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Clairity

Sunrise.

The most common embodiment of beauty found within nature. Seen everyday by millions around the world, it has the potential to draw forth memories laden with nostalgia, warmth, reflection, and a hundred other romantic notions capable of such an arousal within the human mind. The normalcy of a black sky dotted by little dots of bright light is interrupted by the brighter streaks of deep violet, golden yellow, and crimson red of a rising sun.

Red was the color of the morning, that day. It was that which caught the water the most, that day. An undisturbed shining mirror that reflected the world in a tint of rose, unstirred by the wind or the sealife or the constant undetectable motion of the ground beneath it. Nothing would match the sight of it for the rest of the day, and no other sunrise would be exactly like it for the rest of eternity. Covering the surface of the water with glass would perhaps be the only manner in which to come remotely close, for on no other day for a long time would the water be so perfectly still. And it would not remain so still for long.

A disturbance. Subtle waves in the water. Not from fish, not from birds landing in the water, not even from a breeze blowing so softly over the top with the softness of a mother whispering into her child’s ear.

A single ship floated lazily into Boston Harbor.

It was an orange giant, it’s normal tan paintjob starkly darkened by what few rays fell upon its sides at that hour of the day. Its journeys great, its soul age, everything of it from the shape to the way it drifted through the water speaking of a simplistic elegance thought unattainable by an object that could not move of its own accord. Yet there it was, unquestionably existent. The curve of its bow was interrupted by something that could only be noticed in the light of day, the word ReddeSugar in a dull crimson that marked its age and remained untouched by the waters. It moved through the unflowing waters at an unremarkable speed, in a straight line towards one of the docks. The path was unmistakable, the entry a matter of expertise in piloting, the ship’s graceful motion striking awe into any soul with the cognizance to watch.

And Arik Salisbury Redde was asleep at the goddamned wheel.

Not for much longer, anyways.

Arik’s chin was resting on his arms, which in turn were resting on the wheel so perfectly that his ship continually moved in a straight line. The ReddeSugar, with mighty inertia to keep it going, hit the dock head-on. Had Arik actually had the wit to pilot his own airship, it might’ve been a perfect entry. However, Arik was too busy being influenced by his own inertia, which boosted him up on the wheel slightly and made his feet discontinue their beloved contact with the ground. Gravity said ‘hell no you don’t,’ and sent Arik right back down off the wheel. His feet no longer touching the ground, he did the only thing a semi-comatose person slumped onto a disc-like object could do - fall straight down on his ass.

One would think that such a stream of events would send Arik into a massive panic, as he loved his airship very very much. Sadly, he thought that the combination of crashing down onto the ground and the sound produced by the ship’s bow contacting the dock signaled that he had fallen asleep on ‘The Couch’ (again - called so because not only did it provide comfort, but it also served as a dining hall, a conference room, temporary lodging, a hideously dangerous weapon in times of turbulent seas and vicious storms as Harris found out one unfortunate day, amongst other things), and had fallen off ‘The Couch’ (again). Poor Arik was not the smartest of creatures in the morning.

Normally, the first place Arik went to whenever he woke up was the refrigerator, as coffee came above all else in the deathly moments known gleefully as ‘wakey-wakey time’ to Alekhs and only Alekhs. The refrigerator was several yards behind The Couch. Whenever Arik had the misfortune of falling asleep on The Couch, he would head straight for the refrigerator, as by this time the course was hotwired into his brain. All he had to do was stagger around The Couch, walk a few yards, and there it was. That was always the plan. There was no wit or actual planning involved, so it was kept very simple. Making coffee had become inborn instinct to the man. There wasn’t much to it than drinking the coffee after that.

Such a pity the day such a simple plan went awry.

He did as much as perform the act of moving around a couch that wasn’t there and walking for a pitiful distance before he left the cockpit and tumbled over the railing shortly thereafter. Plummeting into the freezing waters below he went. Normally he would’ve hit the docks before ever hitting the water, but as luck would have it he had completely obliterated that portion of the docks just a few moments ago.

Arik could not remember if he had dealt with such a wake-up call in all of his life. Of course he couldn’t, he was too busy thrashing in the water, trying to resurface so he could breathe comfortably. And so up he came, soaked head breaking the surface of the water as quizzically looking around to see what had happened. What he looked at was the ReddeSugar surrounded by splintered boards and smashed planks of wood. It took him about a minute in the freezing water to realize exactly what had happened.

His chilled screams wouldn’t be the last thing to disturb the waters that day.

***

“Arik Redde.”

Indeed, one of the two men inside of the small, dark office was Arik Redde. He didn’t like the place, had the smell of a waiting room that allowed smoking and the strange air of a place people were brought to in times of ‘hostile negotiations’. The other man behind the desk Arik was in front of didn’t help his impressions. Long black hair tied back in a tail, shades on at nearly all times of day, mostly black attire save for dark blue denim jeans, and leather gloves that gave the notion of someone who didn’t want to leave fingerprints.

Jay Sullivan was a completely amoral ex-hustler from Southern California. At least, until the family business was bequeathed to him by his dying father. He traveled across the United States, and took charge of the Sullivan Docks in the Boston Harbor. He would do damn near anything for his father. The family docks meant a lot to his father, so now they meant a lot to him. So he was quite irked when he saw the destruction caused not a few hours beforehand.

“Long time, no see.” His voice was completely deadpan. It was always deadpan. It often matched his facial expression, which was more often than not completely blank. “You do comprehend the consequences of what you’ve done?”

Arik gulped, nodding very quickly. He was sweating profusely. He was also glad as all hell that Sullivan was still wearing his shades. A gaze as intense as Sullivan’s had the tendency to make Arik want to cry very badly and to hug somebody. That wasn’t Sullivan, anyway.

Sullivan froze for a second, then blinked and raised a hand to give Arik an audible slap on the cheek. “You’re acting like a p---y. You speak to me in words, not body motions that tell me you’re obviously very close to s---ting your pants. Understand?”

“Y-yeh... yessir.”

“There’s a good boy.” He pulled two things out of one of his pants’ pockets. A box of cigarettes and a lighter. “You know how much damage you’ve done?”

Arik considered the question, pursing his lips and looking to the ceiling before answering. “No... no idea, Mr. Sullivan.” He did not notice that Sullivan was lighting up until a cigarette was in between his teeth.

“I had an repair crew come down not five minutes ago. Their foreman looked over the place, laughed a little when I told him what happened, and told me how much repairs would cost. You know how much he told me fixing the docks would cost?”

“I don’t know, sir.” Arik tried to ignore the familiar smell of cigarette smoke quickly permeating the small office they stood in.

A single eyebrow shot up from behind the shades. “Quit calling me sir. I hate that.” He paused for a moment to take a drag, blowing the smoke in Arik’s face. He knew Arik hated smoking. He knew damn near everything that went on at these docks. “Over $5000.”

Arik groaned. He knew what would be coming up shortly.

“That doesn’t count the hourly wages. That counts for lumber, appraisal fees, and rigging to make sure he can repair all the crap you broke underwater.” Another drag, another blow of smoke, another annoyed look on Arik’s face. This time he coughed, too. “I’m gonna give you some options. One, you can pay for this. Since I make a point of knowing everything that goes on around these docks, I’ve got an idea of your shall we call it, financial luck. Already I know you can’t do this. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” Arik had the sudden desire to speak through clenched teeth. His dread was slowly mixing with annoyance. Dread, however, was the priority of the day.

“Thought so. Two, you can lie to me to get me to leave you alone for a few minutes, get in your ship, and make a run for it. I’d suggest against this option, as that would force me to get out my ships, and go after you. I don’t like going after people. It makes me mad. People I go after tend to end up with broken ribs. I don’t think you care for this option very much either, don’t you?”

“...No.” Since he had no money, and he didn’t feel like giving up the ReddeSugar to pay off some silly repair fees, that was the option Arik was currently considering.

“I can tell by your delay that you were considering it.”

Arik mentally kicked himself.

“Trust me, Arik. My ships are faster than your ships. And you need to refuel. Speaking of ships, three. You can give me yours to cover the damages, irregardless of what I do to that hunk of crap you like driving around so much. You like that one least of all, correct?”

“...Yes.” Arik’s lips pursed slightly.

“Alright. Four. I can pay for the lumber, rigging, appraisal, labor, and even repair on your own ship if any damages were incurred.” Arik’s lips very suddenly unpursed. “You like the sound of that one, don’t you?”

“I do like that one.”

“Then I shall pay for everything, repairs shall be made, and then you shall refuel and be on your merry way, correct?”

“If that’s the plan, then I see no problem with it.” Arik was suddenly very happy.

“Fine then. Under one condition.”

“And that is?” Arik didn’t see how this could possibly get bad. Again, poor Arik was not the smartest of creatures in the morning.

“You and some of your crew lighten up the labor fees by doing the monster’s share of the single-man work yourselves.”

Arik was suddenly not happy. “What?”

“I’m saying that you go find a set of tools, get your crew, and start working on the dock reconstruction as soon as the repair crew gets here with the lumber.” The traces of a smile could be seen showing up at a corner of Sullivan’s mouth.

“Uh....” Arik could come up with no words to respond with.

“Seeing as how you have no money and next-to-no fuel left, I suggest you take this route. Unless you’d like to take my next suggestion and start donating organs for money?”

“Uh, no!” Arik raised his arms in defense, and tried as hard as he could to smile in earnest. “No no no. I, heh, I think I’ll take that other one. The one that seemed so appealing until you said, heh....”

“That you’d be working your ass off until you repaid your newest debt to society, my family, and, most importantly, me? Right, then. The repair crew will be arriving with supplies shortly. I’ll be supervising this operation for the duration of your stay. Meaning I’m watching your ass for the next several days, and you will be here for several days. Not to say I’ll be watching your ass because I like it and find it cute and attractive, mind you. It’s because your ass essentially belongs to me until those docks are repaired. And I swear to God, if you hit on any of the other workers I’ll break your knees and do other nasty things to you that will most likely result in you crying very hard. Got it?”

“Not a problem.” He thought it wouldn’t, he hoped.

“Out you go then. Be there when the repair truck arrives.”

----

It had taken a half-hour for the repair crew to arrive with supplies. Five seconds afterward, Jay Sullivan climbed up a rope ladder that just so happened to belong to the ReddeSugar. Arik had left it down by pure accident. Sullivan stood on the deck for five minutes before Arik calmly strolled out of the salon and saw him standing there. The strangled vocal noises that were released from Arik’s throat were nothing short of remarkable. Within thirty seconds, Arik had everybody out on deck, standing in imperfect formation.

That is, while they were in a line of sorts, they stood or sat in it as they damn well pleased. Alekhs was balancing himself on a rail, completely oblivious to the presence of the black-clad man whom Arik seemed so deathly afraid of for the time being. Kinko was standing somewhat beside him, in that he kept a line, but stayed a fair distance away. Alekhs was light, but not that light. Angel on head just might hurt a teensy bit. Harris and Naomi were side-by-side. And they were poking each other. Repeatedly.

And standing in between Kinko and Harris was Arik, trying desperately to keep up a formal look, feet side-by-side, hands right outside his pants’ pockets, and stern countenance. That was quite difficult when Sullivan reacted in a very odd manner, considering he was Jay Sullivan and all.

“THIS is your crew?” Well well. He actually sounded incredulous.

It served in deflating Arik’s ego very well. He slouched, let out a sigh of dismay, and shook his head. Eyes disappeared behind hair. This wasn’t good. “Yep. Crew. On ship. Yeah. A-heh.”

Sullivan put his hands on his hips. He looked genuinely worried. After a few seconds of quiet thought, he shook his head. “Well, I already know the two to your right.” He motioned towards Naomi and Harris, still busy poking each other. “How ‘bout the black-and-white deal to your left?”

Arik was going to regret this. He knew he was SO going to regret this. “Erm.... This is Alekhs Sheh... Shehed... Shah-ha-hallelu....” Stress sucked. “Aw, forget it.”

“Alekhs Shehenderzade!” The white-haired wonder finally noted Sullivan’s presence, and gracefully jumped off the railing nearly smacking Kinko with many locks of hair in the process. He extended a hand, which Sullivan looked at for a few seconds. Few multiplied by ten, eleven or so, anyways. In the time between Sullivan looking at Alekhs’ hand and reluctantly making contact with it, Alekhs began to make silly little notes about the man’s appearance, one detail sticking out in his mind in particular.

“Hey, I can see my reflection in your darkened spectacles. Groovy!” Sullivan’s jaw slacked for just a few seconds.

“...Well ain’t you f---in’ adorable?” It had taken him a few seconds to process the proper response, as his mind was preoccupied with wondering exactly how stupid Alekhs could possibly be.

Kinko did the only thing he preferred doing in such a situation. He snorted in amusement.

Sullivan’s attention turned upon Kinko. Arik noticed. “This is... erm, Kinko.”

“Matthieu Kinko.” The hiss made Arik cringe, and also somehow convinced Harris and Naomi to stop poking each other. It also drove some poor man walking around on the docks totally insane to such a degree that the name would echo in the minds of his newborn great-great-great-grandchildren, but that’s another story entirely.

Sullivan did not grin. Sullivan did not smile. Rather he did what came naturally. “Kinko it is, then.”

Kinko glared. Sullivan shrugged, eyebrows raising and the traces of a grimace appearing on his face. He let go of Alekhs’ hand and gave him a soft pat on the shoulder. But only after some thought went into the idea of such an action. He then jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You, go now. Follow fearless leader and get to work.”

Arik sighed, shaking his head. He started off, heading for the ladder somewhere behind Sullivan’s general position. Alekhs merrily followed after, trailed shortly by a grumbling Kinko. He shot a glare at Sullivan as he walked past for the ladder. Naomi and Harris went quickly after him, both staring at Sullivan very cautiously.

That caution did not pay off at all when Sullivan’s hands shot up to grab their shoulders to stop them in their tracks. “Except for you two.”

Sullivan’s hand raised off Harris’ shoulder, instead pointing directly at his face as to indicate that, yes, he was talking to the visually-impaired one. “For one, you’re a three-quarters-sightless gimp who suffers from something akin to hysterical blindness every time you get hit upside the head. You’d probably be more of a hindrance than a help.”

Gimp!?” Harris did not take kindly to the remark. Sullivan’s hand had gone back down to grasp Harris’ shoulder again, but after a moment of staring at the very center of Harris’ only visible eye, Sullivan’s hand went back up and delivered such a vicious flick to Harris’ forehead that he was nearly knocked over by the sheer force.

His hand raised up off of Naomi’s shoulder, and he also pointed in her face, as if indicating that, yes, he was speaking to the ‘odd one out’ of the entire crew, if such a thing were possible. She was already angry enough, what with nearly knocking Harris over with a flick to the forehead and all. “Two, you’re an etiquette-school reject who probably knows less about carpentry than my oldest niece, who happens to be three-and-a-half.”

Angrier.

“Also, you’re of the feminine persuasion.”

Clawed to death by a fury Hell cannot match. Bad way to go, Sullivan.

“Now now, put away the game face. It’s below me to force females to work when it was a man that caused a need for work in the first place.”

...wha?

“Besides, I’m not letting any part of your crew take breaks for anything save excessive fatigue, hunger, or need to relieve one’s self. I’m not one to violate child labor laws, which state that I can’t have minors working past midnight, and trust me, these guys are gonna be working damn near around the clock.”

“Oh, that’s downright mean.” After the pseudo-feminism bit, it took awhile for Naomi to come up with an actual response.

Sullivan flashed a smile for just a moment. “Only to the ones I’m subjecting to my brand of community service.”

“Community service. Haw. That’s funny.” Harris loved his brother. He really did. He was not one to let someone work him to death. Arik did that perfectly well on his own. “You won’t violate child labor laws, but have no problem breaking ones barring cruel and unusual punishment?”

“Actually, yes.” Sullivan released their shoulders, and slowly began to back his way to the ladder. “This’s a special sort of cruel and unusual punishment you should be glad I’m not forcing you to join into.” He started to climb down, stopping to look at the two of them when only his head and shoulders were visible. “Run along kids. Enjoy your time in Boston. Do it for your friends, ‘cause God knows they won’t.” Jay Sullivan then disappeared down the side of the ReddeSugar.

Naomi, for one, was shocked somewhat that they were in Boston. Saint Hildy’s. Harris, on the other hand, was just confused. So the two teens stared at the ladder for what felt like an eternity of mental quandary.

Actually, it was only a few seconds of confusion that were broken by Arik’s call of “Harrison-Addison Madison Redde, GET DOWN HERE, NOW!” At least that’s what he had tried to say, as someone, presumably Sullivan, gave him a healthy smack upside the head, cutting him off before he could finish the only syllable contained within the word ‘here’.

That was shortly followed by a second of stern talking-to, definitely from Sullivan, then an unmistakable yell of “You WHAT?!” There was much grumbling to follow. Poor Arik was an unlucky boy that day. It made Naomi laugh. Harris, meantime was looking for something to throw, as he was pretty sure he heard some of the dock working sniggering from the truck and he wished to strike down Arik in vengeance for once again divulging his real name to the masses.

After what was a solid thirty-seven seconds of searching, and three seconds of shaking his fist down at Arik, Harris turned to Naomi and stared. Unbeknownst to her (though knowst to us), he was at a complete loss. It took him a few seconds to actually come up with something to say.

“...So... what do you wanna do?”

Naomi smiled, shrugging. “I dunno. What do you wanna do?” She loved this game.

Harris frowned drolly. “...I... don’t know. That’s why I asked you.” He hated it when she did this.

“And I wanna know what you wanna do. I desire input.”

“...Uh, well.... We’re in Boston, aren’t we?” His mind, still wishing to find some deep recess inside the unconscious and away from the light of day, and take a long, long nap, was grasping frantically at whatever it could come by.

“Yep.”

“Um... how ‘bout the Quincy Market? Lotsa good places to eat, but....” He trailed off, trying to think of something, right hand nervously going to scratch his neck, under his chin.

Naomi shook her head. “Need money for something like that.”

Harris sighed, still considering. Then his eye lit up. “Ooh! Nathaniel Hall! They’ve got lots of cool stuff there. Like... uh....” His shoulders slumped. He knew what Naomi was going to say now.

“Hello? Money. We just dealt with that.” She was prepared to shoot down any place he thought of. She already knew what she wanted to do.

“Uh, the Prudential Hall? $10 for a nice view of the town.”

“Sister Hildy’s.” She smiled very slowly.

“Huh?”

“Sister Hildy’s. My old boarding school.” She smiled very wickedly.

“Wha? Why in the hell would you want to go to that unho....”

A single wicked grin broadened, a flash of teeth showing through.

“Ohhhh....” And that’s when it hit him. His eye widened, his mouth quickly following suit it an expression of incredulousness and wonder. Both narrowed, mouth going into a thin line and eye going to a mere slit. His expression resembled that of an agent of sinister deeds.

“You know exactly why I want to go back.”

“Indeed I do.” His grin too became wicked. “Evil, thy name be Vengeance.”

Her face brightened, wickedness turning into something more akin to joy, as odd as the combination may be. “Havoc! We can’t forget Havoc!” Plans formed in her head. She grabbed Harris by the arm and led him into the salon. “Oooh, this is gonna be the KING of all days! We’re gonna need tools and disguises and some money and OOH! Definitely some music. Some of this’ll take a long time to set up, but it’ll be worth it all in the end. And we’ll need flashlights and flares and....”

Her mind was working full-throttle now. Old memories resurfaced, things she had studied and investigated, things she had learned on her desperate search for a way out, things about the people she had hated so very very much, and more. Things she had intended to exploit, but hadn’t because she left sooner than plans could be implemented. And Harris would not be just dragged along for the ride. Pranks. He was good at those. He had pulled them at school all the time, even played some upon the rest of the crew. Mischief would be the priority of the day.

For a day that had seen much destruction and would see much more, it would be a marvelously productive one.

----

It took well over an hour to gather every single resource they thought they might need for the venture. Below deck, Arik kept various tool sets. Each had neccessary equipment; screwdrivers, wrenches, flashlights, and more. Harris grabbed a large boltripper, just in case. Naomi meantime stored various CDs from her collection, effectively forgetting that Harris listened to completely different music. Harris got rope. Naomi got headphones. Harris loaded a backpack with tools. Naomi ransacked the refrigerator, taking all she could carry - not that there was that much. Naomi was done faster, needless to say.

When she was finished, she waited on the deck. Realizing that Harris wouldn’t be there for awhile, she went up the cockpit to enjoy the view, still wearing the bag. Harris eventually came staggering up from the lower decks, hauling the massive weight upon his back up to the deck, and nearly snapping his spine in two had he not assumed an ingenious hunched-over stance. Staggering to the deck he went, dropping the bag with a heavy thunking sound upon the planking. And there, after catching his breath, he waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually he got annoyed, and sauntered into the salon to look for Naomi.

Naomi, meantime, climbed down from the cockpit, and stood there waiting for Harris. Then she noticed his incredibly heavy-looking bag. It struck her that he might’ve been getting more stuff from below deck, and after a minute or so of careful deliberation, decided to go help the colorblind gimp-boy with whatever task he might be performing. Below deck she went.

Harris came out of the salon looking more irritated and less sweaty than before. Cold water did marvels for a person’s appearance, but next to nothing for the aggravation that had settled like a monsoon over his head. In his irked condition, he suddenly recalled that he had left the pipewrench downstairs. He groaned, remembering exactly how heavy it was and how difficult it would be to try and carry up the ladder. Shrugging in exasperation, he headed back to the below-deck entrance.

To Naomi’s chagrin, Harris wasn’t below deck. Meaning he wasn’t there to help him carry the stinking pipewrench, which seemed to be the only tool set aside for transport up. Thankfully, Harris had rigged a strange backpack-like strap tied of rope. It was just a matter of getting the thing on, now. It was quite large for a pipewrench, after all. She was standing right below the ladder, and did not notice the sounds of Harris’ feet greeting the ladder rungs and the pipewrench daintily smacked into various pieces of rigging around her.

Harris, likewise, did not hear her quiet crashings over the sound of his huffy breaths and quick footsteps. So when he decided to drop the rest of the way down, he suddenly found he was in for a surprise.

She had just recently noticed that something was obscuring the light from above deck. She looked up to see what it was. Instead of looking to see what the matter was, she got a faceful of colorblind emo gimp-boy crotch. Behind a thick pair of pants, thank god. Onto the ground they fell, the pipewrench coming close to breaking Naomi’s fall, as well as several ribs.

She didn’t know what happened at first. At first she thought something dropped on her face - though that really was a given - and that it was not alive. Then she noted the scent of cooking ingredients and the definite presence of a pulse, which, as it turned out to be to her wonderful luck, was not from what she at first assumed it to be from. It occurred to her immediately what, or, more appropriately, who it was. She was, for lack of a better phrase, quite disgusted.

Quite disgusted in that the first thing she did was start flailing like a complete madwoman, and that the second thing she almost did was kick Harris in the back of his head, giving the poor boy enough incentive to get to his goddamned feet. It took about five minutes of constant apologizing and hard swats to the arms, shoulders, and back to get the entire thing resolved.

Eventually, through their combined (though undeniably irritated in their own rights) efforts, Naomi and Harris managed to lug that pipewrench up the ladder. Once that was brought to the door right outside of the salon, they equipped their bags, and set off. That was the plan, anyhow.

----

“Just WHERE in the hell do you think you’re OW!

That was the exact sentence as uttered by Arik Redde, up to and including the portion where he was smacked upside the head by Jay Sullivan for ‘slacking off’, as he called it.

“Day off for them, Redde. Get back to work.” The cigarette in between his smirking lips was almost down to the filter.

Arik turned to Jay, looking frustrated and, to Naomi, hideously tantalizing. He was sweaty, and he had no shirt. Enough said on her part. Harris would chastise her later for staring at what she conveniently forgot was his brother. “Oh, c’mon! You mean to tell me you’re gonna let them go gallivanting off to God-knows-where while the rest of us work our asses off?!”

“Good guess.” Sullivan cocked his head to a side for a moment, looking as if he were agreeing for a moment. “While you work your ass off. The other two are here purely for your benefit. It’s a good thing, too. They seem to be doing a much better job than you are.”

He was probably right. Kinko continued to work through his own frustrated mutterings and curses uttered in the general direction of Sullivan’s descendents. Alekhs was doing his job merrily, whistling like a muse and floating about on his feet like, well, an angel. Arik hung his head in a combination of slight annoyance, minor shame and incredible misery. Better luck next time, Arik. Back to work he went. Or at least forced to do so he was, or else Mr. Sullivan would whomp him a good one.

The three of them stood, Harris, Naomi, and Sullivan, merely watching the three of them work. Naomi seemed somewhat sad that they’d be leaving Alekhs behind. Harris could care less. Sullivan seemed to draw mass amounts of amusement from it. Sullivan then noticed that there were, indeed, three of them there instead of one, and quickly got to shooing Harris and Naomi away.

***

The hum of florescent lights, the clicking of heels against linoleum, and the smacking of lips against each other as teeth shifted to chew that piece of sandwich just one last time. Incessant chattering, joyous giggles, and the hushed whispers of young girls speaking behind each others’ backs. The sounds of the cafeteria at Sister Hildy’s School of Proper Etiquette at lunchtime, not only a sight to behold but a cacophony to experience. The combined sound created in that cafeteria that day was the product of the actions of each and every single student inside that cafeteria and the adjoining bathroom. With the exception of one.

This single student stared morosely at a nearby group of popular girls, happily chirping away at each other between bites of whatever meal they had for themselves - sandwiches, cereals, what have you - while completely oblivious to the rest of the goings-on about them. She herself had nothing to eat, in the place of food was a stack of school books. Each and every one of them looked the same, save for differences in thickness and surface area. All were wrapped in the same brown paper, all means of identification written on in the same black marker, and all marked ‘Claire’ on the lower right-hand corner with fine-tip green marker in a style that tried so hard to be beautiful calligraphy yet fell painfully short. She was the only Claire in the school, perhaps one of the only things about her that were immediately noticeable.

She wasn’t anything special. Her and her pale, soft skin and long, blond hair typical both in color and length and dull blue eyes. She was a small girl, slender and diminutive, looking just as delicate as many of the other girls at Sister Hildy’s. Hair band mostly composed of a deep blue cloth in her hair, and earrings a silver long worn away by time and abuse neither hers in her earlobes. Her shirt was buttoned all the way up, jacket was buttoned as much as it could be for comfort, skirt was down to her knees, knee-highs were indeed knee-high, and so on and so forth. Nothing special.

Her father had sent her there thinking she’d be the prettiest and smartest and most well-liked girl in school. It was hard being ‘unique’ at a school like Sister Hildy’s, especially when hundreds of other fathers and mothers sent their daughters to this place with the exact same ideas in their minds.

She started to look around, taking in the sights. Had she not merely been existing since the beginning of the school year, she would’ve come to the slow realization that everyone else had someone to talk to all the same. She sighed, finding herself compelled to glance to the seats next to her. She did so slowly, only finding backs turned towards her in both directions. She was even compelled to look behind her - even there was a turned back, this one in a standing position and wearing a gray jumpsuit, with a full brown head of hair and a youthful look. Then she noticed that over the shoulder of this turned back was a head that was looking at her out of the corner of its eye.

At least he would’ve been looking at her, had it not been for the indigo-blue eyepatch covering the eye that was supposed to be looking at her. There he was, just mopping the floor, with this unusual smirkish smile on his face. He must be the new janitorial assistant. He also must’ve enjoyed the idea of working in an all girls’ school. Claire shook her head. Boys were so strange.

----

Harris was, indeed, strange. He was a strange as they came. And he was indeed smirking. For not only had he managed to rob the janitor of a spare jumpsuit that was in storage as well as the keys to every room in the building, but he was making his way to the boiler room. With good reason, too.

Out of the cafeteria he went, mop and bucket at his side, first down the hall to a maintenance closet. From the closet he went for a stairwell, downstairs he went after that, and down the darkened corridors of the basement he went until he came upon a large metal door. In the darkness flashed a momentary glint of grinning teeth before the reverb keys clashing against each other filled the hall. A few seconds of fumbling, a scraping of smooth metal against rough, and then a click before the door slowly swung open. Beyond was pitch darkness, not a place that could be tread safely. Chances were the floor was littered with tools. Naomi had given him a warning about this - the janitor was a very messy man outside of work obligations.

Harris fumbled around with his toolbelt until he found a flashlight. Taking that off of its clip and clicking it on, he checked the floor. Covered in tools and discarded gloves, boots, and such. He tsked to himself. Such a mess.

There would be a light switch directly to his right. First illuminating his would-be objective with light of his own, and then.... There it was. Just a flip, and then....

Long dead fluorescent lights crackled to life. The actual janitor hadn’t been down here in months. Weather had been pleasant, and there were no troubles with warm water. Harris shook his head. The foolish old man must’ve thought that everything being in proper working order and having no reason for concern was a reason to slack on maintenance work.

Harris shook his head. He wasn’t here for repairs. He was here for the opposite. A smile was still being worn, unbroken even by the carelessness of the janitor and the neglect of machinery.

He clicked off the flashlight, replacing it on his belt, and grabbing the walkie-talkie not to far away from his right jumpsuit pocket. He flicked on the power switch, and held it to his face. “I’m here. Boiler room. The place’s mess.”

He stopped speaking. Not two seconds afterward, the device in his hand began to hiss back. “I know. Gerry’s a lazy, lazy man. You see the water pressure valve?”

Click. “The big red one?”

Hiss. “Yeah, that’s it.”

Click. “Not yet. Lemme look for a few more seconds.” He paused before starting his search, thinking of something that hadn’t really occurred to him before. “Just to be clear on this, the point of finding the valve and jacking it up would be to flood the school?”

Hiss. “That’s half the plan.” She audibly snickered over the channel.

Harris grinned at that, slowly wandering about the room in search of the red valve. Click. “The other being?”

“Alright, there’s this girl. Sylvia Farrow. Real spoiled type, ice queen, really snobby, the girl everyone should hate but next-to-no-one does ‘cause she’s pretty and trashy and all that. Did I mention that a lot of people do what she tells them to because she’s much taller than most of the student body?”

Harris stopped for a moment. Click. “Taller? Wouldn’t that usually be a better attribute with males around? I mean, she’s surrounded by girls, being tall can’t be the only thing making people do stuff for her, unless she’s surrounded by those kinds of girls....”

Hiss. “Yeah, well, that’s not all. She’s almost got a threatening presence. You an feel imminent doom following her to whatever room she steps into. Real leggy, short skirt, blond hair that’s a good dye job if I’ve ever seen one....” She paused. “Don’t get any ideas.” She snickered again. “I shared a few classes with her. I began to notice this pattern whenever we hit the double period. Extended class then lunch, lunch then extended class, you get the idea. Anyhow, if we were in class at the time, she would always ask to go to the bathroom at 12:15. If it was during lunch, she’d go to the bathroom at 12:17 or something.”

He was still looking. Click. “May I ask why?”

Hiss. “I followed her a few times. Turns out that every single schoolday, at 12:20, she gets into the only stall in the bathroom next to the cafeteria to reapply her make-up. Took some planning and work with a mirror to find out exactly what she was doing in there. She does the same thing at the same time every day.”

The search began to bore him. Click. “Like clockwork?”

Hiss. “Like clockwork. At 12:18, just up the pressure. The water fresh from the pipes is always cold. I bet she’ll break the habit.”

Harris swore he saw something knobby and red behind one of the various tanks. “Naomi’s been plotting, the evil witch. Did you just think of this or something?”

Hiss. “Naw. Started planning for it the year before last, I think. Thing is, I didn’t get to try it before I got my chance to leave.”

Harris grinned at the red monstrosity. Had a pressure indicator below it and everything. Click. “Found it. Time?”

Hiss. “12:16. There’s a good boy.”

Harris could just feel her smiling from ear-to-ear. Click. “I’m gonna start now. Just in case it’s tight or rusty or somethin’....”

Hiss. “Knock yourself out.” It had escaped Naomi to tell Harris to work himself blind instead. It was a joke between the two, not a very kind one but somewhere in their odd senses of humor they thought it was funny.

Harris took a deep breath, reached over to the valve’s wheel, and took a firm hold. He sighed. Somehow it struck him that this might become something very bad very quickly, everything in the boiler room covered in a fine layer of dust from being left undisturbed for a few months and all. He shrugged, wondered what the worst that could happen would be, and began to crank the wheel. Slowly at first, then increasingly faster as the rigidity forged by age slowly began to give way.

----

There was a bathroom. More specifically, it was the bathroom outside the cafeteria. The bathroom outside the cafeteria had three girls in it washing their hands and chatting to each other happily. They had good reason to be happy. One had a car and her license. Another had come upon a good amount of money, and was a very thrifty spender. The last one has been playing the stock market with some of that money, and was doing remarkably well. And all of them had boyfriends they knew they could love, depend on, and trust not to dump them when newer models of the Catholic Schoolgirl came around.

There were very few things that could stop their happy chatter. Spontaneous combustion, nuclear bombing, suddenly receiving word that all of their boyfriends had accidentally hung themselves in an odd version of a thrill ritual that involved no pants and nooses around necks.... There were more, of course. Dozens upon dozens of things could’ve made them stop in their psychological tracks and shut up as if they’d had red-hot coals jammed into their skulls. Sadly for them, one of those dozens and dozens of things walked right into that bathroom at the very moment the clock struck 12:19.

Sylvia Farrow stared icily at them all. Suddenly recalling that at this time the bathroom was hers and hers alone, they beat a hasty retreat.

Had she any true emotion of her own, she probably would’ve smiled smugly in her satisfaction at being so easily able to get her way. Pretending she had no time to spare, she went into the only stall that bathroom had, locked it, sat down, and opened up her purse. Exactly how she was able to fit more cosmetic accessories in her purse than a counter at Filenes’ was a complete mystery, but she somehow managed anyways.

Sylvia was almost done when she noticed an odd rumbling coming from the john she sat upon. Thinking it might be a slight tremor of some sort and not remembering that Boston was not a place of very many earthquakes, she settled for being blissfully, painfully ignorant for what might happen.

During lunchtime, the cafeteria within Sister Hildy’s was always far from quiet. That ‘always’ would soon become a ‘usually’ as everything came to a screeching halt when an ear-piercing shriek came from the closest bathroom. Today was about to become an exception.

It was not so much a screeching halt as it was an ear-piercing shriek that caused the hubbub to gradually die down within the next few seconds. The silence was immediately halted by anther head-splitting scream from the bathroom, and then throttled severely, thrown against the nearest brick wall, and then stomped on repeatedly by the actions of one Sylvia Farrow and the bathroom she exited shortly afterward.

She, thoroughly soaked from the midriff down, ran out of the bathroom taking ridiculously short steps, thereby warranting the term ‘waddle’, screamed several times in short, quiet bursts, and then slipped on a rapidly-expanding puddle of water coming from the bathroom and fell down directly on her ass, soaking herself even more. The cries of concern from her very few vapid friends were overcome by the roar of laughter that shook the place to its studs. Not to its foundations, certainly. Harris would’ve noticed before he tried contacting Naomi if the sheer amount of laughter shook the place to its core.

Little Claire wondered what all the laughter was about. She had been much to focused on other matters to notice the screaming as anything other than typical cafeteria sounds, but the laughter was enough to rouse her from her daze. She began to look around, noticing that most of the girls would giggle insanely to themselves, look and point in a certain direction, and then go right back to giggling. She looked towards the direction of all the amusement, and realized that she couldn’t see very well through the backs of other students. Most of them stood taller then her, so that didn’t help either. She sighed, still wondering what it might be, stood up, and began to wade through the many bodies blocking her line of sight. What she came upon made her feel sad that she wanted to do so much as chuckle.

There on the floor, sitting in the middle of a puddle of what she assumed was cold, cold water, was Sylvia Farrow, sniveling to herself and glaring at all of the people laughing at her. Some of her airheaded friends were flocked around her, asking if she was alright and chittering in panicked, concerned tones. They didn’t seem to realize she was completely ignoring her.

They also didn’t realize that there was someone looking in through one of the windows. Someone who was trying very hard to keep her laughter in check when she heard the voices of angry nuns shouting out and openly asking what was going on. It was time to set part two in motion. She whispered something into her walkie-talkie, and continued to watch.

Claire sighed again, pursing her lips before turning around, heading back to her seat, and putting all her books in her bag, and leaving the cafeteria. As she was a good student, she was given free reign of the campus during lunchtime and whatever free periods were produced by deathly-ill nuns or natural disasters that struck a single classroom in particular. Out of the cafeteria she went, turning left and going towards the side door leading outside.

It was to her incredible luck that seconds after she set foot on the grass outside of Sister Hildy’s that the fire sprinklers in the cafeteria went off. A second after that, a single, massive collective scream echoed from the cafeteria. She whirled around out of reflex, wondering what was the matter. It was at that point someone dashed out of the bushes surrounding the windows of the cafeteria. This startled Claire quite a bit - it was not everyday that some random girl burst out of the local shrubbery - but not as much as it did when she saw exactly who that random girl was when she stopped in her tracks after hearing Claire gasp in shock.

“...N... Naomi?!”

Naomi couldn’t help but look on in surprise, groan inwardly, and think ‘Oh great, a witness who saw me fleeing the scene of the crime. Just perfect.’

“Naomi Stunt?” One of Claire’s hands went up to point at Naomi as she gibbered on. Naomi Stunt. Imagine that. She had disappeared several months ago during a field trip. A lot of people had seen it coming, but no one knew it would happen that soon. Whether she had known it or not, Naomi had many people amongst the Sister Hildy’s student body who liked her. She had refused to become this idea image of a lady for she knew it was not her, and had the courage to do something about it. Claire was one of those people.

Naomi, on the other hand, was rightly confused, and nothing really beyond that with the exception of a slight panicked sensation at the fringes of her heart. She still had a distinct desire to run the hell away, after all. “Uh.... Do I know you?”

Claire faulted. She knew the answer to that one was a definite ‘no’. She didn’t want to admit that, while she most certainly knew who Naomi was, she had never taken the opportunity to actually get to know her. How she did not wish to answer.

Her desire to not answer Naomi’s question was fulfilled in a surprisingly short amount of time, considering that the boy from the cafeteria, the pale eyepatch-wearing gimp in the custodian jumpsuit came tearing out from around the building, stopping in his tracks to double over and speak in an exhausted whisper. “The... the first place the sis... sisters head for was... the boiler room.... I think they saw me....”

Inspiration struck Claire. She knew all the best hiding places in the school, as she would often go to such places when she had free time and didn’t feel like hanging around in her room. “I know! This way!” She grabbed Naomi by the hand, and began to run.

Naomi didn’t know what to do about this new turn of events. “Where’re we going?”

“To hide!” Claire looked back for only a second. The weight of her backpack was preventing her from running as fast as she could, but she couldn’t discard it lest she risk the teachers finding it and making her the prime suspect. Nor could Harris discard the toolbelt, as Arik would be quite furious if he learned Harris had lost a good amount of the good tools. Naomi was keeping up at a fairly easy pace, but all of them were tired by the time they got to their destination - an old service shed closed with a faulty latch. At this point they were in no hurry, as the Sisters were bogged down by the incredible amount of water their garments soaked up.

With two quick tugs to the latch, the door was open and the three of them were inside. It wasn’t to uncomfortably small, but the quarters were close nonetheless. Claire had the idea of taking off her backpack and placing it on the ground before getting inside. Harris, however, was not so wise.

“What the hell’s that jamming into my hip?!”

“Socket wrench, Naomi. Calm down.”

“Better be a socket wrench or I swear to God I’m going to throw you overboard when we get back to the ship, and that’s before we get away from the dock....”

“Ssh! I think I hear someone....” Claire was quick to try and hold fast the mouths of Naomi and Harris when she heard a few pairs of waterlogged footsteps accompanied by the annoyed whining of several old women go by. Somehow it struck Harris that they sounded like they were not pleased at all that someone had replaced their hair-rollers with several links of uncut sausages, and indeed had not noticed until halfway through the day when they looked in the mirror or were told their head smelled faintly of minced porcine meat. It was just a thought.

When the sounds were long past, she removed her hands. “...Sorry.”

Naomi mentally paused for a second. She had just heard the word ‘sorry’ in a very sincere manner, from a young student of an etiquette school that she quite loathed, though the student herself was shaping out to be not such a bad child. It occurred to her that, when one said the word ‘sorry’, they were quite possibly atoning for a wrongdoing of some life-altering significance. She began to run through the events of the day starting from when she first ran out of those bushes. Nearly ran headlong into her, came sorta close to being caught by some very grumpy not to mention drenched sisters, then was dragged into an abandoned utility shed where they were hid from said sisters. Hm. No wrongdoing there, henceforth no apologies needing. At which point it occurred to Naomi ‘What’s she sorry about?’ After those very few seconds of thought, Naomi found herself tempted to ask a single question.

“...Uh, why?”

Claire fiddled with her hands. “...I thought it might be rude to just quiet you like that, so....” She didn’t trail off so much as she stopped in mid-sentence.

Harris eyed the two strangely. “...Ah, considering neither of us would shut up, I think it was the right thing to do....”

“Yep, that’s it, can we get outta here now? Kinda cramped.” Though in a few moments Naomi would become the embodiment of a ‘happy camper’, for now she was uncomfortable in tight quarters. Considering she still had that socket wrench poking into her hip, most would understand.

Claire looked over her shoulder to Naomi, hiding a small smile she hadn’t worn in awhile before beginning to fumble with the inside lock. “Please wait, the latch was always... finicky....” Within five more seconds, the lock was open, and the three of them were free to breath fresh, non-sweaty, non-musty air. Though the other two were the faults of all, the musty smell was coming from Harris and his custodial uniform. The other two were kind enough to ignore this completely.

They stepped out, they stretched, and Harris yawned. Very loudly, while stretching, with his elbows above his head, his chest sticking out, his toe being the only thing touching the ground. Not only was it a painfully-noticeable yawn, but Naomi actually winced at how long it was. It took a few seconds to actually die down. Was it was done it was like someone had touched a live wire to his brain for just a second, which sparked some sort of instant recall within his memory. His eyes shot open, still standing upon tip-toes and with arms above his head and chest sticking out like a rooster much too eager to start its daily crowing, unaware that the second it started a nearby cat was going to pounce on it, sending the both of them flying of the roof where they would land in the very, very messy pigpen.

Of course, the only set of words formed from such a reaction were as follows: “Right. This a friend of yours, Naomi?”

“Ehhh....” She shook her head, about as confused as Arik was presently. Considering Sullivan had just very lightly placed a foot on Arik’s caboose end and pushed very lightly while Arik was bending over a dock, trying to grab a hold of a rope so he could start lashing a nearby boat, causing him to once again plummet into the cold waters below, it was easily understandable. She shook her head, and pointed at Claire. “Dunno. Who are you again?”

“Um....” Claire timidly looked to the ground, then took a few steps toward Harris and offered her right hand. Very shyly. She had not seen so much as a boy in... well, the past half-hour. But if one does not count Harris, her own father, the family butler, or the janitor (who was too old and crusty to actually be considered a boy, anyhow), then she had not seen another male for a very long time. “Claire Lawrence. Pleased to meet you.”

The filters inside Harris’ head took a few moments to soak in Claire’s statement and actually make it loud enough for him to comprehend. Once comprehension finally did sink in, his right hand shot out from behind his shoulder, clapped onto Claire’s quite suddenly (quick enough to force her to wince and recoil slightly), and gave it a shake. “Harris Redde, at your service. I suppose you know my friend, as I heard you gibbering her name GURK!” Naomi took that opportunity to elbow him in the ribs, forcing him to double over, yet finish his sentence. “...w...h...i...l...e.... ...I... ...w...a....s.... ...e...s...c...a...p...i...n...g.... ...f...r...o...m.... ...t...h...e.... ...m...a...w.... ...o...f.... ...S...i...s...t...e...r.... ...H...i...l...d...y...s.... Oh GOD that hurt!”

“Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot.”

“I can still hear you from down here!”

Naomi gently placed a foot upon his side, and turned him over onto his back. That was she was able to place her foot upon his chest very gently, then put more than half her weight upon his chest, not so gently. “Like I said, an idiot.” Fortunately for her, Harris was not in biting range of her ankle, as he was trying so hard to bite it and meeting with no success whatsoever.

Naomi extended a hand, smiling as if she were very pleased and not like she knew Harris was squirming very furiously beneath her foot. “So, hi.”

Naomi hadn’t noticed, but Claire had been staring at her the entire time, watching through the many strands of hair that fell in her face. At this motion she smiled, ever so gently. “...Hello. It’s... It’s nice to see you back. A few people... really missed you.”

And then, awkward silence.

And for good reason. Naomi never expected to hear such words regarding the students of Sister Hildy’s, never mind actually wanting to. It was thought process that took quite the toll, as her mind was having difficulty shoving the heavy load up the final hill, to the finish line. “...Did you just say... that I...” At that point, her mind tripped and fell flat on its face, and the incomplete thought rolled right back down to the foot of the hill, mowing her mind over in the process.

“...she was missed?” Harris was stunned, but only slightly as evident by his ability to pick up Naomi’s sentence almost from where she left off. He just gave a one-eyed stare from underneath Naomi’s foot.

Claire’s hands went behind her back, and she lowered her head to hide the slightly larger smile she now wore. “You had a sort of... fan club....”

WHAT?!” Naomi and Harris were both equally stunned at this revelation, enough for it to occur to them to yell the same thing at the exact time with an equivalent amount of volume in their voices.

“But she’s whiny and cranky and obnoxious and she can’t cook worth ANYTHING in the mornings and she’s VIOLENT! She’s really, really violent!”

“But I HATE this place! An’ it hates me just as much as I hate it!

“And chances are she made her distaste obvious and OOMPH!

Harris somehow forgot Naomi was still standing on his chest. “Enough from you....”

Claire looked up, still with that slight, gentle smile. “That’s why we liked you.” Harris went from glaring at each other, to staring right back at Claire. “You weren’t afraid of this place, or of the people that came here, or of what they thought of you. You’re brave, and we admire you for that.”

“...ad... mire...?” It could be very easily said that someone dropped a bundle of superconductive wires into the fusebox within Naomi’s head. Harris would’ve thoroughly enjoyed the quirky, almost-twitched expression upon her face had it not been for the amount of laughter broiling in his own head. He was beginning to snicker.

Claire’s mouth twitched, as if she wanted to laugh herself. Something sparked within her head for only a moment, and she was forced to look at her pocketwatch - something she kept within the lower right pocket of her jacket. A wave of disappointment and dread very quickly washed over her. “...I’ve... I’ve got to go.... Lunch is almost over.” Up from the pocket watch she looked back at Naomi, with some measure of hope in her eyes. “Promise you’ll come back tomorrow? Please?”

“Well, see, we’ve got this ship we....” Harris was very quickly belted upside his head with a harmless kick to the head that succeeding in scrambling his brains for long enough to forget what he was saying.

Please? It’s... dull here. I can’t leave, and it’s... tedious, every single day and there’s no stopping it with distractions and petty things like that. But you can change that, and you’ve really got nothing to lose here. And if you need a place to hide, we can go to my dorm room. My parents didn’t want me to have a roommate, so I’m always alone in between classes.” That stunned Naomi more than anything else she had said up to that point, and stopped whatever trace of humor left in Harris’ head at that moment. She sounded... desperate?

Naomi took a deep breath in. This was odd. This was extremely odd. But she understood perfectly. Claire appeared to be bound by her books and studies. If she played any sort of prank, then she held the possibility of expulsion. The pocketwatch told her that her parents just might be rich people who cared if their child learned about these mind-numbing etiquette classes and the basic school curriculum hiding somewhere within. Meaning they might’ve pressured Claire into it, and as Claire seemed... timid, she might’ve just gone along with the entire thing. So she wanted to get through school.

“...Alright. We’ll come back.”

Claire sighed, the expulsion of air taking with it her sadness and imminent dread at having to face another day of Sister Hildy’s with no one to speak to. “...Thank you.”

“Same time tomorrow, I guess?”

“Alright, right outside the cafeteria?”

“Will do.”

“Thank you so much. I’ve... got to be going now.” She went into the shed quickly, to grab her backpack.

“Buh-bye. Harris, be a nice boy and say bye to Claire.”

“Bye Claire.” He tried to avoid sounding sardonic as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and began to walk away.

“And Claire?”

Claire stopped walking, and turned to look. She hid her surprise well.

“I don’t think what would’ve happened if we were caught would’ve been pleasant. So, thanks for hiding us.”

Harris was quite sure he saw her shudder just a little, with what he wasn’t sure, from his vantage point. It occurred to him that his vantage point was still under the influence of Naomi’s foot, so he disregarded it.

It took her a few seconds to come up with a suitable response. “...You’re welcome.” And then she waved good-bye, Naomi waving back and Harris attempting to with one arm while struggling with Naomi’s leg with the other. They could not see Claire’s smile as she turned around and walked back to Sister Hildy’s.

----

There were the two of them, perhaps an hour later, walking back to Sullivan’s docks. There was a strange silence between them, as if thinking about something. It had only been that way for a minute or so, but moments of silence felt much longer than time spent speaking.

“...There’s something weird about her. About Claire.” Harris prevented the silence from becoming awkward. “Creepy’s more like it.”

Naomi shook her head. “Bah. We’ll go back. She needs some cheering up. We owe it to her for not letting us get caught, like most of the Sister Hildy twits would’ve.”

“One second. Did you say ‘we’? She seemed pretty focused on you, damn near ignored me the entire time....”

“Oh don’t worry. I bet she thinks you’re cute, probably hasn’t mustered up the courage to try flirting with you yet.”

“Ah. Thank you for stating the obvious.”

“But you’re still coming. I need my accomplice. I also might need a fall guy if things get bad, plausible denial and all that legal stuff.”

“Nice to know I’m loved.”

“But we are going back. I can see how she might need it. I went here. We really don’t have much to lose over there, anyways.”

“Unless we get caught. Or if we get caught with her, which will get her into heaps of trouble, I bet. You are a fugitive from the place, after all.”

“That means we’ll have to be careful.”

“We’re good at that.” Harris paused for a moment, thinking he heard something in the distance. “Huh. I think I hear Arik screaming.”

“Anguish?”

“Oh yeah.”

“How much?”

“He seems to have forgotten that he ever had happiness in his life, and is just focusing on al the pain Sullivan’s caused him today.”

“You have a good ear.”

“I can pinpoint someone stepping on a tack from a good 50 yards.”

“Oooh. That means you’re probably right about Arik suffering! Let’s watch.”

“Let’s.”

----

Classes were out. Night had fallen. All of the students of Sister Hildy’s School of Proper Etiquette had either gone to sleep, or were trying to.

Except for Claire. For she was in her room, sitting and thinking. Her parent had made sure she had a pleasant room. Nice bed, a bureau for clothes, and a beautiful wooden desk with drawers and a large mirror. It could serve as a vanity if she so chose to use it as such. She sat in her desk chair, staring at her mirror and reflecting upon all of the things that had happened within the day. Meeting Naomi and Harris completely by chance, running, hiding, talking. Today had been fun. Fun was not something she had experienced in the longest time.

To be truthful, she never stared at the mirror. She never used it as a vanity, or looked at her own reflection much. But she did look at the mirror a lot. More precisely, she looked at what she kept on the mirror a lot.

Held between the mirror’s molding and the pane of glass itself were pictures. Many, many pictures. They came very close to actually obscuring the reflection one would see when looking at it. They were not pictures of family, or friends, or of good times. She was an only daughter, and her parents always shipped her off while they taught their sons to manage the family business - it would be a very long time until they took control of it, but they wanted to be prepared in case dire circumstances arose. She had no friends to speak of. Saying that Naomi had a fan club quite possibly implied that she did, people Claire knew whom she liked and held similar interests with, but that was far from the truth. She had no friends. Her parents had made sure of that, putting her in a dorm room for one. They wanted her to stay away from boys, so they sent her to Sister Hildy’s. She supposed it was a blessing they still didn’t want her to stay away from girls too, keeping her at home with a tutor. They had learned, the last time. Sitting in a corner and crying silently for hours had taught them well. There were no good times. But there were now.

They were not pictures of family, friends, or good times. But they did all have a few things in common. They were all, for one, taken at Sister Hildy’s, or at a place involving such. People at field trips, at their lockers, walking to class, and so forth. All of them were also completely candid. Not a single subject within any of them knew they were being photographed. Everything looked perfectly natural, and as these were good photos, they looked like little bits of reality ripped from time and placed into a small, glossy photo. Claire was getting better at her photography. Finally, all of these photographs had a single, glaring detail that they definitely all have in common.

They were all of Naomi.

Naomi begrudgingly eating lunch, Naomi going to her locker while completely disregarding the many other girls around her, Naomi stalking down the hall fast enough for her photographic image to be blurred, Naomi looking desperate and apprehensive during that last field trip, that last fateful day where she left Claire alone with nothing but her misery, Naomi, Naomi, Naomi.

She got up off of the chair, being sure to push it back in when she got up. For a moment, she stared at her bed, with its plain linen covers and pale plum quilt. It was one of the few comforts she had, though one had just popped right back into her life. She twirled on one foot before letting herself fall back, back, back onto her bed. The second she hit the soft, wonderful quilt that she had slept under since she was ten and her nanny told her she was a big girl now, she remembered Naomi thanking her. And at that instant she felt like melting inside.

So they had sent her to an endless amount of all-girl schools, but she was just as miserable with the next as she was with the last. That changed with Sister Hildy’s. That was because Sister Hildy’s had Naomi. How long she stayed didn’t matter. She was a breath of fresh air, considering all of the stuck-up snobs and uncaring, uncompassionate witches she met at all the other schools. Naomi was much different from all the vapid airheads that came and went to this place. She was spunky and happy and nice and lively and fun and powerful and pretty and wonderful.

And that’s why Claire loved her.

She laid upon her bed, thinking, wondering, dreaming. Just of the most beautiful person she had ever known. She went to bed that night with something new in her heart, an unexplored kind of happiness, thinking thoughts of Naomi, wonderful Naomi....

----



Written by Ren
Start - 12/05/2002
End - We shall see.

A fanfic for Dana. That is all you need to know. Other than the mere idea that I’m being grandoisely evil with this whole thing. Grandoise evil is fuuun. I highly recommend it.

Back home with you...
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

The ReddeSugar and all characters contained therein © Dana B., at some point in time. Don’t ask me when. I’d prefer if you asked her for those filthy little details instead.