Post by ♥ on Feb 28, 2007 14:50:08 GMT -5
Lets see. Probably a Y or a T. Yeah, Y. Fantasy themed, rather long. Involves some Aroth(ians?xD) of mine but different.
All was in chaos; anarchy spread its shadowed wings over the scene before it, laughing with the sound of screams. The shattered remains of peace lay in the blood soaked dust, as darkness broke through, tormenting the innocent. Beasts came seemingly from nowhere, twisted in the unholy moonlight, ravaging a patch of a world soon to be consumed entirely. Amongst the chaos sat a boy, thrown into shadow by a magnificent beast looming over him, a guardian in a dark time, eyes fierce with a burning passion in the hallowed twilight. As a creature tore into a woman, teeth cut from malice, the boy shuddered away, and his guardian enfolded ashen wings around him, words forming glowing amber patterns upon glossy black feathers.
“Is this my doing?” the boy spoke, head turned to address the being that embraced him with burning wings. He received no reply, his sentinel apparently in rapture, lost in thought despite the torn aura of death. This disturbed the adolescent, for such a scene did not befit off topic thought, and the mighty bird that had protected him all these years should surely have known this. But when those piercing eyes flicked open, the boy’s own where blinded by a light brighter than the sun, which faded, eternally, into an everlasting darkness, and both the bird and the boy were gone without a trace. Thus did the broken light dissolve entirely, and the first link on a chain of irreversible events complete.
The boy, or man as it was, was dangling his legs over the concrete pier. Sat flat on the ground, he overlooked the murky waters of the harbour beyond. The quay itself was relatively unoccupied, but for him and random groups of people strolling past. The occasional boat crawled by with a throaty chugging noise, chased with irritation at the heels by a sleek, buzzing, newer one. The sky was clouded grey, the sun barely able to struggle through the dark layer, leaving the place cold and in the natural gloom of midwinter. After a while, the man stood up, thick black boots landing with a thud as he turned. The wind was picking up, pushing into his back, blowing through his blonde hair, and toying with the sides of his jacket, which was black, the front unzipped with a white shirt underneath. His features were feminine for a man of his age, which was perhaps towards the twenties, which, coupled with somewhat enigmatic hazel eyes, gave him a rather handsome demeanour and the aura of someone who, quite frankly, knew just how to use it. The way he walked suggested he had a destination, boots striking the stone in a swift pattern. Walking parallel to the harbour, he passed a dockyard of boats, bobbing happily in the calm water which was starting to get slightly choppy. He turned at seemingly random roads until he came short just before a tall building, fishing a key from one of the pockets of his jacket and stuffing it into the lock set into the red paint. Behind him, the clouds formed a rim of white along the horizon. They were just starting to take on a red pallor, and, as he pushed the door open and stepped inside, drops of wet began to from on the concrete behind him. Taking the stairs two at a time, he stopped at the second flight, using a different key on the same ring he had used to open the front door in order to get into this one. In this, it became obvious that the destination he had been heading for was in fact his flat, as the rain was starting to fall more heavily now and the sun seemed to be seeking refuge from it below the darkening horizon.
The blonde haired man stepped past the doorway, dropping the keys into a waiting bowl obviously designed for that exact purpose. The room itself was the kind of flat that, well, did its job. The walls were white, the floors varying from oddly patterned carpet to the stereotypical black white check linoleum in the kitchen. Taking the first door facing inwards to the hall, he flopped down without ceremony onto an unmade bed, kicking off the black boots. The thud they made as they hit the ground was muffled by the flattened carpet. Springing off the bed with renewed vigour, the man, with a single, intentionally elongated step, went from what was evidently his bedroom and into what looked like the living room. Next to the door, a little pine table stood, a telephone stand missing the actual handset sitting atop it. He pressed a button. A distorted voice announced the time and date of the message, and the man, seeming to get bored just waiting for the automated woman to finish her line, slumped onto the chair next to the little table and grabbed a T.V remote, letting it sit idle in his hand for a second while he listened to the actual message. It was the voice of a young woman, about Jesse’s age.
“Jesse, its Freya. There’s a… Uh, problem. I need you to get here ASAP. Which may be too late…” There as the snap as the phone reunited with its receiver. The man now identified as Jesse frowned. “Damn.” He muttered to himself, striding back into his room and putting his feet back into their boots. Hooking the keys through his finger on the way past the bowl, he went back the way he came, opening the door outside and into the pouring rain. Taking a deep breath as if it would make him invulnerable to water, he leapt out into the sheet of falling drops. Between the clouds and setting sun, it was now almost entirely dark, and the street lights that normally fought back the dark were not lit; it was too early for them, as their timings did not fit the cloud induced twilight. Soaked to the skin in just the time it took to place his foot upon the floor, Jesse resigned to ignoring the water entirely and loping his way to wherever ‘Freya’ was. That message had been two hours old, he pondered within the confines of his mind. If that was so, just how late was too late, and, more importantly… What for?
Soaked to the skin, Jesse skidded to a halt outside a house, almost slipping in a puddle as he did so. The rain was falling fast and hard, fat drops of wet bouncing off of roofs, splashing into multiplying puddles and battering aside the fragile fingers of trees. Bearing the brunt of a sudden whip of raindrops, Jesse stepped up to the concrete doorstep, lifting the bronze knocker and letting it drop with a sharp, resonating snap of metal against plastic. Mere seconds later, the door was answered by a girl with curly brunette hair, who reached up to about his chin. She met his hazel eyes with her own emerald ones, stepping back to allow the drenched teen inside.
“Hey Jesse, sorry about calling you over in this weather.” She apologised, revealing herself as Freya. “It wasn’t so bad when I rung you so, go figure.” She closed the door, muffling the sounds of the storm to a dull pitter patter, and a gentle, wavering whine. Jesse looked at his dripping arm for a second as if his gaze would cause the water to simply vanish. Freya couldn’t help giggling; he held his hand limp, poking his tongue out the side of his mouth in such a way as to be ludicrously comical. When he suddenly dropped his arm back down to his side, looking at her questioningly, Freya remembered what she has called her companion here for.
“So, uh, I guess you’re wondering what I needed you for then…” Freya paused. “I- Won’t tell you, I’ll just show you.” She cut herself off, finishing the sentence in a different way to her original intention. She turned, the trainers on her own feet making a light padding sound in comparison to Jesse’s thick boots as she walked down the corridor. She stopped outside what Jesse knew was the living room, resting her hand on the aged door handle. Jesse hadn’t spoken since he came in. Freya was wearing actual shoes in the house. Something was clearly up. With a sigh masking words she decided not to say, Freya pushed down on the handle with a click. The door swung open to the same lounge Jesse remembered; mismatched furniture, trinkets littering every available flat surface, but one thing was rather different. On the patterned red sofa, apparently unconscious, was another boy of Jesse’s age group. His head rested on the sofa arm, naturally spiked black hair obscuring his face slightly. The short sleeves of his buttoned shirt revealed a bandage tied securely around his left arm, a thin line of faded scarlet along it, where the blood had started to seep through. Freya’s deep green eyes were filled with a mix of emotions for a second before they cleared and she looked round to Jesse.
“You haven’t spoken since you got here…” she muttered, unsure what to say. The blonde shook his head.
“Oh right, sorry. Been a little wrapped up in, y’know, thought. I was worrying… So, I won’t ask questions I’ll leave it to you to tell me what you need to.” He started, snapping out of the daze he had been in pretty much since he walked in through the door. With the quieted sounds of wind and rain on the windows filling her pauses, Freya explained.
“Alright, I was just coming home, taking my usual... Scenic route…” she began. Freya was notorious for walking through countless side alleys in order to avoid main roads, even she herself knew not the reason why she did. “And I found our guest.” She indicated the patched up male on the sofa, whose chest was rising and falling gently. “As you can see from the bandage, his arm was cut up pretty bad, not sure what happened. Anyway, I came across him, holding his arm and leaning against a wall looking like he was about to collapse. I couldn’t just leave him…” Freya seemed to have several reasons for that. Conscience, curiosity, she seemed to reflect an odd pull Jesse was getting, like the undeniable claw of fate. Not that Jesse believed in such things, it just appeared so. “So I helped him back here, seeing as it wasn’t too far and no-one else was around to help. I bandaged his arm up and he just thanked me before passing out. My point for calling you being you have a car and I figured it would be best if we got him to hospital or something, maybe they’ll know about his next of kin who can take over…” she trailed off, biting her thumbnail nervously.
“No... I mean... there’s no need. Your bandage seems to have done the trick.” Jesse suddenly said, shaking his head. “We should just keep an eye on him… talk to him when he wakes up…” he didn’t want to tell Freya this but the real reason behind his decision was an implacable, undeniable urge that took hold of his thoughts like a steel vice and prevented any other judgement. So strong even the logical Jesse gave into it. Something was amiss here, and it would not do to deny instinct. The thought-laced silence was broken as the boy stirred from his comatose state, sitting up weakly. Freya and Jesse looked up suddenly, interest sparked as one.
“Wh…Where am I?”
Freya sat down beside the boy, perching on the edge of the cushion. She waited for him to acclimatise to being awake before she answered his question.
“My name is Freya, this is Jesse. In case you can’t remember, I helped you back here.” She began. “I bandaged your arm up and then you passed out. Could you tell us where you live or something? We could get you home, I’m sure I wouldn’t like to wake up in some stranger’s house!” she smiled, imagining what it would be like, unable to stop the amusing images flooding her mind. Seeing her about to break into a fit of giggles, Jesse bit his lip to avoid laughing himself. The boy sat up entirely, looking around for a second, glancing at the bandage still stained slightly with his own blood.
“Thank you… For helping me…” he mumbled, clearly a little out of it. He paused, looking at Freya for a second. When the brunette looked up, curbing her visuals, she really noticed what the mysterious newcomer actually looked like. His eyes were such a dark brown they appeared black. Freya had to convince herself that, because truly, his eyes looked surreal, appearing to have no iris, but large pupils instead. It felt strange, black pupils, so she told herself, dark brown, repeating it like a mantra in her head. She had to blink in order to avoid falling right into them; they just seemed to deep and… Empty. Averting her gaze to the ceiling, she waited for a name, or something, to come from the boy’s mouth. Jesse, however, not one for sitting around and waiting, immediately jumped to the point.
“So, before anything else, mind telling us your name?” he asked, conversationally, stepping around the pine coffee table to sit himself down on the sofa behind it. The boy looked up, deep, dark eyes now locked with Jesse’s own. Freya noted that he, too, seemed disturbed by the colour of them. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds.
“Neeko… Raitogami…” he replied. Jesse and Freya, once they got over the sheer magnetism of those unnatural eyes, noticed that his lower eyelids looked to have eyeliner. After some thought, they seemed to come to the conclusion that it was due to severe insomnia at exactly the same time. “As for family,” he continued, apparently regaining his bearings a little. Suddenly he stopped short. “I… Don’t remember that either…” he sighed. The other two exchanged a somewhat worried glance. Another thing about ‘Neeko’- and only Freya noticed this for several reasons, was that this curious boy was rather, well, cute. Startlingly so. She coughed slightly, scratching her nose to hide the blush that was creeping along her cheekbones. Jesse smirked for a second, seeing his abashed friend, before turning back to Neeko.
“What, anything? Did you hit your head at all?” he enquired, hazel eyes filled with concern. Neeko slid his legs off of the sofa, tan boots creating an odd kind of tapping sound on the laminate flooring. He placed his crossed forearms across his thighs, which, like the rest of his legs, were covered with plain black trousers, staring into the knotted wood of the table before him.
“Not that I remember. It’s… Completely blank. Nothing.” He shifted slightly, uncomfortable. Freya considered the possibility that this boy went to a local school. There was an option to continue past the required age of sixteen there, and such advanced years required no strict uniform, only the adherence to a formal dress code. Perhaps he had come from there. Then again, she would have seen this enigmatic teen around, surely, for she herself still attended said school. Jesse has left two years prior, deciding against attending for more than was necessary. “I… Could I stay with you guys? I mean, you helped me and all so… I would understand if… Yeah…” he continued. Jesse looked to Freya. This was her house after all. Well, bungalow, technically. Her parents had helped her to pay for it, so she no longer needed to pay rent. Jesse had moved out to get away from his foster parents; not that he disliked them, he just preferred to be by himself, not sharing that parental bond which came about from being from the same gene pool. God only knew where Jesse’s real parents were. Freya nodded.
“Sure you can, at least until you can remember where you came from. This amnesia of yours could well be temporary.” She smiled, taken in somewhat by the boy’s charm. “Hmm… Anyone fancy a walk?” she suddenly chirped up, sitting bolt upright and looking around expectantly. Neeko blinked, utterly bewildered, Jesse just shrugged.
“Sure, coming, Neeko?” he yawned, standing up. Neeko stood up too, showing himself to only be about a hand’s width taller than Freya. He nodded, smiling, and Freya clapped with glee.
“Yay! Lets go then, I love walking through town when it’s only just rained!” she cheered. Jesse decided not to warn their new friend about Freya’s habit of finding the most peculiar of places to visit, settling on letting Neeko find out for himself. For some reason, he felt that strange feeling when he had warned against going to the hospital. Literally shrugging it off, he followed the other two out of the door, into the puddle-strewn outdoors.
Prologue
[/center]All was in chaos; anarchy spread its shadowed wings over the scene before it, laughing with the sound of screams. The shattered remains of peace lay in the blood soaked dust, as darkness broke through, tormenting the innocent. Beasts came seemingly from nowhere, twisted in the unholy moonlight, ravaging a patch of a world soon to be consumed entirely. Amongst the chaos sat a boy, thrown into shadow by a magnificent beast looming over him, a guardian in a dark time, eyes fierce with a burning passion in the hallowed twilight. As a creature tore into a woman, teeth cut from malice, the boy shuddered away, and his guardian enfolded ashen wings around him, words forming glowing amber patterns upon glossy black feathers.
“Is this my doing?” the boy spoke, head turned to address the being that embraced him with burning wings. He received no reply, his sentinel apparently in rapture, lost in thought despite the torn aura of death. This disturbed the adolescent, for such a scene did not befit off topic thought, and the mighty bird that had protected him all these years should surely have known this. But when those piercing eyes flicked open, the boy’s own where blinded by a light brighter than the sun, which faded, eternally, into an everlasting darkness, and both the bird and the boy were gone without a trace. Thus did the broken light dissolve entirely, and the first link on a chain of irreversible events complete.
Nightfall
The boy, or man as it was, was dangling his legs over the concrete pier. Sat flat on the ground, he overlooked the murky waters of the harbour beyond. The quay itself was relatively unoccupied, but for him and random groups of people strolling past. The occasional boat crawled by with a throaty chugging noise, chased with irritation at the heels by a sleek, buzzing, newer one. The sky was clouded grey, the sun barely able to struggle through the dark layer, leaving the place cold and in the natural gloom of midwinter. After a while, the man stood up, thick black boots landing with a thud as he turned. The wind was picking up, pushing into his back, blowing through his blonde hair, and toying with the sides of his jacket, which was black, the front unzipped with a white shirt underneath. His features were feminine for a man of his age, which was perhaps towards the twenties, which, coupled with somewhat enigmatic hazel eyes, gave him a rather handsome demeanour and the aura of someone who, quite frankly, knew just how to use it. The way he walked suggested he had a destination, boots striking the stone in a swift pattern. Walking parallel to the harbour, he passed a dockyard of boats, bobbing happily in the calm water which was starting to get slightly choppy. He turned at seemingly random roads until he came short just before a tall building, fishing a key from one of the pockets of his jacket and stuffing it into the lock set into the red paint. Behind him, the clouds formed a rim of white along the horizon. They were just starting to take on a red pallor, and, as he pushed the door open and stepped inside, drops of wet began to from on the concrete behind him. Taking the stairs two at a time, he stopped at the second flight, using a different key on the same ring he had used to open the front door in order to get into this one. In this, it became obvious that the destination he had been heading for was in fact his flat, as the rain was starting to fall more heavily now and the sun seemed to be seeking refuge from it below the darkening horizon.
The blonde haired man stepped past the doorway, dropping the keys into a waiting bowl obviously designed for that exact purpose. The room itself was the kind of flat that, well, did its job. The walls were white, the floors varying from oddly patterned carpet to the stereotypical black white check linoleum in the kitchen. Taking the first door facing inwards to the hall, he flopped down without ceremony onto an unmade bed, kicking off the black boots. The thud they made as they hit the ground was muffled by the flattened carpet. Springing off the bed with renewed vigour, the man, with a single, intentionally elongated step, went from what was evidently his bedroom and into what looked like the living room. Next to the door, a little pine table stood, a telephone stand missing the actual handset sitting atop it. He pressed a button. A distorted voice announced the time and date of the message, and the man, seeming to get bored just waiting for the automated woman to finish her line, slumped onto the chair next to the little table and grabbed a T.V remote, letting it sit idle in his hand for a second while he listened to the actual message. It was the voice of a young woman, about Jesse’s age.
“Jesse, its Freya. There’s a… Uh, problem. I need you to get here ASAP. Which may be too late…” There as the snap as the phone reunited with its receiver. The man now identified as Jesse frowned. “Damn.” He muttered to himself, striding back into his room and putting his feet back into their boots. Hooking the keys through his finger on the way past the bowl, he went back the way he came, opening the door outside and into the pouring rain. Taking a deep breath as if it would make him invulnerable to water, he leapt out into the sheet of falling drops. Between the clouds and setting sun, it was now almost entirely dark, and the street lights that normally fought back the dark were not lit; it was too early for them, as their timings did not fit the cloud induced twilight. Soaked to the skin in just the time it took to place his foot upon the floor, Jesse resigned to ignoring the water entirely and loping his way to wherever ‘Freya’ was. That message had been two hours old, he pondered within the confines of his mind. If that was so, just how late was too late, and, more importantly… What for?
Blood and Bandages
Soaked to the skin, Jesse skidded to a halt outside a house, almost slipping in a puddle as he did so. The rain was falling fast and hard, fat drops of wet bouncing off of roofs, splashing into multiplying puddles and battering aside the fragile fingers of trees. Bearing the brunt of a sudden whip of raindrops, Jesse stepped up to the concrete doorstep, lifting the bronze knocker and letting it drop with a sharp, resonating snap of metal against plastic. Mere seconds later, the door was answered by a girl with curly brunette hair, who reached up to about his chin. She met his hazel eyes with her own emerald ones, stepping back to allow the drenched teen inside.
“Hey Jesse, sorry about calling you over in this weather.” She apologised, revealing herself as Freya. “It wasn’t so bad when I rung you so, go figure.” She closed the door, muffling the sounds of the storm to a dull pitter patter, and a gentle, wavering whine. Jesse looked at his dripping arm for a second as if his gaze would cause the water to simply vanish. Freya couldn’t help giggling; he held his hand limp, poking his tongue out the side of his mouth in such a way as to be ludicrously comical. When he suddenly dropped his arm back down to his side, looking at her questioningly, Freya remembered what she has called her companion here for.
“So, uh, I guess you’re wondering what I needed you for then…” Freya paused. “I- Won’t tell you, I’ll just show you.” She cut herself off, finishing the sentence in a different way to her original intention. She turned, the trainers on her own feet making a light padding sound in comparison to Jesse’s thick boots as she walked down the corridor. She stopped outside what Jesse knew was the living room, resting her hand on the aged door handle. Jesse hadn’t spoken since he came in. Freya was wearing actual shoes in the house. Something was clearly up. With a sigh masking words she decided not to say, Freya pushed down on the handle with a click. The door swung open to the same lounge Jesse remembered; mismatched furniture, trinkets littering every available flat surface, but one thing was rather different. On the patterned red sofa, apparently unconscious, was another boy of Jesse’s age group. His head rested on the sofa arm, naturally spiked black hair obscuring his face slightly. The short sleeves of his buttoned shirt revealed a bandage tied securely around his left arm, a thin line of faded scarlet along it, where the blood had started to seep through. Freya’s deep green eyes were filled with a mix of emotions for a second before they cleared and she looked round to Jesse.
“You haven’t spoken since you got here…” she muttered, unsure what to say. The blonde shook his head.
“Oh right, sorry. Been a little wrapped up in, y’know, thought. I was worrying… So, I won’t ask questions I’ll leave it to you to tell me what you need to.” He started, snapping out of the daze he had been in pretty much since he walked in through the door. With the quieted sounds of wind and rain on the windows filling her pauses, Freya explained.
“Alright, I was just coming home, taking my usual... Scenic route…” she began. Freya was notorious for walking through countless side alleys in order to avoid main roads, even she herself knew not the reason why she did. “And I found our guest.” She indicated the patched up male on the sofa, whose chest was rising and falling gently. “As you can see from the bandage, his arm was cut up pretty bad, not sure what happened. Anyway, I came across him, holding his arm and leaning against a wall looking like he was about to collapse. I couldn’t just leave him…” Freya seemed to have several reasons for that. Conscience, curiosity, she seemed to reflect an odd pull Jesse was getting, like the undeniable claw of fate. Not that Jesse believed in such things, it just appeared so. “So I helped him back here, seeing as it wasn’t too far and no-one else was around to help. I bandaged his arm up and he just thanked me before passing out. My point for calling you being you have a car and I figured it would be best if we got him to hospital or something, maybe they’ll know about his next of kin who can take over…” she trailed off, biting her thumbnail nervously.
“No... I mean... there’s no need. Your bandage seems to have done the trick.” Jesse suddenly said, shaking his head. “We should just keep an eye on him… talk to him when he wakes up…” he didn’t want to tell Freya this but the real reason behind his decision was an implacable, undeniable urge that took hold of his thoughts like a steel vice and prevented any other judgement. So strong even the logical Jesse gave into it. Something was amiss here, and it would not do to deny instinct. The thought-laced silence was broken as the boy stirred from his comatose state, sitting up weakly. Freya and Jesse looked up suddenly, interest sparked as one.
“Wh…Where am I?”
Wishing
[/center]Freya sat down beside the boy, perching on the edge of the cushion. She waited for him to acclimatise to being awake before she answered his question.
“My name is Freya, this is Jesse. In case you can’t remember, I helped you back here.” She began. “I bandaged your arm up and then you passed out. Could you tell us where you live or something? We could get you home, I’m sure I wouldn’t like to wake up in some stranger’s house!” she smiled, imagining what it would be like, unable to stop the amusing images flooding her mind. Seeing her about to break into a fit of giggles, Jesse bit his lip to avoid laughing himself. The boy sat up entirely, looking around for a second, glancing at the bandage still stained slightly with his own blood.
“Thank you… For helping me…” he mumbled, clearly a little out of it. He paused, looking at Freya for a second. When the brunette looked up, curbing her visuals, she really noticed what the mysterious newcomer actually looked like. His eyes were such a dark brown they appeared black. Freya had to convince herself that, because truly, his eyes looked surreal, appearing to have no iris, but large pupils instead. It felt strange, black pupils, so she told herself, dark brown, repeating it like a mantra in her head. She had to blink in order to avoid falling right into them; they just seemed to deep and… Empty. Averting her gaze to the ceiling, she waited for a name, or something, to come from the boy’s mouth. Jesse, however, not one for sitting around and waiting, immediately jumped to the point.
“So, before anything else, mind telling us your name?” he asked, conversationally, stepping around the pine coffee table to sit himself down on the sofa behind it. The boy looked up, deep, dark eyes now locked with Jesse’s own. Freya noted that he, too, seemed disturbed by the colour of them. There was an awkward pause for a few seconds.
“Neeko… Raitogami…” he replied. Jesse and Freya, once they got over the sheer magnetism of those unnatural eyes, noticed that his lower eyelids looked to have eyeliner. After some thought, they seemed to come to the conclusion that it was due to severe insomnia at exactly the same time. “As for family,” he continued, apparently regaining his bearings a little. Suddenly he stopped short. “I… Don’t remember that either…” he sighed. The other two exchanged a somewhat worried glance. Another thing about ‘Neeko’- and only Freya noticed this for several reasons, was that this curious boy was rather, well, cute. Startlingly so. She coughed slightly, scratching her nose to hide the blush that was creeping along her cheekbones. Jesse smirked for a second, seeing his abashed friend, before turning back to Neeko.
“What, anything? Did you hit your head at all?” he enquired, hazel eyes filled with concern. Neeko slid his legs off of the sofa, tan boots creating an odd kind of tapping sound on the laminate flooring. He placed his crossed forearms across his thighs, which, like the rest of his legs, were covered with plain black trousers, staring into the knotted wood of the table before him.
“Not that I remember. It’s… Completely blank. Nothing.” He shifted slightly, uncomfortable. Freya considered the possibility that this boy went to a local school. There was an option to continue past the required age of sixteen there, and such advanced years required no strict uniform, only the adherence to a formal dress code. Perhaps he had come from there. Then again, she would have seen this enigmatic teen around, surely, for she herself still attended said school. Jesse has left two years prior, deciding against attending for more than was necessary. “I… Could I stay with you guys? I mean, you helped me and all so… I would understand if… Yeah…” he continued. Jesse looked to Freya. This was her house after all. Well, bungalow, technically. Her parents had helped her to pay for it, so she no longer needed to pay rent. Jesse had moved out to get away from his foster parents; not that he disliked them, he just preferred to be by himself, not sharing that parental bond which came about from being from the same gene pool. God only knew where Jesse’s real parents were. Freya nodded.
“Sure you can, at least until you can remember where you came from. This amnesia of yours could well be temporary.” She smiled, taken in somewhat by the boy’s charm. “Hmm… Anyone fancy a walk?” she suddenly chirped up, sitting bolt upright and looking around expectantly. Neeko blinked, utterly bewildered, Jesse just shrugged.
“Sure, coming, Neeko?” he yawned, standing up. Neeko stood up too, showing himself to only be about a hand’s width taller than Freya. He nodded, smiling, and Freya clapped with glee.
“Yay! Lets go then, I love walking through town when it’s only just rained!” she cheered. Jesse decided not to warn their new friend about Freya’s habit of finding the most peculiar of places to visit, settling on letting Neeko find out for himself. For some reason, he felt that strange feeling when he had warned against going to the hospital. Literally shrugging it off, he followed the other two out of the door, into the puddle-strewn outdoors.
