Russian Roulette

[Red Blaze]

So... I guess you could say the apocalypse kinda happened.

Well, not kinda.

Nobody really saw it coming. I mean, some of the bible nerds might have guessed, but it was just what we needed. The economy went down the toilet; totally. We fucking prayed for the Great Depression, because at least they finally got out of that. We were never getting out of this.

America was failing. It took us years, but we finally crumbled like Europe said we would. We outlived Mother Britain, though; so there was that. She fell to the Black Days first, along with practically the rest of the continent. We held out until we finally fell; leaving, surprisingly, Mexico and Russia.

Though Mexico held for a while, Russia was slowly becoming a Utopia. Everyone, even the Americans, who were resistant to accept the new 'New World', flocked to the new leadership. It was communism, but without the dictatorship. It was democracy, but without the lack of control. It was perfect. And the leader was perfect.

What really drew everyone was the freedom. We were free, and everything else was free, too. We had money, and we used it to buy some things, but necessities were free. Brother Faland (that's what we called him, our leader. It was funny, really. Nobody saw the signs.) thought we should have our necessities, always; and if we were always to have them, the best way to do that would be to not pay. It was beautiful. Living there was beautiful. After a while, even, the money stopped. We didn't need it. We had some holed up; a dollar here, three fifty there, but everything became free. Everything.

But it went downhill from there.

There were those who questioned the difficulty of getting out of Russia. But they were few and quiet; for who wanted to leave? Russia was nearly the entire continent now, so there was nowhere else to go. And if there had been, people still wouldn't want to leave. Living in Russia meant, no matter who you were, that you were well cared-for. Sure, there was the Privileged, but they hardly got more then the Masses did. They handed out the free food and provisions, they had the easiest access to the goods. But we all got them, so what did it matter who had more immediate access? Ours was still pretty goddamn instant.

Until the Shortage.

We blamed the Privileged. They did hold back, increasing their stores and cutting off ours; but the real shortage came from the supply. Russia didn't have enough food and provisions. All of the sudden, it didn't matter what we got. The Privileged gave us nothing because we gave nothing in return. The absence of money lead us to starvation. Homelessness.The Privileged kept the secret for a while, but secrets can only be kept for so long. Before we knew it, the rumor had spread, like wildfire; it wasn't the Privileged. It was Brother Faland. Brother Faland himself had retreated to a castle far, far up onto a hill; and he was killing us off, one by one, from his throne.

And thus began the rush for escape.

Everyone tried to leave; the borders were crashed, angry Masses flooded the immigration centers. The equation was simple; anyone could come in.

No one could go out.

Panic ensued. People began to search for Brother Faland. Those who did make it out of Russia were never heard from again.

Brother Faland was rumored dead; because even when the most talented trackers searched for him, he was not to be found. We could see his castle, everyone in Russia knew that his castle was on the hill just outside Third Quadrant. But if you got too close, you couldn't turn back. More people disappeared and it became common to lose all family, all friends.

And then the sky fell upon us.

I don't know when, I don't know how, but the sun fell onto earth. It wasn't as solid as it looks in the movies; it was a mass of fire and gas, just like scientists always told us.

People went up in flame. There was no cure for the fire; once you were caught, you were caught. You burned; but only you. Clothes were left. Items were left. People were burned.

But there were the Invincible.

We were the only ones who survived. The fire went past us, like it only chose certain people. But even we, with our inflammable gift, could never save one chosen by the flame.

The sun tore through Russia for three days. On the fourth day, it was gone, and only the Invincible were left. Everything the chosen ones owned were there; cars crashed into massive pile-ups, clothes left stranded in the supermarket. Their things were there, but they were gone.

We found, after that, that we had sort of abilities.

Some people suddenly were able to lift cars. Others could burn something with merely a look. I, myself, suddenly found that I could see what people were thinking.

But that's not important.

With the accidents that happened upon the disappearance of the chosen, everything was chaos. Bridges had collapsed, buildings had shattered and broken, and even the Invincible were killed in the millions by things that the chosen had left behind. Lots got hit by cars. More crashed in chosen-flown planes.

We counted our losses. And we survived. We didn't live, really; but we survived. Words like 'shower', 'warm', and 'happy' left our vocabulary for good. We didn't have use for them.

I wasn't a fighter, like Ki. I wasn't crafty, like Cris. I wasn't inside, like Raea. I wasn't lots of things that this new, cruel world favored. But I was pretty. And that always had to be good enough. Men payed for pretty; because pretty didn't last long out here. I only lasted because I was a stubborn little devil, and I wanted to. So I'd trade. If I came across a traveler who had something I wanted, and they wanted what I had to give (which, often, they did. I haven't yet met one who hasn't), we'd trade. Maybe I'd get a hole-y left glove. Maybe, if I was really, really, really lucky, I'd get a blanket. That nearly never happened.

Sometimes, though, I came across Scouts. Scouts were sort of like travelers, only... not. Scouts, I later found out, worked for Brother Faland. They were always sons of bitches who were messed up in the mind--some powers did that to you, not to mention the isolation of this new, desolate world--and had one goal alone; to cause chaos. Scouts liked to travel in groups, because being sadistic was more fun with more players; so groups were always, always bad. I never once found myself in a group because, in all honesty, since the sun fell, I'd seen... seven people. Four of them were Scouts I'd seen prowling just recently--I know enough now to sneak around them--two were an old couple I met maybe two and a half years back who turned out to be cannibals--getting out of that one had been tricky--and one had been a traveler. I've been walking for five years, and that's everybody I've met.

Yes. This world is lonely.

Well, and there are the towns, of course. But towns are bad news. Meeting scouts is worse, but going through town aint a walk in the park. I don't really remember what a park is, but I think it must be a little like getting a drink of water; heaven. Which definitely, definitely does not describe towns. Towns, now, are small, secluded, and precious few, but there's always a hierarchy. And if you don't fit, you mostly get killed.

I went into a town once, because I hadn't had water for four days and they say if you go five you'll die. I had no other choice. I traded a hairtie to the grateful girl behind the counter for a glass of water, which I drank like it was my godsend. Which, really, it probably was. The girl, very, very unusually kind, gave me another glass and leaned forward, tying her hair back and whispering to me.

"You gotta get outta here. Scouts are due any second, and the ones who come through here aren't pretty."

I nodded. Shit, that was weird. Since when did people give heads-up about those things?

I started for the door, gulping down my water, but was stopped by a beefy, greasy hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, dollface. You look like the kind who'd wanna give some sugar to your big brother, eh?" He looked about 45. Clearly old enough to be my father. But, in all honesty, that didn't matter out here. What did matter was that Scouts were coming and I had to find a place to hide. A sly smirk slid onto my features.

"Sure, babe. But it's gonna cost you." I winked, then scanned his large figure. "Got someplace... private?"

Unfortunately for me, just as I was being lead away, another hand caught me; this one considerably slimmer. I was yanked into the hard body of one who was obviously a Scout; tall, lean, and with one rubber eye.

"Not sure 'e'd fi', love. 'E's rather... rotund." He was a Scout, so I really did try to keep the rebellious sneer off my features. I did. It just didn't work. And for that, I got a stinging backhand across the cheekbone. I crashed to the floor, feeling my face. When his combat boots--which, funnily enough, were the same type as mine--stepped up to me, I glared up at him, which I knew the moment I did it was a stupid move.

"I don' like you, love...bug. You migh' be a bi'... wachoo think, fellas? Bratty? Think she's a bi' bratty?"

He gripped me by the neck and pulled me up until my feet didn't touch the floor. I made no move to stop him; doing that would mean loosing that lovely thing that connected my head to my body. I might have been rebellious, but I wasn't stupid.

When I finally met the blue eye and the green rubber eye, he spit full into my face. I winced, but did nothing. He watched me for a moment, curiosity dancing in his aura, before putting me down.

"Wipe i' off, love."

I glared. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing in menace.

"Wipe."

I spit in his rubber eye, payback. A sharp pain in my left temple.

Black.


----


I'm still surprised they didn't kill me, but, then, Crazy Britain did take a liking to me. There was that.

What they did do, for that same reason, was take me to Brother Faland.

Fortunately for me, he took a liking to me, too.

He was handsome, that much was for sure. Tall, lean, dark-haired, and mesmerizing. He had this pristine quality about him; in reality, he was clean, but the concept was so foreign to most of us that, when we saw him, he looked alien to us. I, with my hair nearly turned brown from the dirt, filthy cargo pants, ripped sweatshirt, one hole-y glove and, my pride and joy, my rugged combat boots, was tossed onto the floor in front of Faland.

"Though' she was a rather funny one, Brotha'. She's got this... way abou' her. Say somethin', love."

I looked up, eyed the mysterious Brother Faland carefully, for a long moment. So here he was. We had been searching for so long, and all it took was my shit-horrible luck, being in the wrong bar in the wrong town at the wrong time, to find him. Beautiful as he was, his aura was blinding; not with light, but with dark. I could see through it, but it graced him like a shadow. Like death lurked at his fingertips, and it would steal away anyone who got too close.

But he commanded it.

"Like what?" My voice shook, low and fragile. Even I, who never knew when to be afraid, was afraid of that darkness that swirled about him. That consumed him, or, maybe, that he consumed. I hadn't meant to be witty--God, no--but Crazy Britain seemed to think I did. Brother Faland knew better.

"HA! Ain' she just a killa, Brotha'? Ain' she?"

Brother Faland rose his mismatched eyes, one gold and one black, up to Britain and I, seated on the floor and holding myself up with my arms, must have looked to be in optimal kicking position, because Britain came at me and wedged his foot squarely in the ribcage. I skidded across the flood, but as he advanced for a second kick, I whipped my arm out and flung his feet out from under him; then dashed for the door. Before I got there, I was hit squarely over the head with the hilt of a sword by a man with long, raven hair and steel-grey eyes. A few more of Faland's cronies rushed over; but they didn't hit me for long before the silken bass halted them.

"That's enough."

Brother Faland gazed at the arm of his chair in disinterest. Yet he stopped them. Britain grinned sardonically.

"Bring her to me."

I stumbled forward, ever so kindly aided by two of the thugs.

Brother Faland stopped the men, then gestured me forward. I didn't move. I couldn't move. If I came closer, I would be taken by the black fog...

"What is your name, girl?" I heard a muffled cry behind me, but, despite my shudder, I didn't turn. Who knew what would happen to me if I looked away?

"Call me Red." My voice was still uncharacteristically soft.

He smiled kindly. The fog bagan to fidget in anticipation.

"I mean your given name."

I frowned. I didn't wanted to give that up, but I couldn't not answer.

"Mahra." Another cry. I still ignored the faint sound.

"Good. Mahra, come here."

I found myself unable to disobey, my feet carrying me forward of their own accord. My eyes widened but I couldn't speak, couldn't protest. If I said the wrong thing, I was very likely to never be heard from again. No one would miss me.

The fog licked my skin smoothly as he cupped my chin; his hands and the fog both silken and, somehow, simultaneously rough. He turned my head; first so that my neck was craned far to the right, then, sharply, to the left. When he finally let me go, I jerked back, dashing a smile to his pale lips. There was a kind of addicting sting left on my skin where he'd touched; like that feeling that hurts, but still leaves you wanting more, and my skin was on fire, the smooth caress of the tendrils of death lingering. I eyed Brother Faland carefully, eyes as wide as a frightened horse's, as the thugs stepped up behind me and, I was thrilled to find, gripped my arms again, hard as steel. Who was this man, really? This man who had been our angel and had now abandoned us, left us for ruin, while he lived within silken curtains and polished floors. Things I'd only ever imagined. This man who lived in a cloud of death, and thrilled in the destruction of life?

Needless to say, I wasn't getting my answer any time soon.

"Clean her up." He commanded, and thus began my life as a Sister.





Comments. Wow. This is long as fuck. WELL. DO YOU LIKE IT? HATE IT? CONFUSED BY IT? DID ANYONE EVEN BOTHER TO READ THIS SHIT? CRITIQUEEEEEE. I HAVE A FEELING IT MAY ONLY MAKE SENSE TO ME. BTW, if I am ever in the mood to continue, please tell me; do you want your chara brought in as a traveler, like Red, or as a rebellious Scout? Got an intro you have an idea for? Know exactly what they'd be doing? I have some ground ideas, so I'm open to suggestion, but let me know what you want. I may or may not listen. [<

[Colby Sabre]

Please write more, or I might just have to kill you.
KTHNXBYE.

[Miyuki Tsubasa]

aaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii *applaudes* i'd like to note, read this right before exams lol xD

Jsyn, use any of my characters you like, you know you dun gotta ask Ki noted that you mentioned her, Cris and Raea... or rather, Red did, and that makes her curious on how they all know each other in the story. WRITEMORE! really.... BEFORE Ki gets agressive again would be nice... e.e lol good thing i got 3 characters overpowering her right nao xD worse part.... 3 characters at the same time is giving me a headache >.< and right before my math exam too of all things >.<

ANYWAY! LVOE YOUUUUUUUUU! AND EPIC STORYYYYYYYYYY

[Red Blaze]

The brunette tossed the apple in the air a few times, eyeing the wall with her now-standard, blank, don't-approach-cause-I'm-mad-at-the-world-and-you-might-get-your-ass-kicked glare.

It worked wonders. Pretty much all of the Family steered clear; which was good, because they'd all pissed her off to begin with, anyway. She was there, in that God-forsaken (literally) Palace of the Damned for one reason, and one reason alone.

But she didn't even want to think about that right now.

The brunette swept her apple out of the air, not patient enough to wait for gravity to bring it back into her hand, and sunk her teeth into it, mentally avoiding the subject. She chewed the apple savagely, fully concentrated on avoiding the subject of her glamoured friend, when one of the three only people in the entire castle that could safely approach the brooding brunette walked up with little thought to her Sister's glare. The girl was amazingly small, with long, pitch-black hair and silver eyes; distinguished by their glint of mischief from the sleet grey of the glamoured. Since the brunette didn't acknowledge her presence, Miyuki Tsubasa, with a near-invisible flick of her wrist, snatched the apple and took her own monstrous bite from it.

"Where the fuck did you find an apple, Cris?"

Crissatha Pandora's icey eyes slid to meet her friend's; and she grinned slyly, snatching the apple back before Miyuki even had the chance to finish her bite. There were a lot of things that were rare around here; like good, solid blankets, cold-weather clothes, and meat that wasn't totally sketch.

Apples didn't even fucking exist.

The only place you could ever find an apple was on a Scout--if you were damn lucky--which happened to be where Cris stole it from. And, if she knew Crazy Britain (and how could you not, dude was insane), he'd flip.

The girl took another bite out of the apple, smirking at Miyuki.

"None of your damn business."

Before the little, dark-haired girl could shoot back a reply, soft, recognizable footsteps padded into the doorway. Cris' head snapped up; Miyuki's rose shortly after. Not for a lapse in attention, of course; but because they both knew who this was and, while Cris might have been 'happy' (for lack of a better word) to see him, Miyuki was considerably less so.

"Brother Faland would like to see you in the Great Hall." His voice, once lilted with sarcasm, was sleek and monotone; matching his grey eyes. The boy, once Cris' best friend, then turned easily on his heal and padded down the hall, obviously assuming they would follow. Ki groaned and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, wonderful." She tossed Marluxia a well-practiced finger but went to follow anyway (they didn't have much choice, really); only to pause when Cris stayed rigidly motionless.

The brunette, paused in anxiety for a split second, gathered her wits and launched herself away from the wall she had been leaning against, eyes ice and voice even colder.

"I fucking hate the glamoured." Ki met Cris' pace and they followed several feet behind the dark-haired boy. Ki nodded in silent agreement, then shot a silver, narrow-eyed glare at Marluxia's back.

"Why the hell are they called 'glamoured', anyway? They should be called robots... or, better yet, slaves."

Cris, thoroughly done on the subject, stayed silent; eyes still viciously cold. The two followed Marluxia into the Great Hall, where a pretty, uncomfertable-looking girl stood within the Danger Zone; which basically meant anywhere within a ten-foot radius of Brother Faland. She looked sullen and afraid, as would anyone in her position, and she was clearly from the outside. As dirty as it was here (in comparison with the Old World, anyway), this, the castle, was spotlessly clean compared to the rough world outside. Cris knew. She'd come from the same place as this girl, who was currently flanked on both sides by Brothers and looking defeated. Cris, wondering what, exactly, their oh-so-wonderful leader wanted from them, rose her eyes to the beautiful man in the chair. No. There was no denying he was beautiful. Next to her, Miyuki did the same. Though, when they'd first come, their eyes had been filled with the Twin's characteristic contempt for authority, the eyes, now, may even have shown a tinge of fear, though both would deny it.

Faland had broken even them. And that took a lot.

Cris, out of the corner of her eye, saw the advancing Britain and folded her hands behind her back, hiding the incriminating apple.

"THIS 'ere is a little love'y I found lurking about North Center. I'nt she jus' great?" He crossed to the girl and took her chin in his hands. She tossed him a bitter, hating glare. Man, if looks could kill. Crazy Britain's grin widened. "I'nt she jus'... peachy?" He leaned in, grinning (surprise, surprise) crazily, and the girl attempted to tug out of his grip, which hardened until it creased the skin around where he held with the severity. She intook a breath, and Faland spoke in that thunderous, somehow quiet voice of his. Nobody ever could place a finger on him.

"I know you have taken a liking to this girl, Britain, but she is no longer your concern. Leave her be."

Despite Faland's perpetually clam tone, the threat was not veiled in the slightest. Crazy Britain backed off, subdued by Brother Faland's words. Crazy as he was, nobody was crazy enough to push his luck with Brother Faland.

After the stir of anxiety caused by Faland's words died down, Britain again spoke.

"Cris, Miyuki, would you two be such dolls ta clean 'er up?"

Great. Another scared little shit they had to tote around. Cris would have groaned, except that Faland was in the room. She and her Twin simply nodded in silence. The girl was shoved toward them by her two guards, and she stumbled up to them, closely followed by Crazy Britain, who seemed strangely eager to be within her space bubble as often as possible.

"'Er name's Mahra, lovelies." He reached forward to stroke down the sides of both their faces lovingly. Cris and Miyuki knew better to say anything, which they wouldn't have done if it weren't for Faland's company. This grungy little outsider, however, didn't.

"Red. My name is Red." She enunciated coldly, glaring still at Crazy Britain, who absolutely loved that. Cris nearly winced at her stupidity; and, as if to affirm her fear, Brother Faland, behind the girl's back, rose a condescending brow. Cris tensed, ready for the worst, and, she could feel, Miyuki did the same next to her; but, this time, he let it slide. But if anything was true about that arrogant bastard, Faland never forgot. The newcomer was in for it later.

For now, however, she was left to Cris and Miyuki's care.

"Go. And bring her back to me when she is done."

At Faland's release, the two girls exited swiftly; tugging Red insistently, each with a hand on one of her wrists.


----


Cris tugged off the girl's top.

Okay, it was not as bad as it sounded.

'Clean her up' meant 'make her suitable for Faland's court'; which meant that this little brat was one of the few who got the rare glory of a bath. These days, only Faland got those (water was scarce enough, everyone needed it more for living then they did for something as stupid as being clean). The girl wasn't sure what was going on, but she seemed to have mentally talked herself into a state of serene calm about the whole ordeal. By the time she'd been stripped entirely naked and designated a spot to put her shoes (she seemed wildly protective of them), her eyes rose to Cris'.

"He wants me to be his fuck toy, right?"

Cris raised a brow. This chica wasn't going to last long. From behind the brunette, Miyuki snorted.

"No. Lots of girls are already dying to give it to him, but he's not interested. Fucker's probably gay or some shit." Cris shrugged vaguely.

The girl suddenly looked a lot more scared then she was before.

"Then what? He wants to torture me?"

Miyuki stepped forward, a knife, for some reason, lodged in between her teeth, and turned on the water. Red looked at the tub like she'd never seen one before (which, looking back, maybe she hadn't), and the small, dark haired girl took her knife out from between her teeth and began to sharpen it absent-mindedly.

"He's probably going to take you into a little white room and treat you nice and make you like him until you're one of his harem of adoring fangirls." Miyuki smirked up at Red, whose brows furrowed in defense.

"Yeah, well, that's not gonna happen. I'm not an idiot. I know that guy's bad news." Miyuki gave no answer except to roll her eyes and gesture to the tub with her knife.

"Just get in, will you?"

Though the tub wasn't clean to begin with, by the time the girl was done bathing the water was a green-brown and she suddenly was revealed to have a shock of red hair and a sprinkling of freckles over her nose. She tossed back on her large sweatshirt and laced up her precious boots and the three went to look for suitable clothes; meaning what Faland would want her in. Red slumped against the wall, quiet since the conversation before the bath, and Miyuki pulled out a floor-length dress that was intact save for a stain down the back left and one arm torn of. Cris smirked and eyed Miyuki.

"It looks like what he'd like. Victorian-ish." Miyuki commented, giving it a look of very obvious distaste. Style in the castle was a little more pronounced; outside, everyone wore what little they could get, but in the castle rarer items like the black choker around Miyuki's neck and the oversized goggles that held back Cris' hair were accessible. Rare, but accessible. What was obvious was that this Victorian Tea dress was clearly not the style of the black-clad girl in heels and adorned with weapons.

Cris nodded.

"Yeah, but I'm not mean enough to make her walk around in that in 120 degree weather."

Miyuki shot the redhead, who was looking out the window, a look that clearly said 'I am', and Cris laughed. When the redhead turned back, her look prodding, Cris shrugged and went back to looking for clothes. After a few more minutes of searching, at precisely the same moment, the Twins reached for the same dress. It was wrinkled and torn across the bottom, but it was a deep grey, which didn't show the dirt, and it was cut well enough that it was still modest without being stifling. Cris threw Red the dress.

"Change."

The redhead eyed the worn fabric for a moment, clearly thinking that, when she got out of this mess, the dress would not be suitable traveling attire, but put it on with little grumbling.

Cris eyed the boots and then gestured to them vaguely.

"You should probably take those off, too."

Red shook her head stubbornly.

Cris and Miyuki exchanged one of their trademark looks in which silent communication was evident. The redhead crossed her arms, and Miyuki turned to her.

"In here isn't like out there. You can't be stubborn, or have attitude, or refuse to do anything. When Brother Faland says jump, you jump. Don't even ask how fucking high."

Cris nodded her agreement, then pointed.

"So take off the shoes, bitch."






Comments. EH. THIS CHAPTER ANNOYS ME. BUT. IT GOT THE POINT ACROSS. AND KI AND CRIS SHOW UP. :D SO IT'S NOT ALL BAD<3 BUT I PROMISE, THINGS WILL GET EXCITING NEXT CHAPTER!

[Red Blaze]

---- FOUR MONTHS LATER----

Mayumi, seated on the bed, rhythmically brushed red waves, over and over. Faland liked her hair soft, and it relaxed the petite Japanese girl. She knew she shouldn’t, that it was useless, but she always liked them. She always held a place in her heart for each young girl or boy who came through here. Even though they were all destined to die… just maybe not in a way as permanent as her brother’s.

Her brother.

That was why she was here, wasn’t it? Roxas had taken his life just after the burning of the chosen, because he had lost someone he loved in the fire. He couldn’t take the guilt, knowing that he couldn’t save him.

Mayumi dipped her head, her hand and the brush drooping into her lap. She tried not to cry, she really did. Especially not in front of her sister. But those thoughts never went away…

“…May…?”

Mayumi blinked hard, traces of tears disappearing into her skirt, and looked up, resuming brushing Red’s hair. Red used to be one of her best friends; she didn’t know how to comfort well (people skills were quickly lost when you lived outside), but she knew when to try. She could read what you were thinking, sort of, and just having someone who knew, who understood what you were upset about, that you didn’t have to explain things to, helped. But now that most of her was gone, she no longer cared about the feelings she saw. She had moments, when bits of her came back, but they were few and far between.

“Sorry, Red, I was thinking.” Mayumi explained in that soft, bell voice of hers.

“About Roxas.” Mayumi shouldn’t have been surprised Red knew. Not when she read auras like she did. Still, she jumped a little just the same.

“…Uh-huh.”

The brushing continued, but, after a long pause, Red spoke again; in a voice heavily laden with confusion and hesitation.

“I’m sorry it still haunts you. I wish there was something I could do…”

This was one of those moments of clarity mentioned before. Red could recapture that essence of herself; she gave in, sometimes, to the impulse to be kind, or bitchy, or sympathetic, like she would be normally in a certain situation… but, since she was halfway glamoured, the emotion felt alien to her. The glamoured didn’t feel.

Mayumi’s lips pulled up in the ghost of a smile.

“Thank you, Red. But it is in the past.”

Red turned around, leaving Mayumi’s hand frozen, brush erect, in midair, eyes wide with voiceless questioning. Red leaned forward, blue-grey eyes rebelling against the sympathy brewing treacherously within them.

“I know it is, but still—“ Her head snapped to the door; which had slammed open to announce Crazy Britain’s dramatic arrival. Britain tended to be a pest in that he fluttered annoyingly around his ‘pets’, the people he’d brought to Faland, disrupting Mayumi’s work. With Red, though, he was even worse. Dozens upon dozens of times worse. He snuck into her room at all hours, doing whatever it was he did all of the time. At first she’d been pissed, Red hadn’t liked him much from the beginning, but as she continued farther and farther into Faland’s enchantment, she didn’t care anymore. And as she lost her personality, Britain lost interest.

And yet here he was.

“’Owwwwwwwww is my fav’ri’e girl?” Shouted the man, grinning widely and advancing towards Red with large, thundering steps. Red immediately iced over, the grey dominating over the blue in her eyes. Her hands, previously reaching towards Mayumi’s, fell limp to her sides. She was used to him. He stepped over, flopping onto the bed and pulling Red into his lap. Mayumi’s shoulders tightened. He did this every time he came, closed her up so she wouldn’t come out. And she was acting so normally…

“No answer, love? Well! Tha’s jus’ a shame, ain’ it? Jus’ a shame, cricket…” He grinned at her for a long moment, eyes sparkling with some form of mischief. Mayumi, not one to speak against anyone, held anxious, breathless silence as he forced Red’s chin up; but when he leaned forward and dove for her lips, his own still tilted up in that insane grin of his, Mayumi cried out, reaching forward to shove at Britain. He paused, releasing Red’s chin. The redhead didn’t really turn away, just sat there. Limp. Britain was grinning again, now at Mayumi, who shrank in on herself.

“Ohhhh. Li’l Rosebud’s go’ a temper, eh? Gonna give me one righ’ in the jaw, eh, love? Eh?” He leaned toward Mayumi, just a bit, tapping his jaw, and the girl leaned back in response.

“Why are you here, Crazy Britain?” Her voice was a meek whisper, chestnut eyes wide.

He leaned back, allowing the girl to let out her held breath.

“’M ‘ere ta get this lassie righ’ ‘ere.” He responded, winking at the limp, grey-eyed Red. “M’ best matey wants ‘er.” He smacked a huge kiss on her forehead: to which, of course, Red had no response. She wasn’t Red anymore. Not really.

Mayumi nodded and slid off the bed, extending a hand for Red, who didn’t take it, but instead dropped to the ground with the ease and eerie grace of the glamoured. Funny, how only one visit from Crazy Britain could so quickly steal her…

Mayumi turned, hand dropping to her side and starting towards the door. Red had periodic visits with Faland, so Mayumi didn’t even need to think about it any more, it was routine. Two lefts, a right, three lefts and through the fifth door on the right. She did it without thinking. Not surprisingly, she heard Red’s and Crazy Britain’s feet padding behind hers, Crazy Britain’s voice whispering softly into Red’s ear. She didn’t know what he was saying. She didn’t want to know. When she opened the door and held it open for the two, they were holding hands, Britain obviously supporting part of Red’s weight. Mayumi’s brows pulled together. That was odd behavior, both for Red and for the glamoured.

Faland thought so, too, because their entrance was greeted with a carefully raised brow, but no reprimand. Despite Red’s unusual behavior, the signs of being glamored were clear. Grey eyes. Silent obedience. Crazy Britain used his hand, twined with hers, to throw her lightly in Faland’s direction. She stepped forward, eyes raising to Faland’s coolly, only a miniscule sliver of the former defiance in her eyes.

“Come. Sit.” Offered Faland softly, patting a chair that had been placed next to his, in very close proximity. She sat, former qualms over his paled aura gone. The death no longer scared her, because it was his.

“Look at me, Jude.”

She no longer corrected him. She was Jude now. She was whatever he wanted her to be. Her eyes, sleet grey, rose to his. Mayumi bowed her head. She waited for the words, ‘the glamour is complete’.

“You are very close, Jude. Very close. You are doing well, but I still see traces of your old personality. They pester you, don’t they? Make you do things you don’t want to?” His eyes flicked up to meet Mayumi’s. “Say things you don’t mean?” The girl pressed her lips together as the redhead nodded.

“Yes, Brother.”

“Fight them, child. And come to visit me again soon. Hopefully these pests will have gone by then.” The words were directed at Mayumi again. It was her fault that Red still had pieces of herself. Mayumi hadn’t cultured them out of her, squeezed the essence of her friend away to join the rest of those lost to the glamour. Mayumi bowed, a silent ‘yes, Brother’, and again stepped out. Faland ordered a disappointed Crazy Britain to stay with him

Two pairs of feet echoed alone in the hallway.

Here I go, thought the girl, pulling on a piece of waist-length chestnut hair, to kill my friend from the inside.

Comments. It didn't get exciting. -_- Sorryyyyyy. BUT! Have some Crazy Britain! =^^=

[Red Blaze]

Miyuki’s tall heels clicked as she advanced down the hallway, incriminating piece of paper wedged in her bra where she could feel it grating against her skin but, hey, no one could see it and it was convenient. She avoided a few brothers and sisters, then, without knocking (obviously), barged into Cris’ room, arousing an eyebrow-raise from her twin, perched on her bed.

“Knock, knock, whatever, look at this.” Miyuki shot out with no audible pause between the words, making fully sure the door was closed, pulling the paper out of her bra, and shoving it at her sister. Cris, slowly, eyes still incredulously on Miyuki’s, took the paper, smirking before flicking icey eyes down to the paper. She unfolded it and scanned the words, smile dropping more the lower her eyes got on the page. Suddenly her head snapped up at Miyuki, whose foot had been tapping anxiously the whole time.

“Yeah.” She snapped. “What the hell are we going to do about this?”

“Fuck if I know!” Cris snarled, looking at the letter again. “It has to be a trap! Where did you get this?”

Miyuki smirked. “Well, since you asked…”

Another frenzied walk down the hall later, Miyuki and Cris were looking down at a boy with sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes glaring up at them from his spot on the ground; mouth gagged and hands and teeth tied.

“Nice knots.” Cris commented softly to Miyuki, who nodded.

“He says she’s his leader.” Miyuki said, gesturing to the note. “And that they have a spy infiltrated, so the spy is the one who figured out we wanted out.”

“Who?” Cris demanded, crouching down and yanking the gag out of his mouth.

“I’m not t—“

“He’s not telling.” Miyuki sighed, crossing her arms and making a face at the wall. “Can I stab him?”

“No!” The boy shouted, wiggling feebly in his bonds. “Don’t! I’m just… I’m nobody! I’m like… like a squirrel. Totally inconsequential. You wouldn’t stab a squirrel, would you?” And, at that point, he made a face that he clearly assumed a squirrel would make. The two girls glanced at each other, sharing another moment of wordless communication. Cris crouched down, giving him one of those icy looks of hers.

“Don’t forget, squirrel-boy, that we are the ones who have you tied up in a closet. Who do you think has the upper hand here?” One sculpted brow rose, and the boy glared in a silent pout. Miyuki snorted, leaning back against the opposite wall, sure in her position of authority.

So, naturally, it surprised both of the girls when the boy’s eyes hardened and he, in one movement nearly invisible with speed, slashed out of his constricting ropes with a knife and tackled Cris to the ground, pinning down her arms before she could think.

“I believe I do.”

The girl’s blue eyes widened just as the silver ones of her twin narrowed in concentration, hand flinging three hira-shuriken toward the boy. At the same moment, Cris, unaware, launched a knee between the boy’s legs, which lead to his slumping toward the floor with a groan, narrowly missing Miyuki’s throwing knives. Cris then shoved him off of her roughly, switching roles and sitting on him, pinning his arms above his head. Miyuki, already above the two, quickly tied a more resistant wire rope around his hands, snatching his knife and pressing it to his throat. He knew he’d been beat this time. He, eyes obedient, kept silent.

“Gonna try something like that again?”

He didn’t speak, just met Miyuki’s eyes without wavering. Almost as if he was ready to die under her hand.

“Good choice.” Cris snarled, pissed that anyone—especially this meek little boy, could overpower—no. Outsmart her. If she’d seen him coming, she could have stopped him.

Silence followed, the girls glaring at the boy and the boy staring easily back. Mostly at Cris.

After enough time, he spoke; causing Miyuki to press the knife hard enough against his neck to produce a bead of red.

“My name is Justin—ow, do you mind?—and I came for my group, an underground house of rebels working to overthrow Faland. Our inside eye told my leader,” His eyes flicked down to the letter, abandoned on the floor, and back up to Cris, “Sephora, that you two would be good additions to out crew and that you wanted out.”

Miyuki pressed the knife even closer, causing the bead to race down Justin’s neck.

“Who i—“

“I’m still not going to tell you,” He cut off, irritation in his eyes as he directed the blue orbs to Miyuki, “But Sephora will if you come with us.”

“How do we trust you?” Cris shot, raising her brow again.

“You are sitting on me and have a knife to my jugular. What do you want, a scout’s honor?”

Cris’ lip curled. “Yup.”

Justin looked offended, mouth dropping. He then, in a choked voice, whispered, “But… that’s a sacred tradition!”

Cris leaned forward, smirking.

“Exactly.”

One scout’s honor and a twin fist-pump later, Justin stood in Miyuki’s bathroom, wiping the blood from his neck. The girls, still with careful eyes on him, talked in low voices.

“Are you going to bring May?”

“I couldn’t leave her here.”

Cris nodded. “I know. But she’s the reason you’re here in the first place.”

Miyuki turned to look at Justin, eyes glassy.
“She knows as well as I do, now, that Faland isn’t bringing Roxas back. Or, if he is, it won’t be soon, and it will be for a price. Son of a bitch is no fuckin’ Jesus. He requires payment.” The Asian girl turned back to her twin. “Are you going to bring Marluxia?”

Cris looked down. “You saw the note. They know how to reverse glamour.”

Justin, who had been flailing in the mirror, turned around and took a large breath.

“It’s not an exact science. They’re still perfecting.” He patted his hair in place, smoothed his filthy t-shirt, and then continued. “I’m going to go get the jeep from the place I hid it this morning. I can be back at half past 23 hours. Can you be ready by then?”

Cris smirked. “See you then, squirrel boy.”

He nodded, stepping over to the window and winking.

“See you then, babe—“ At that point, he attempted to lean against the windowsill, only to miss and fall halfway out before flailing, catching himself, and pulling himself upright again, clearing his throat. “Um… yeah. Bye.” Justin stepped carefully over the windowsill and was gone.



Comments. Ugh. There is so no muse for this in me. BUT. It's homework. So I gotta write. More action-y? I imagine that Cris is pissed that Jussin pounced on her. NYICK NYICKKKKK