—uh, gotcha!" the brunette behind Kai struggled to find his phone in his pant pockets. When he did, he pulled it out and clicked a picture, eternalizing a memory of a scornful reluctant girl he and his best friend found inside a trashcan. "There! All done, hah!" 

"Did you just--!"

"Henrik, that was an asshole move. Will we trend if we post this?" 

"Probably, but we will have to blur out her face, consent and rights and such."

"But will we make money off of it?"

"Depends on how we use—"

A slimy banana peel smacked Kai's face with precision, snogging his nose with its overwhelming rotten-ness and slithering down his lips line leaving a rotten trail over his face. He wheezed internally, soul cringing and body momentarily freezing with unfathomable disgust. 

Henrik let out a low whistle, sliding lower and hiding behind Kai's back now; his eyes peeking over Kai's elbow enough to spot the angry looking girl inside the trashcan. "Man had it coming, I tell you," he points at Kai's head, "How outrageous of him to not help you! He was lost to all Disney, I tell you, and he has no sense of chivalry or concept of damsel in distress. Talking of damsels, you throw quite accurately for someone in distress, are you a sportsperson?"

But before the girl could open her mouth in reply, a soccer ball swooshed in perspective and crashed against the trashcan with an audibly courageous THUD!

Kai shrieked unceremoniously in shock. 

The yellow trashcan wobbled on its circular edges due to unprecedented pressure and eventually toppled over, rolling on the cobbled pathway. The girl inside choked on her words and resorted to screaming, "AAAAHHH!" instead, as her world literally rocked on its axis and was now turning upside down. Over and about. Whatever. 

Distant hoots and whistles from the soccer field filtered their way in Henrik's ears as his lips left a wailing exclamation, "The trashcan has a person inside! Stop it!"

The yellow world of litter-glitter heeded no calls of concerns as Kai with his lanky limbs ran after it and Henrik with his more rested stance (having created a distance from disgusting Kai by leaning over a tree trunk as his friend participated in a guilt ridden wild goose chase) and obnoxiously well trained vocal cords screamed it to stop in the name of Law. 

It didn't.

And the girl felt her gut spiraling back into her throat, but right before she could even concoct a thought to throw-up, her world came to a standstill against the wondrous miracles of Yasin Hadid's arms wedging the trashcan with his body. 

"Crawl out please! Or it would roll off again!" his voice was a tad nasally, cheeky, as if he was talking in a pout. 

The girl nodded to herself as she tried to scrape her heels on the cobbled pathway in an attempt to push herself out. Help came in an embodiment of a visibly panting Kai who huffed and puffed between his words, "Wait—," huff, "—I will-ll," cough, "—I will—," wheeze, "—help!" 

He grabbed onto her legs and pulled her out in a swift motion, along with some accompaniments of trash in service. The girl coughed ravenously, finally getting a breath of fresh air in her trash congested lungs. She spread herself out on the floor and coughed bitterly and so did Kai but for all different and unhealthy reasons. Yasin picked up the trash can and placed it on the side of the pathway, out of possible stumbling reach, and walks back to them to question, "Are you guys okay?" 

The girl opens her eyes to face her knight in shining armor. Morelike, the guy in a soccer jersey with sweat-slick blonde hair, lovely slanted eyes, and plush lips that always seemed to be in a pout. Exactly the savior sort of a person. 

"Yeah, obviously they're okay, I was overseeing them. What is the worst that could happen, huh? With me on the watch, absolutely nothing! Though Kai could have busted a lung or two in process, but that's all internal grievances, not my line of expertise, not my concern, right?" Henrik with his boxy grin casually walked into perspective. 

The girl, if she had energy enough, would have had poked the guy's eyes out. 

Kai, as dying as he was, still had enough life within himself to strike his shoes against Henrik's shin. Vengeance was well served with the pleasure of Henrik's agonized scream. He skipped on one leg, hugging his shin to his stomach and frolicking multiple 'Ouch' and 'ow's before he tripped over Kai's foot and fell.

Face first.

Over that girl's very dirty, very fragile, stomach.

Yasin's hand hung in air due to the missed catch.

The girl doubled over, in uncomfortable shock and puked all over Henrik's suffocated head and fluffy brown hair. "Much better," she rasped out, gargling, as the wetness of her vomit seeped through Henrik's dry scalp and reached the red-hot tip of his ears.

As if diving face first on a girl's belly was not horrible enough, he could almost feel his $250 perm being washed over by the said girl's stomach activities. "Not—my—hair!" he all but shrieked out, jolting up and trying to deny the obvious.

"It's not there, is it?" his husky words were pleading, pretty face contoured into sheer agony as his eyebrows drooped to the side of his cheeks. 

Yasin shook his head in affirmative. 

Henrik enthusiastically slotted his fingers in his hair.

Lest to say, the result was not the most promising hair he had touched in his life. It was lively, though, for sure. 

"You!" Henrik ruthlessly pointed at the girl with his vomit covered hand. 

"Oh shut up you dramatic hooligan and let the cats live."

"YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!"

"I would love to if I knew the currency of incompetence and tomfoolery. Though I am always up for a lesson, can't say I'll catch up to your level of petty…or stupid."

"I WILL!"

Kai rolled his eyes away from his best friend's dramatic shenanigans only to spot the bald Mr. Plod raging his way towards them. Looking absolutely furious with his chubby cheeks puffed, Kai knew it would be a blotch on his annual report if he got caught. He was Kairos Rodrigo, the son of Crestmoore's Minister, for crying out loud, if the words were to reach his father—he'd have his social and physical life hanging by a thread. Quite literally. So, resorting to the best possible option, Kai slowly but swiftly dragged him out of the chaotic scene and ran until he was unseen.  

Yasin, intrigued by Kai's peculiar disappearance, spared his eye an investigation. Spotting Mr. Plod, the P.E. teacher of Crestmoore Elite, a notorious gossipmonger of a narcissist, infamous for ratting students out and earning money out of a kid's scandals, Yasin spent no second to fathom rhyme or reason. He was Yasin Hadid, the son August Entertainment's chairwoman, even the tiniest misconduct on his behalf would have the future of a billion dollar company on the line. They were always being watched. Stared at until they break on the verge of a scandal. Make the markets crash and bring shame to the Amity Alliance of Crestmoore. He could not let it happen. So, he jumped over the lanky, spread form of the-girl-from-the-trashcan and ran into the distance as fast his soccer legs could carry him.

Mr. Plod, spotting Yasin's blatant escape, pulled his whistle to his lips and blew so loud that Henrik had to give a pause to his dramatics for once, just so he could snap, "Rude much? We are trying to hold a conversation about my ruined perm, please. It is important!" 

Only to realize who he just snapped at. Mr. Plod's chubby silhouette at hand's distance. Henrik's face grew so pale, the girl could almost consider his brown hair go red for a moment. Curious, she asked.

"Who's he?"

"An adult of authority who has power enough to suck our childhood, teenagedom and adulthood into a deflated shell of poverty-stricken misery and incompetence."

"Big words," She huffed out, narrowing her eyes at the bulging stomach threatening to plunge, with every step, out of the blue dress shirt Mr. Plod had on.

"Small word, run!" 

For an encounter as cold as December and as random as February, his vomit stricken hand pulled her dirt ridden one into his, almost like the pleasant warmth of May. And they ran, across seasons, through time, unknowing of the places they held in the world and the crossroads they would eventually stand on. Meeting a stranger, holding their hand, one welcomes not only them—but the past, present and future they carry along. The seasons they saw, the summers they felt, the winters they survived and the springs that are yet to come. Holding a hand is accepting someone's life in yours, even momentarily so, you're both one in the present. 

And it is the time where all good things happen. Though, they're not always obvious. 

Being caught by Mr. Plod's chubby fingers as Henrik blamed her for 'incompetent running' and she blamed him for being a 'conceited hair ranting,' they stood in front of Headmistress Lissy's office. In the strangest of beginnings at the age of eight, in the strangest of September, they stood before the council where he said his name.

But she did not know hers.

"Name?" 

"Henrik Stratford."

"Your name?"

"I—uh, um…don't know…?"

                                 --- fin ---

ill timed — 1

All Good Things Take Time — Chapter 1

All Good Things take time: if and when one is earnest enough to invest their last shred of Hope and a progressively receding Will-to-survive into a fresh brew of dire discomfiture. One must hold on in pursuit of 'A Better Tomorrow,' a strange concoction of raging optimism garnishing your dish of Hope 'n Will with a smidge of Patience on the side. 

A big nom leads to All Good Things!

Unfortunately for little Orielle, the ingredient list seemed out of bounds in the confines of the huge trashcan from the open mouth of which her stocking covered legs dangled in a to-and-fro motion. Her immediate, dare I say, respite… consisted of a week's worth of lunch, more abundantly rotting spinach, eggs and bananas, swarming over her dull brown hair. The stench emanated from the aforementioned participants lingered around her with constancy, bordering memory…or far worse, nostalgia.

Through her dull eyes she could see the yellow plastic of the half open trash can, delightedly beaming under the presence of harsh sunlight. 

"Yellow is a happy color, my students! Color the sun yellow so that your drawings will be a happy place!" Ms. Prisms, her art teacher, had once said. The memory evaded Orielle's brain, along with an afterthought, 'So, is the trashcan my happy place?' that was not strong enough to reach her lips. It sure was peaceful though, inside the trashcan, away from people. 

Her little feet rocked to a beat of their own before strange giddy hands found their way to her buckled black shoes and unstrapped them with a swish. She squeaked an unpromising protest. 

There were laughs.

The voices brought familiarity she despised, a hiraeth she did not long for. Her thumbnails greeted her index finger with sharp caresses, teeth digging into the flesh of her cheeks as her brown eyes blew wide in fear, panicked irises, stomach rumbling, feet freezing and heart racing against time itself. 

"Guys! Look! Orbin's in the trash again and she got no shoes!"

"Ha! Wait till Mr. Smod catches her and makes a spectacle of her beating!"

Her breath hitched, she sunk her teeth harder, dug her thumbnails faster into her fingers, succumbing into herself. Her shoulders curling inwards as she tried to make herself smaller, further seeking refuge in the burial hosted by rotting food.

"Do not make haste; there is something better I can do!"

A snip, a tear, and Orielle could suddenly feel the sunlight attack her bare feet like hungry leeches to a fresh body. The yellow trash can felt like a happy jail. It protected her with the dregs that resided in it. 

"Look! Orbin has got holes in her socks! Torn socks! What rags!"

"I know, let's call her Orag! Or O'binrag! Oh! I know an even better! Binrag!"

And they laughed again. 

And she felt miserable again.

Oh! It was a cycle, a dreadful one, but it would soon end for the better. 

After all, All Good Things Take Time.

Unless you lose all sense of it.