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A Tail of Two Tails, 2/5 of Vol. I
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YaBoiMeowff
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A Tale of Two Tails, 3/5 of Vol. I

A Tail of Two Tails, 4/5 of Vol. I
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Keywords male 1109005, fox 231848, cat 198398, feline 138494, boy 74010, young 58551, teen 30744, magic 23411, shy 13372, sweet 5454, smoking 5443, drama 4270, drugs 2551, innocent 2496, cigarette 2338, bullying 1633, depression 996, adolescent 628, politics 433, occult 297, spiritual 170, magick 119, philosophy 77, orphanage 73, diplomacy 39, forgiving 6

Chapter Eight


Being alone at West-End felt strange.
Well, just about everything about West-End still felt strange, but I'd spent nearly ever moment with Joseph since we'd become acquainted. We spent the days together, we spent the nights together, we ate together, we even peed together half the time. Sleep had been the only thing in the last several days which had separated us for longer than a few minutes.
Lying here now, clutching a pillow and staring out into the suddenly stormy weather felt dissonant, as if the incident with Blon had happened a lifetime ago, even though it'd only been a couple hours. There was a certain congruence with my misery and the rainy tumult outside.
The sky swirled with a concoction of blue, purple, and black, and every few minutes it lit up as lightning ripped across the murky veneer of rushing clouds. I sighed and flipped over, staring at the multi-colored ceiling—some parts of it gray and dusty, other bits a soggy shade of yellow. Water saturated the yellow spots, dripping into the buckets all around the Bunker.
A familiar weight plopped down on its usual spot at the side of my bed. I looked toward my feet and found Joseph staring down toward the floor, his dimples low and sullen, and his eyes tired. I looked at his legs and then at his hands, and then at his entire body, examining him with surprise. Several seconds passed, but he did not move. He was actually still for once.
“Hi.” I sat up.
“Hey.”
We sat silently for a few moments. His hands started to move a bit, the usual writhing and wringing, but the way he turned his head away from me made me wonder if there was something on his mind.
“So, um,” I began. “Are you... okay? I just, um... after everything that happ-”
“-Yes.” He interrupted. “I am fine.”
“Oh.”
We lapsed into silence once again.
“Really,” he reassured me several moments later, though still not turning to look at me. “I'm...used to it, yeah?” The words had an honest tone to them, yet they sounded as if they'd taken considerable effort to utter.
“Oh. Okay. That's... good-”
“-Are you?” He turned to face me. I hadn't had a very good look at his face before, but I could tell his eyes were a bit wider now.
“Yeah. I'm okay. I think. I just hope you are; you had it worse than I did.”
“Don't worry about me.” He paused a moment, and then chuckled. “Really, you don't have to worry about me, yeah? I'm the last person on earth you should worry about, yeah? You need to worry about yourself—that's who I'm worried about.”
I couldn't help but smile a bit; however, I quickly smothered it. “It's just... how long has this been-”
“Yo.”
The only thing more troubling than the familiarity behind that tone of voice was the speed in which Joseph's head snapped in it's direction. We both stared at the speaker, visibly riddled with tension and emotion.
“What's goin' on, guys?” The casual tone was almost too much to stand.
“What do you want, Lucky?” Joseph asked his question with considerable strain and nearly as a whisper. He was leaned forward a bit, his hands clutching my blanket. His eyes were wide, alert, and strangely melancholic. I'd only known Joseph for a few days, but I knew this manner was unusual for him. If Lucky spoke too boldly, I wasn't sure how Joseph would react, but I doubted a pleasant outcome.
“I actually came to speak to the little one over here. Uh, Leon—itus, right?” He said drawling out my name (as if he could ever forget it after Blon's jokes.)
“Y-Yes.”
“I was just comin' over to see if you wanted to eat dinner together. I wanted to talk to you about somethin'.”
My eyes widened. “E-Eat dinner together?” I looked over at Joseph and found him still staring at Lucky, his eyes now squinted and his eyebrows terse.
“Yeah,” Lucky locked his fingers behind his head. “It's nothing too serious. Just wanted to talk a bit.”
“Oh.” I looked down at my bedspread and pondered the question for a few moments. Joseph looked over at me and I looked up to meet his eyes. His expression was hard to read, but I had the feeling it was somewhere between 'don't do it' and 'you can't possibly be considering this.'
“Um, just me and you, right? Nobody... uh, nobody else?”
“No. Just me and you. No Blon or Ant or Buddy or anybody.”
At this point, Joseph's expression was clearly 'you can't be considering this,' but there was still plenty of 'don't do it' hidden beneath his initial level of shock.
“U-Um, okay, but... can Joseph come?”
Lucky looked taken aback for a moment. He shot an appraising glance at Joseph, and then contorted his lips a bit in a subtle show of discomfort. “I, uh... I guess s-”
“No.” Joseph suddenly began. “I'll... pass.” He got to his feet. “Thanks for the offer, though, yeah?”
He walked off without another word, not giving me any chance to either speak or think about what had just happened.
“His loss, right?” Lucky added.
I frowned and watched Joseph as he walked way. He appeared entirely calm on the outside, even calmer than he had earlier.
“So you ready? I'm pretty hungry myself.”
I looked up at Lucky and then back at Joseph again. “Um, I... I guess so.” I reluctantly got to my feet, throwing frequent glances back at my friend.
He laid down on his bed, crawled under his covers, and turned away from me, making what appeared to be a deliberate effort not to meet my eyes.
I balled my hands into fists and bit down on my lip as Lucky tried to lead me away.
“U-Um,” I stammered. “M-Maybe I-I should-”
“Hey,” Lucky cut me off. “It's better this way. Trust me. Now come on.”
I threw one more longing glance at Joseph, thinking about how I'd accepted this offer with the assumption in mind that he'd have joined us.
Turning to face Lucky one last time, I followed him out the room, to where I either awaited my doom, or something far less dramatic.
He led the way to the cafeteria. We got our food and sat down at a small table, alone, the now gentle pitter-patter of rain audible through the open windows.
“So, Leon...idus!” Lucky looked triumphant at having remembered my name. “Tell me about yourself.”
My fork came to a stop in my sweet potatoes. “I... um....” I looked down awkwardly at the sweet mash, and then up at Lucky.
He laughed. “How about.... What kinda stuff are you interested in? Your hobbies and your likes and stuff like that? Who is Leon-idus?”
“I-It's Leonidus.... And, stuff? I'm... I'm not really sure. I've never r-really had a lot of things. I guess I read a lot.... How come you wanna know?”
He snorted. “Don't act so paranoid. It's nothing serious or anything like that—you're not in any danger. I'm here separately from Blon and Ant, and like you might've noticed, they aint even here right now so you're safe. I aint gonna tell'em a thing I heard here either. So you're safe. Totally safe.”
“Safe....” I spoke the word softly to my sweet potatoes. “So you just wanna hear my hobbies?”
“Uh, yeah, I guess so, for now. I wanna talk about some other stuff, too, but let's start it off light. I just wanna get to know you a bit. Maybe be friends or somethin'.”
“You wanna be... friends?” My eyebrows furled for a moment, but I quickly relaxed them, not wanting to offend. “But you made fun of me and Joseph....”
The side of Lucky's face twitched, but he quickly fixed his expression to the same somewhat dumbfounded look he normally wore. “I deserve that,” he laughed. “Look, I can't control Blon an' Ant. They do whatever they wanna do and that's that.” He leaned in. “You saw 'em. They don't respect anybody, least of all me. You'd think they'd listen if I told'em to stop? They didn't even listen to Buddy, and they respec' him. But it's just how they are—especially Blon. And hey,” he leaned in closer and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Don't you go tellin' him I said that. That's a bag of flies I don't ever wanna open.”
I watched Lucky make his brief monologue with some surprise. “So... you didn't have a choice?”
“Ha,” Lucky exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table. “I coulda walked away. I won't lie to ya there. I didn't have to stay there; but you see—that's exactly why I had to stay there. You see?”
I cocked an eyebrow at him and took a bite of my sweet potatoes.
“Listen, listen--you're young. I get it. That's probably why you don't get where I'm comin' from. But you gotta understand that sometimes we gotta do stuff entirely because we aint supposed to be doin' it. See, it's an issue of money. The rich people out there can preach up a storm about what's right and about what's wrong, but at the end of the day, does it matter? It does, because they're protecting their own interests, but do those goods and those bads mean nothin'? At the end of the day, Leonidus, they got food and they got a home and they got families and they got opportunity—and I challenge you to find me something better than opportunity. They got these things first and foremost, without the asterisk! They got themselves a fireplace in the Mist and a comfy, humid seat to watch the kindle burn, right? But ya see, Leon-idus, er, Leonidus, people like us,” he put a thoughtful hand on his chest and his eyes gleamed. “We gotta stick together. And sometimes we gotta do the wrong thing to get to the right place, or sometimes to get to the wrong place--but at least we got somewhere. At least we had a chance, right? That's how it works for us in the underworld. That's how it all works, Leon-idus.” He cleared his throat. “Leonidus.”
“Um, I'm... confused. I'm sorry I don't think I understand.”
“Okay, okay, okay, listen.” He said with food in his mouth. “If I'd have walked away when Blon was pickin' on ya, how would I have looked? I wouldn't have looked good at all, not one bit. Woulda looked like a regular square, and nobody likes squares—pointy, jabby things that can't even slip through a hallway, and that's doubly true if you have one of those wide squares or one that's all messed up. --Oh, and we orphans are messed up from the head to the soul no matter shapes!-- So if I'd have walked away, Blon would've gotten on me next. And it aint that I'm afraid—per se. I'm not afraid of Blon or Ant or any of them, but... I am afraid of what it means to lose the only people who can supply this place.”
I squinted suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that Blon and Ant bring stuff here. They've power and they've supplies, because they're thieves and the only ones with any real money in this old hole. They don't run the place, per se, but when you're the only person doing stuff, in a time when people need stuff more than anything else, one can deduce.”
“De-duce?”
“Yes, Leon-idus, deduce. And I have deduced that they are valuable people to have around. And the exact opposite to have away. Do you know what I'm saying now?”
“Um... I think so.”
“Good.”
“You can call me Leo, by the way. It's a lot easier.”
Lucky smiled. “That's what I like to hear!” He took a celebratory bite of his food, and I joined him with a bite of my own. I still felt confused at what had happened, but I did feel a bit more comfortable.
“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” I asked.
“It is and it isn't,” he answered. “I did want to talk about that, but I aint quite finished. You see, you little thing, that I think it would be beneficial for us to be pals. Not quite friends—though I am by no means saying we can't be friends at some point here in time—but that is to say we might be of some 'beneficiality' to each other if held in each other's most highest esteems.”
“What?”
“I mean that we should be pals. Acquaint-tee-ances, if you will.”
“Ac-quint-ten-sens?”
“And all the rest.
“Hmm,” I looked down at my potatoes and brainstormed a reason to say no, but nothing came to me. “I... suppose. What does it mean if we're ac-acqua-... pals, though?”
“Ah!” His eyes widened for a moment. “You ask good questions for such a young thing. The reality of the situation is that I don't gain much if we're talkin' about food and all the rest; nothing more than the good feelin' in my heart for havin' done somethin' good and holy. But you gain a lot, because I've pals that aren't just Blon and Ant and the rest of the rabble around here, but I know some people in town who have more than we've all combined! The sort who I can call to take care of Blon and Ant if it need be. There's another little bit of information you'd do best to think about.”
“...Town?” I murmured.
“Yes! That's why I get around as well I do. Though, from here, it's almost impossible to get out. If you ever get a chance, become acquint-tee-enced to Scott. He'd prolly be willing to tell ya a fair bit about things—he loves to talk, and he's been friendly to Joseph before, and if he's been friendly to that....” We made eye contact, and Lucky stopped in his tracks. “Baaah! It doesn't matter what he is. Talk to Scott if you get a chance you'll like 'im.”
“...Scott, huh?”
“Yep. You'll almost always find 'im with a book in his hand on his bed. And if not he is out for a smoke or consorting with the rabble or out to get more books. Wouldn't you know it is Blon who has gotten the books he has now? I guess that's just proof of how important connections can be!”
“I guess so....”
“It is de-fit-netly so, Leo.”
It was around this point that I finished my dinner. I glanced over at Lucky's plate and noticed with some surprise he'd finished before I did, despite having been talking the entire time.
“It's about time for me to let you go.” Lucky got to his feet. “But I will stay in touch. And I'll make sure to put in a good word for ya with the rest of the rabble.”
“O-Oh, yeah. Um, I enjoyed the talk. And thanks.”
“I did too. I think we can make some fast friends, and if not, we can be some ac-quint-tee-en-senses.”
With these words, Lucky headed out of the cafeteria, presumably to find his next ear in which to make long, mostly unintelligible colloquial monologues.
I headed back to the Bunker, the long chains of information Lucky had fed me spinning around in my head. I wondered how I would explain it all to Joseph, but soon that turned into a question of whether or not Joseph would want to hear it at all.
He seemed pretty mad. I thought. Or maybe it wasn't mad, maybe it was... sad? Annoyed? Or maybe I'm just overthinking it and he was completely fine...?
That last option seemed the least likely one. Joseph had clearly moved and acted with some idea in mind.
When I entered the room, I found Joseph still in his bed, but now he was sitting up, staring down at his lap in the blank, empty, and very depressing way he always did when he was trying to pass the time. I only made it a few steps in before he looked up and met my eyes. He left his bed and started to head towards mine, to meet me there.
I sat down and he took a seat next to me, his eyes scanning me in a way only his eyes could.
“So?” He said, no traces of hostility or offense in his voice, much to my relief.
“Um, it went okay.” I twiddled my fingers, unsure of why I suddenly had no idea what to say. “He, uh, he isn't as bad as I thought.... He isn't anything like I thought, honestly.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh huh. But, um, before I go into that.... A-Are you mad? You seemed mad before.”
“I seemed mad?” His leg began to rapidly tick up and down, shaking my entire bed lightly.
“Yeah. Cause you... just kinda walked off and you did it really quickly and didn't say anything and it didn't seem like... something you'd normally do.... Are you still mad?”
“Am I mad now? Oh, yes, I'm furious, yeah?”
“Y-You are?” I asked, with more than a little alarm.
“Steaming. Never been so angry in my life, yeah? Now tell me what happened.”
“U-um... are you messing with me?”
“Yeah, totally. Now what did he say, yeah? Stop leaving me in suspense before I do get mad.”
I smiled and looked down at my twiddling fingers.
“If I acted weird,” he suddenly went on. “It was only because I was worried and didn't want you to say yes. I don't trust Lucky, yeah?”
“You don't?” I felt stupid immediately after asking the question.
He frowned. “No. Not even a little. He hangs out with Blon and Ant and you haven't seen it, but I know how he can be. He sucks.
“How he can be...? Is there stuff I don't know?”
“He can be a real bastard. And a real shifty one too, yeah? Shifty shifty. That's the best way to describe 'im. --Anyway, enough about that, tell me what he said.”
“O-Oh. It's... uh, it was really weird. He said he wants to be friends, or ac-acqua-... he said he wants to be pals and stuff. And he told me I could benefit a lot from it, and he said he'd only get a good feeling in his heart. He said it would be warm and holy. And he told me something about rich people and how they have food and opportunity and something about sitting in front of fireplaces in the Mist and kindle.... He also said that he knows people in this place called Town, and that he doesn't do mean things because he wants to, but because he has to, and has to because he doesn't have to, and, and...um. I guess that's the... gist of it.”
“Wow,” Joseph remarked, with a thoughtful touch to his chin. “That sounds just like him, yeah?”
“R-Really?” I laughed. “I thought I sounded like a crazy person trying to say all that.”
“You did. And that's why it sounded like Lucky, yeah?”
We laughed.
“All that stuff about the Mist and fireplace, though,” Joseph went on, “that's all stuff Scott says.”
“Yeah! Lucky told me I should talk to Scott if I get a chance. He said he's really smart and that he reads a lot of books.”
“I think that's a good idea. Never thought I'd agree with Lucky on somethin' but Scott is really smart and I'll introduce you sometime, yeah? He is one my fe-”Joseph stopped suddenly, panic passing over his face so quickly I almost missed it, and then confusion passing over in the same manner. Within a second, his face was back to the way it had been a moment ago. “He is one of my friends here, yeah? You'd like him a lot, and I think he'd like you. He is really nice.”
“I think I'd like to meet him then.”
“Uh huh.” Joseph nodded. “So did he say anything else?”
“Um, there was... one other thing he mentioned. I didn't really ask him about it, but.... He said he has friends in town, and that if he had to, he could... take care of Blon and Ant?”
Joseph cocked an eyebrow. “Whatta ya mean?”
“I guess he meant it as kind of a threat? Not like a threat to me, but he said it like that. He said he isn't afraid of them too. That his friends in town are a lot-”
“-Ha ha ha ha!” Joseph grabbed at his stomach, and a few people looked over at the sudden noise. He laughed for a few moments and then settled down. “Oh, wow.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “I needed that, yeah?”
“Why are you laughing...?”
“Because Lucky is terrified of them, and everyone knows it. Most of all Blon and Ant, yeah? They've been treating him like garbage for as long as I can remember. If he had some big bad friends in town he'd have 'taken care of them' a while ago, yeah? He's just a big idiot, yeah? This isn't even the first time he's mentioned his friends in town. If they even exist, they probably treat him like crap too.”
“Hmm,” I turned back toward my fingers.
That makes a lot of sense. I thought. But the real question is why Lucky felt the need to tell me that lie in the first place. And on top of that, why he felt a need to convince me that he had power here. Why did he care about me at all? Why did it matter to him if I of all people respected him or was his acquaintance? What did he have to gain from that?
I looked toward the opposite side of the Bunker, where Blon, Ant, and Buddy resided, and close to where Lucky resided. The only one there was Buddy; he was chatting it up with some other kids I didn't know.
Then again, I thought, maybe it isn't that complicated at all. Maybe Lucky is just lonely....


Chapter Nine


So many years spent trying to reconcile. So many years spent trying to rationalize. And now, with no more years to give up, I could only look on my returns with a degree of ironical amusement. The very thing which had imprisoned me had, all along, been the driving force behind my attempted escapes. The very rope which had held me above the bottomless pit had been the same rope which had chocked me to sleep so long ago. And now, with my coffin opened for the first time, I could only look upon my impending slumber with mist in my eyes, and that same degree of ironic amusement, knowing full well that'd I'd be back—if, indeed, I ever left at all.

I closed my book with a satisfying thud and closed my eyes. A long sigh slipped from my lips; the same sigh I always exhaled when I finished a novel.
“Finish it?”
Joseph's voice snapped me out of my reverie. I looked over and found him standing in the small area positioned in the center of his secret spot, where he'd moved all the leaves out of the way, either by deliberate effort or simply by result of his exercises.
“Uh huh. Can we go to the library later?”
“We can go to the library now, yeah? I'm done here. Feel like I'm gonna pass out.”
I sat up and stretched.
“Stop yawning.” Joseph called out. “It always... makes.... me yawn.”
“Heh.” I saddled my way down the thick, twisted branches that I'd turned into a makeshift reading spot. This was the only tree I'd ever climbed before, and the moment I'd made it up my first time, Joseph, with an exuberant and prideful smile, had decreed it my very own tree. My very own spot in his secret area.
I knew it was just a tree and there was little importance to the designation, but that didn't stop me from beaming back at him and sitting in it every time we came out here. Even if the hardwood was somewhat uncomfortable on my butt.
I paused moments before sliding down to the ground. The hardest part was always the first and the last jump, from tree to forest floor and the reverse. After an unsteady landing and a couple moments to adjust myself to the new surface, I followed Joseph down the usual path leading back to West-End.
“I dunno how you can stand this walk after working out so hard.”
Joseph laughed. “Like I said, I don't even notice it anymore, yeah? You get used to it after awhile.”
“I'm not used to it....”
“Yes, and that's because you've only been walking it for a deta--and you're really out of shape.”
I frowned. “I'm not that out of shape.”
“You're pretty out of shape.” He reiterated this with a frustrating air of casualness, as if he were stating the obvious.
I frowned harder. “Hey! I'm not that out of shape since hanging out with you...! I've made this walk so many times since I came here.”
“You've made it like twice.”
“I've made it so many more times than twice! What are you even talking about?”
He burst out laughing. “You're so sensitive. I was just kidding.” He paused for a moment, but continued before I could argue with him. “And yes, you're more in shape then you were then. Alright? But you've got a long way to go, yeah?”
My frown turned sideways as I forced the pressure in my face into one of my dimples. He glanced back at me, and then smiled and shook his head. I found the gesture annoying, but decided not to follow up on it. I usually lost my verbal spars with Joseph, but he had a way of making even the victories unsatisfying.
After a few moments of silent walking, I tentatively opened my mouth to speak. “Hey, Joseph?”
“Hmm?” He grunted, his attention still on navigating the narrow trail.
“Does the walk to town make you tired? Or are you used to it cause you've walked the trail so many times?”
The resulting sigh was long-suffering. “Town again....”
“Aww come on! I wasn't asking you to take me there or anything.”
“But that's where it was going, yeah? And even if it wasn't, I know what you're trying to do. I was twelve once too, yeah? Though I didn't really have anyone to do that too....” He frowned, but I'd gained a good enough grasp over Joseph's expression to tell he was more disturbed by this than upset.
“I don't know what you're even talking about. I'm not doing anything....”
“Yes. Yes, you are.” He insisted. “You mentioned town. And I get you think about it a lot, yeah? But you keep making it the topic so you can beg me, and I always tell you the same thing: I'm not taking you there, yeah?”
“But wh-y....” I whined.
“I've already told you why, yeah?” His tail whipped around with annoyance.
“Tell me again.”
“Why should I tell you again? So you can argue with me?”
“So I can convince you. You don't have to take me, but at least gimme a chance to try and change your mind.”
“You have literally had so many chances, yeah? So many! Will there ever be a day you don't mention town to me? How many more chances do you need?”
“As many as it takes to change your mind.”
He shook his head and sighed again. “Sometimes you act like such a little kid....”
“No I don't!”
“Pfft,” he scoffed. “That's exactly what a little kid would say, yeah?”
“Grr.” I frowned. “You're mean.”
“That's what you think. If I was mean I'd take you to town right now, yeah?”
“Then be mean.”
He stopped walking and turned to face me with raised eyebrows. “I can be mean if you want. You really want me to?”
“... If it gets me to town.” I replied meekly.
“It won't get you to town... But it'll get you somewhere.” He approached me and I took tentative steps away from him.
N-o...” I whined.
“Isn't what you wanted?”
“No! I just want to go to town.”
“We're not going.” Joseph said with finality.
“But Lucky said he had friends there, and that they were a lot better than the ones he has here....”
“Ugh, Lucky this and Lucky that!” Joseph threw his arms in the air in frustration. “Listen, Lucky is an idiot and a loser and a terrible, idiot, monster! Any friends he has in town are just as crap as the ones he has here, yeah?”
“Well, I'm kind of his friend now.... Or his pal, I guess.”
“So you've said, yeah? And if you were smart you'd get away from him.”
I recoiled a bit. His expression softened.
“Listen, I... I didn't mean it like that, yeah? I didn't mean to say you're not smart. You are very smart—the smartest twelve dro I've ever met. I just mean you should stay away from Lucky, yeah?”
“I... I know you guys don't like each other, but I really think you should give him another chance.”
“Give him another...” Joseph repeated in exasperation. “You want me to give him another.... Ugh!” He waved his hands at me and turned away. “Fine. You wanna be buddy buddy with Lucky do whatever you want, yeah? I don't care, yeah?! Just don't say I didn't warn you! Lucky is no better than those... those... bourgeoisie clowns in town.”
I frowned and went silent.
“If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away from Lucky and you'll stop thinking about town, yeah? I don't... I don't plan on keeping you away from it forever, yeah?” His tone suddenly became softer. “I just don't want to take you there too soon. You're still really young, yeah? And... it's not just that, but you're more than just young, yeah? There's something about you that's... young. I can't explain it, but I can't be the one responsible for... taking that away from you.”
Why is he trying to sugar coat it? I thought with vehemence. Why can't he just say it? He thinks I'm a baby who can't handle town. Just a little kid who needs to be coddled and protected and guarded and lied to cause I'm only twelve dro. I might not be the bravest or the strongest, but I can at least handle walking through a market! It's not fair that he has this exaggerated idea of how bad everyone is. What does he think is going to happen? How bad could it possibly be?
I thought about it as we walked back in silence.
Joseph had grown up in West-End surrounded almost entirely by people who despised him. He taught himself everything, supported himself through everything, and had survived against all odds. His belief that people were fundamentally bad was far from absurd, considering most of his life had been lived with just about everybody constantly reaffirming that exact notion.
His idea of Lucky was reasonably negative, especially since Lucky had been part of the many villains in Joseph's life; however, the thought that a person like Lucky was irredeemable, or was as Joseph had said, a 'terrible, idiot, monster,' was a result of his cynicism.
Joseph thought everyone in town was bad because he'd probably met a few bad people and because his social skills were so hopelessly underdeveloped. He wasn't to blame for that, and he'd gotten marginally better at basic communication in the deta we'd been together, almost as if he'd learned how to properly speak for the first time in his life through practicing with me, but he'd still been that way for a long time, and still was to some extent. He'd likely said some awkward things to people, things he hadn't meant, offended people he wanted to like him, annoyed people who didn't know how to deal with him. When they reacted negatively, it fed his negative outlook, and left him further estranged from the world at large. He probably thought the world was filled with Blons... and that Lucky was just another Blon in different skin.
His long list of negative life experiences had left him jaded, but thanks to him and Mrs. Shire and mom, I had been spared that fate.
I knew there were good people out there. I knew people could be forgiven and that people could be redeemed. Even if his anger toward Lucky and his fear toward town were somewhat justified, that didn't mean he had to take things to extremes. It didn't mean it made sense to keep me cooped up my whole life, nor did it make sense to maintain that hate against Lucky, someone who was a victim of the same bullying as Joseph.
If only Joseph understood that part of what pulled me toward Lucky was their similarity; that they shared a bond in their solitude.
I couldn't just give up on Lucky. He needed a friend; a saving grace just like Joseph had been to me. He needed a Mrs. Shire to give him something to strive for. I didn't need to be his best friend, or have with him what I had with Joseph, but it would be evil to shun him now.
Being there for both Joseph and Lucky was what I needed to do. That was the will of Gaol.
By the time we'd arrived at West-End, the tension in the air had mostly dissolved. We remained silent, my thoughts had tapered off into wondering what kind of book I would get next—hopefully something less confusing than my last book—and I imagined Joseph's thoughts had moved to... whatever it was Joseph normally thought about.
We entered the library and Joseph immediately took it upon himself to walk around while looking supremely bored. Every visit was the same: he would dawn the same expression and move his head in the same pattern, looking to every corner of the room like it were his first time there, yet doing it with a sluggishness that said the room was really not even worth his time to look at.
After placing my book with the other returns—most of which had been placed there before my arrival at West-End--I walked to the back and perused my options, running my eyes along the spines, searching for anything eye-catching. After fiddling with a few unexciting books, after even placing a few of them in my “maybe pile” on top of the bookshelf, my eyes caught onto a dark red book, with no words on the spine, and upon further evaluation, no words on the cover or the back.
I opened the hardcover and found a handwritten note scrawled on the first page:
“Starry-eyed moments, both heard and felt;
Presuming the divine, obscure answers dwelt.”
I furled my eyebrows, wondering why someone had felt compelled to write something so cryptic in the mystery book, and in wonderment as to what it was supposed to mean. Was it joke? A warning that what was to come was complete gibberish?
I flipped a couple of white pages out of the way to reveal the title of the book in large, black font: Peaches.
“What the...-”
“-Hey what'cha lookin' at?”
“Ahh!” I jolted and slammed the book shut. “Oh Gaol... You scared me!”
“I noticed.” Joseph gazed at me with an annoyingly innocent expression. “You didn't pee yourself again, yeah?”
“No I did not pee myself!” I said with gritted teeth.
“What'cha readin'?” He looked down at the book. “You looked really confused, yeah?”
“Oh, i-it's just this... weird book I found. There isn't anything on the outside and it had this weird message written on the inside of it.”
“Like handwritten?”
“Yeah,” I opened the cover and showed him the message. He furled his eyebrows like I had and even squinted at it for a few moments, trying to decipher the words. It took him a few moments longer than it should have to read such a short passage, but I stayed quiet about it.
“Um, I don't really get it.”
“Yeah,” I responded. “Me either....”
“What's the book about?”
“I didn't get past the title. You know, before you scared the tail off me.
“Hehe. What are you waiting for, yeah? For it to grow back? Open it up.”
After smacking my own tail against the side of my leg to verify it had indeed remained attached to me, I opened the book and flipped past the title to the table of contents. It read as follows:
Chapter One: A Dissertation on Relativity, Value, Pattern Recognition, and the Importance Self-Deception
Chapter Two: Number Theory
Chapter Four: Discerning Reality Through Analogy
Chapter Five: Transcending Base Emotions
Chapter Six: The Art of Revelation
Chapter Seven: The Nature of Revolution
Chapter Eight: Supreme Epiphany
I stopped reading at “Supreme Epiphany,' but as I went to flip the page I silently registered that the table went all the way to chapter twelve.
The next page read 'Chapter One: THREE,' center-aligned, and in surprisingly small letters considering it was the only thing on the page. The next page was center-aligned as well, like a poem, and had a title of its own. All the text was the same size as the previous page's text had been. The poem read as follows:

Dance dirt, fire, and sky,
To the time starlight fades;
Heights held naught fall,
Experience begot that day.

Peaks fold to heart
Of a subtle shifting wind
Are as they are not,
Beyond comprehension.

I pulled the text away and read it aloud, knowing it would have taken Joseph an absurd amount of time to work it out.
He snorted. “A bunch of gibberish, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I said with a cocked brow. “Seems kinda dumb.”
“Hey, lemme see it real quick.” Joseph took it from my hands and flipped through it. “Yep, there you go. This is one of those occult books, yeah? I've heard about 'em from Scott.”
“Occult? What's that?”
“I don't really know. He said they were all lies, though, yeah? A bunch of gibberish to trick you into buying the book, cause they'll make you think there is like, really cool stuff in it or like rituals and magic and stuff. But it's all a big trick, like religion. It's pretty common knowledge at this point. Everybody knows it.”
Like religion? I thought. Joseph wasn't devout and I understood that—but a big trick? Did he really think that? Didn't he say he believed in Gaol?
“Yep, uh huh, there you go....” Joseph had opened the book to a random page toward the middle and held it out to me. “A ritual, yeah? I guarantee you if you did it it'd do nothing. Scott said he tried one once to summon a demon to make money or something but it didn't work.”
“Wait, he tried to summon a-”
“-I think he called the people who write these um... what was it... Oh! Cake oil sellers!”
“Cake oil sellers...?”
“Yes. They sell oil for baking cakes and say it makes the cake better, but it is just like water with stuff mixed in, yeah?”
“Oh. That makes sense.” He handed me the book and I looked down at it. At the top of the page there was a complex looking shape; a shape formed of other, simple shapes, resulting into something captivating and important looking. “It's... clever.”
“Yeah, there are apparently cults and stuff out there that worship and study this stuff. Real wack jobs, yeah?” He laughed. “Could you imagine? Living in some dank hole studying a book that means nothing? What a life.”
Thanks for comparing in to religion.... I thought bitterly. “It's just... I don't get it.”
“Don't get what?” He asked with a cock of his head.
“If everybody knows it's a scam, then why are there cults studying it?”
“Some people are just dense, I guess. Religion is still-” He paused for a fraction of a second, his eyes suddenly darting to mine. “-doing good, a lot of preachers and stuff. But, um, I guess religion is a bit different. But yeah, what I meant to say is some people are just dense, yeah?”
Wow, thanks. I'm dense, then.
“Hey, don't give me that face. You're not dense. I just mean like, a lot of people, yeah? Saying they worship Gaol but then acting all evil. You're good, though. If there is a Gaol, then you're the closest thing to a true follower I've ever seen.”
“Oh, uh, thanks.” I wasn't sure how to parse his insult turned compliment, so I just did my best to ignore it and it's implications for the time being. “It's just... weird, is all.”
“Eh.”
“The person who wrote this sounds like they took it seriously. I dunno why they sounded like that--I can just tell. I mean, they took it seriously enough to write this message in the book. A message they didn't make any money from.”
“Yeah, well,” Joseph scratched his chin. “They probably did it to mess with whoever was dumb enough to take the book. Or maybe it was done by the writer? Or maybe they were just one of those tools who bought into it, yeah?”
“A tool?”
“Yeah, tool. A tool is someone who... um, they're... someone who.... Uh, I'm not really sure how to explain it. I'll have to ask Scott sometime, yeah? But it's, like, right now it's a dumb person who just does whatever they're told, yeah? Too dumb to think for themself.”
“Oh....” I responded, unsatisfied. “I guess that makes sense.”
“Yep. So it's just a dumb occult book. Wouldn't bother with it.” Joseph started to meander away, his face steadily retaking on that expression of infinite boredom. “Are you almost done, by the way?”
“Yeah, yeah,” I answered absentmindedly. “Just a few more minutes.”
“'Kay.” He returned his attention to tapping his fingers all over his body and surrounding objects in a series of random rhythms and speeds.
I flipped through the book for more pictures of the strange, captivating shapes. I read a few parts from various rituals, and found each one stranger than the last. A lot of them involved ingredients, or, as it called them in the book, 'reagents'—all of which I'd never heard of. A few of them even called for blood and animal sacrifice, which I found extremely disturbing.
After a bit, I closed the book and returned it. My eyes once again scanned the spines of the books in search of my next read. The note scribbled on the book ran through my head on repeat:
“Starry-eyed moments, both heard and felt;
Space infinite where the answers dwelt.”
What moments? What sorts of moments? What answers? What sorts of answers? And for that matter, what questions? The utter seriousness of the work made it hard to believe Joseph's adopted opinion of it. I could not actively prove the wrongness of his skepticism, yet I still felt compelled to disagree with it.
Maybe there was some trickery afoot. Maybe it was as Joseph had described it: a scheme by a cake oil salesman. But for there to be existing cults surrounded by this sort of information in an age where everyone knows it is a trick? What did they believe? What had they told themselves? What did they know?
Whether the information contained in these enigmatic texts was true, false, or something in between, it seemed all secondary to the fact that people are capable of creating powerful works that can control others, all against the judgment of society.
The primary question which presented itself to me, beyond even my curiosities surrounding the proposed belief systems created in this text, was the simple question of 'how?' How did someone learn to do this? How did they manage to defend themselves against the myriad of criticisms presumably lobbed against them time and time again? And more importantly than that, how did they come up with it all?
“Oh, fancy runnin' into you here.”
The voice echoed through the near empty library, causing both of our heads to snap in the direction of the door.
Joseph looked at him as if he were the last thing he'd ever expected to enter the room. I looked at him with surprise, and more than a little discomfort, and maybe a little curious excitement too.
“I was just strollin' by when I looked in the window and take a look at who I found.” Lucky approached a table and took a seat.
I walked over to the table with my 'maybe' books in hand and took the seat opposite of him.
“Hey, Lucky.”
“Hey, little thing. How are ya?”
“I'm good. Just hanging out with Joseph and checking out a new book.”
“Hmm,” Lucky glanced over at Joseph, but quickly looked back toward me. “Read a lot, huh? That's a good habit. That's what gets Scott so smart, ya know?”
“Uh huh,” I smiled. “I've heard it's a really good habit, but... I honestly just do it cause it's fun.”
“He finds it fun, of all things! That's the sign of a genius for sure! What're ya readin'?”
O-Oh, I don't really have anything right now....” I looked over at Joseph, who was standing in the same spot, looking at us with a sour expression on his face. “Um, J-Joseph, you could join us if you want.”
Lucky looked over at him and cocked a brow. “Yeah, sure. Come over and take a seat.”
Joseph looked back at him and squinted a bit. Lucky had sounded candid, for the most part, but there'd been a slight bit of something in his voice.
“Alright.” Joseph approached the table and took the seat closest to him, to the side of both Lucky and I.
“Yeah, anyway,” Lucky continued, turning to face me. “You keep up that readin' habit. It's good for you. Oh! I bet I could get a book or two from ***Mae-, er, I mean, one of my buds in town. He does some readin' himself. He lent Scott a couple of his books before.”
Tap tap tap tap.
“Oh, really?” I replied, beaming. “That would be really cool! A lot of the books here are messed up or weird. It looks like there's a lot to choose from, but it's weird how many books you can look through without finding a single one that looks good....”
Tap tap tap tap.
“I bet it is, I bet it is.... But I'll tell you he's got some great books. A lot of 'em are about politics, I'll try and pick out something different, though, if I can find somethin'-- unless you want some politics or somethin'.”
Tap tap tap tap.
“Um, I guess I don't really know anything about... pol-li-tics.”
Tap tap tap tap.
Lucky laughed. “It doesn't sound much like you do!”
I blushed and Joseph scowled at him, his tapping fingers coming to an abrupt stop.
“Not your fault, though. Not a bit. You got an ex-governor for a Headmaster and the damn dirty bastard don't teach us a thing, so you don't even know how to say politics, let alone point out a capitalist.”
Lucky laughed again. I glanced over at Joseph. He still seemed displeased, but less so.
Tap tap tap tap.
“Anyway, I just figured I'd say hi. Just got back from town, which is where I spend my time mostly. Saw you in here and figured I'd see how ya were. Imma head back now, though.”
“O-Oh. Thanks for stopping in. It was cool to talk to you again.”
“Yeah, no prob. You have a good one, Leo.”
Lucky got up and headed for the door.
“Have a good one, Lucky.” Joseph said with some harshness.
“Yeah, you too.” Lucky responded, not stopping or turning around.
Joseph and I remained sitting at the table in silence for a few moments after he left. I felt the table shake lightly as Joseph vibrated his entire leg, still in an attempt to burn off nervous energy.
“I hate him.” Joseph suddenly began, facing away from me.
“Why?”
“He is an idiot, yeah? An ass and an idiot.”
“He isn't that bad,” I went on, frowning. “I wish you'd give him another chance.”
He had one hand rested on the table. It suddenly curled into a fist. He glanced at it and then glanced at me, and then he slipped it underneath the table where I couldn't see it any longer.
“Come on...” I whined. “Give him another chance. Lucky's lonely; I can tell.”
“Don't you think I was lonely all those years when he was treating me like crap...?” He rested his head on his other hand and continued to look away.
“I know, but that's exactly why you should be nice to him. You guys aren't that different! He gets treated like crap from Blon and Ant, and I can tell he is-”
Thump
Joseph's eyes jolted open and his body flinched. A strange, tight noise came from his chest, as if he was in pain.
“Um, are you okay-?”
“-Yes” His cheeks turned a pale shade of red.
“Did your tail hit the side of the-?”
“-Yes.”
Tap tap tap tap. The rasping of his fingers on the table continued on and off for the rest of the conversation.
I sighed. If his tail was swinging around that wildly, he was more frustrated than I'd thought. “It's just... When I got here I didn't have any friends, and I dunno what I would'a done if you hadn't come over to me....” It was my turn to blush and turn away, but I forced myself to turn my head back in his direction. “Lucky doesn't really have any friends either.”
“What about all his precious friends in town?”
“You're the one who told me if he has friends in town, they probably treat him bad too!”
“Don't you think that says more about Lucky's personality rather than his... oh, I don't know, luck?”
I sneered at him. “I wouldn't know, because I don't know anybody in town, so I couldn't really say anything about that, could I?”
Joseph pulled back a bit in shock, but he quickly hardened his expression. “Fine then. You wanna go to town so badly, yeah? I'll take you there. I'll show you everything you wanna see. We'll make a day of it, yeah? Show you the market, yeah? And all the super, nice, awesome, super nice people and their great, great families, yeah? Sound fun, yeah?”
The shock in Joseph's look in response to my harsh tone made me nearly cringe with guilt, but the words 'great, great families, yeah' made things far worse. Suddenly, I'd understood Joseph's aversion to town. Why he didn't want to take me there and why he didn't want to go there himself.
And there was more guilt, from how quickly the other bits of guilt were washed away by the rising tides of my excitement.
“T-This isn't a joke, is it?”
“No. I am being completely serious, yeah? I'll take you in a couple days, when the rain stops, yeah? We'll go there and you'll see it all for yourself... yeah?”
I sat completely still, watching Joseph's body vibrate along with the motion of his leg, which hopped up and down along with his rasping fingers. A smile started to creep over my lips.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Joseph cocked an eyebrow at me. “Whatever, yeah? I'm hungry. Let's go eat, yeah?” He stood and moved toward the door.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank yo-u!” I drawled the last syllable and jumped out my chair. I launched in the direction of Joseph. He turned toward me in confusion, in that moment of weakness, I went forward and wrapped my hands around him.
“Whoa, whoa! H-Hey! Wh-What are you-what are you doing?!”
I could feel him squirming around, trying to peel away, but I was entirely too jubilant to let him off that easy.
“Leonidus!” His usage of my entire name caught my attention, and he pushed my off while I was distracted. “What was that?”
“It was a... hug....”
“Crap!” He said peeking out the library door's broken window hole. “I hope nobody saw that.... No, no, looks like we're good. Leo,” he suddenly turned toward me. “Do not ever do that again.”
“B-But... why...?”
“Leo, that's gay! You can't touch other guys like that. You only hug girls, yeah? Only girls.”
“O-Oh.... But isn't gay... you know, liking another boy?”
Joseph visibly cringed. “Ye-Yes, yes it is, but touching other guys is gay too. And even if you don't mean to be gay when you do it, it's still a gay thing to do, yeah? And everybody is gonna see a gay thing, yeah?”
“Oh... okay. I'm, um... sorry.” I balled my hands into fists and took a step back.
“Yeah, it's okay. You didn't know. Don't worry about it, yeah? --Hey, how about we go get some food and forget all about this?”
I looked up at him. Suddenly, he seemed to be in good spirits, as if all the negativeness from earlier had never happened.
“Yeah, sure.”
He turned toward the door.
“O-Oh, Joseph?”
“Yeah?”
“I had one more question.... Um, about the hugging thing.”
He did a quick look back and forth out the broken window hole. “Yeah, sure, just ask it quick.”
“Is it okay to hug grown-ups? Even if they're boys too?”
The muscles in Joseph's face relaxed.
...No, actually, I thought they relaxed at first, but I realized quickly they'd actually gone deliberately slack. His eyes widened and he slammed both hands down on my shoulders, eliciting a small, surprised yelp from my throat.
“Leonidus,” he said with the utmost gravity. A tone I'd never heard him take on since we'd met. “Never let a grown-up touch you—not if he is a man. If a grown man ever tries to hug you, make sure I am the first person you tell, alright?”
I nodded my head, too shocked to speak.
“Good,” he let go of my shoulders. “Now let's go eat.”


Chapter Ten


I dragged my hands across my face, rubbing my eyes with the tips of my fingers. My entire body shuddered with the murky discomfort of waking up, and I felt a twinge of jealousy for Joseph's morning energy.
Images of last night's unfinished dream ran through my mind, branching off into strange paths and repeating with familiar patterns, all in a search for some kind of finality. I hoped that if I thought hard enough, I could branch the dreams (now just 'thoughts') off into an appropriate end, and I could relief myself of the agitation they'd caused. But I knew from experience that the moment the dreamer wakes, that unique brand of satisfaction is lost.
Judging from the images in my mind, I'd dreamed about yesterday.  The moment I'd woken up and all the feelings became more than just feelings, I'd realized we'd likely annoyed each other that day more than any other.
Strangely, this notion brought me peace.
Sometimes I wondered how much Joseph actually liked me, and I often doubted he liked me as much as I liked him. Why would he like me? I was such a handful....
But as far as my liking of Joseph went, I liked him even when I disliked him. Some dynamic aspect of our relationship always pulled me toward him; it made me feel wrong whenever he was not nearby.
The interest I had in completing my dream faded as my eyes pried open against the better judgment of the sunlight. Although the satisfaction of a completed dream had been denied, the images continued to run through my head, and I knew from experience they would continue until I found something suitable to replace them.
So I did what I normally did when I wanted a distraction: I allowed myself to imagine Mrs. Shire. I thought of the day we'd met, the few times we'd talked, and of the time she'd brought me to West-End, which was a day I'd forget no time soon. I ruminated on the future, and how badly I wanted to see her again. Joseph had served as a beacon of light for me, as if I were a lost ship at sea left wandering alone and afraid, though it was the thought of Mrs. Shire which had served as the waves which kept me in motion.
Cryptic thoughts of this nature often led to thoughts of my mother. I did my best to keep them at bay, but they sometimes slipped in, in bits and pieces. Her death devastated me in many ways, but I often attributed the slow, arduous journey she took to the grave as largely responsible for how I endured. Tactically distracting myself from the unfixable problems surrounding me had worked thus far, so I forced the picture of her dying face from my mind, rapidly, desperately, lest it find burrow into a deeper crevice as to haunt me  in deeper ways.
“Hey, Joseph, you wanna play a game with us?”
My eyes opened. I first looked in the direction the voice had come from: a small group of kids across the room, a few of which I recognized, most of which I disliked. Then I looked toward Joseph's bed. He was lying down on his side, facing them, still buried beneath the generic, sky blue blankets of West-End. His head, however, had risen from the pillow and hung there in curiosity—among other emotions, I imagined.
“You want to or not? We need one more player.” The voice rang out again, louder than necessary for so early in the morning.
Joseph shot up, still facing the source of the noise. He nodded rapidly and hopped out of bed. Watching him nearly jog over to the group caused a strange sensation to form in my gut, because he'd not so much as glanced in my direction before heading over.
Is he trying to replace me? My chest tightened and more thoughts rushed in before I could even ask why it had tightened. Does he hate me? Does he only hang out with me because I'm the only person who wants to hang out with him?
I frowned at myself, feeling suddenly nauseated. Of all the untrue and unbecoming thoughts I'd had, these had to be the most sickening. I tried to dismiss the worries as ridiculous, but it seemed having extinguished one source of paranoia from my thoughts simply left a void for another.
I couldn't hear the kids muttering amongst themselves; I could only make out their actions and what they said in loud voices. They'd pushed two beds close together and the group of five, counting Joseph, faced each other with only a few feet apart. They sat Joseph down on the bed with one other kid, someone I'd interacted with maybe once or twice, but whom conferred with some of my least favorite people.
“Okay, so the rules is easy,” said the loud boy from before. “We call it the punchin' game.”
I cocked a sleepy eyebrow. The punching game...?
“What you do's is you pick someone in the group and you punch'em and then it's their turn and they'll get to punch someone. We keep on doin' this 'til everyone is given up and there's only one person left punchin'. You got it? Okay, good. I'll go first.”
The boy leaned forward and punched Joseph on the shoulder. Joseph winced and pulled back a bit. My eyes widened.
“Okay, it's yer turn now, cat man. Pick someone and punch'em.”
Cat man...? Really?
Joseph looked around the small group. He made eye contact with one boy who sneered back him. Joseph went forward and punched the boy on the shoulder, just as had been done to him by the loud boy.
The Sneerer immediately moved toward Joseph and punched him back, on the shoulder closest to him. Joseph rubbed his arm and looked toward the loud boy who had announced the rules.
“Well? It's yer turn again pick someone an punch'em.” The loud boy said irritably.
Joseph looked around again, the open-minded expression of curiosity that had been on his face before beginning to droop. He punched the kid next to him on the arm, and the kid immediately punched back.
All the kids looked at him expectantly, as if this were completely normal and he was holding up the game by not hitting anybody. Joseph's frown intensified a bit. He leaned forward and punched the loud kid.
The loud kid punched Joseph back, again leaving him sitting there, stunned, rubbing the area of impact. The loud kid had punched him in the same spot as before, no doubt beginning to bruise him.
Joseph suddenly began talking. I couldn't hear him, but I could tell from the movement of his lips and eyes that he spoke tentatively and said 'yeah' a lot, even though the course of his speech was short.
“Nah, rules is for babies.” The loud kid remarked. “Punch-backs are just how the game plays. Can't change it now. Anyway, take yer turn whole damn world doesn't revolve 'round you cat man.”
Joseph's frown started to take on the shape of stifled anger as he leaned forward and punched another one of the kids on the shoulder—this time with more force. The kid punched him back.
The kid next to him snorted in amusement, and so Joseph chose him as his next target. The kid punched him back.
Maybe he was still angry about the snort, maybe it was the smug smile on the snorter's face, or maybe he was just angry in general and he didn't know what to do next, but Joseph punched the same kid again, and the same kid punched him back.
This went back and forth for several punches of steadily increasing intensity. The kid began to put his entire body weight into the punches—which was a surprising amount of weight considering the rest of the orphans around us—while Joseph stuck him in the arm with quick, tight jabs.
After awhile, it started to seem like Joseph was winning the little endeavor when all the sudden the large kid struck out in range and hit Joseph in the mouth with no small amount of force. The kids in the circle gasped and smirked, and I jolted in my bed.
Joseph's head remained turned backward for several moments. He slowly turned to face the boy, his wild eyes steadily coming into view. The wild eyes was the only remarkable thing about his expression; beyond his lips, which curled into a taut frown, no other part of him bore any change major enough to notice.
He sat there for several moments, the boys looking at each other. At this point, the large boy turned toward Joseph, and thus away from me so I could not see his face, though I imagined it was not a pleased expression.
“Yer turn, Joseph.” The loud boy said. He said this quietly, but I managed to read his lips this time.
Joseph turned to face him, a look of actual shock and confusion on his face, and then a look of dismay.
He looked down at the floor and then over at the kid next to him. He leaned across and punched the first kid he'd hit when the game started. I could see he did it lightly, but the kid did not mirror him nor show mercy. Before Joseph even sat all the way back on the bed, the kid punched him back with all his force, on the shoulder at least, but with enough power to knock him back.
Joseph paused and closed his eyes for a moment, and then got to his feet. “I'm done.” From the motion of his lips, the words looked like they were uttered quietly.
“Ah, don't be a pussy, cat man. One accidental punch to the face and yer bout ta cry—how 'bout that for ya?” He looked around at the other kids and snickered along with him them.
“I'm not crying.” Joseph's voice rose a bit in anger, enough for me to hear it.
“Yeah, yeah,” the loud kid went on. “Go on and run back to yer bed, ya big baby. It's no wonder nobody likes you a bit around here.... Such a damn loser.” He turned to face the other kids, as if suddenly Joseph had ceased to exist.
With a look that took upon itself the very definition of sadness, Joseph meandered back to his bed. He crawled under the covers and covered his face with a pillow.
I clutched my blanket and glared at the boys across the room with all my energy, like if I stared hard enough they'd realize the error of their ways and apologize to him.
I remembered I'd been jealous for a few moments before. How I'd been worried that Joseph didn't want to be friends with me; that he'd been actively searching for my replacement.
I snorted in spite of myself. That thought didn't just sound selfish, but it sounded insane, and I was embarrassed to had even considered it.
I began to remove my covers to go over and comfort Joseph, or, at the very least, distract him, but stopped before bringing the blanket past my chest. I had a sudden feeling maybe it was still too soon, that maybe Joseph needed a little time to himself first.
So instead, I remained there, watching him like a hawk. If he moved, I'd know about it. If anybody came over to him, I'd know about that too.
I felt another twinge of guilt. Words that were half a question and half an acknowledgment of something despicable and true ran through my head:
Is this really all I can do for him?


Chapter Eleven


“Hi.”
“Hi.” I sat down on the edge of his bed, by his feet. It was the same spot he normally took on my bed.
“...It's getting late. I should probably get up now, yeah?” He didn't sound as depressed as I'd been expecting.
“No rush.” I replied. “Not like you need to be up for anything.”
He snorted. “I guess we don't have any deadlines to keep, yeah?”
“Nope.” I smiled. “But you can't stay in bed all day either.”
He paused for moment. “...You just said there's no rush.”
“Yes, but you can't just lie forever can you?”
He turned to face me and frowned. “You're starting to sound like me, yeah?”
I blushed a bit. “That doesn't sound like such a bad thing, yeah?”
His frown morphed into a smile. He closed his eyes and sighed softly. “Alright, alright, I'm getting up. Just don't do that again, yeah?”
“Do what? Say yeah, yeah?”
Stop.” He said with sudden annoyance.
“Okay,” I said, taken aback. “Gosh....”
“Sorry, sorry. It just annoys the hell out of me when people do that.”
...I held my tongue.
“So, um...” I began. “I saw what happened.”
His lips contorted in a strange way and he turned away from me. “Oh.”
“...I'm sorry that they—”
“-It's fine. Really, it's fine, yeah?” The words came out haltingly quick. “It's really not a big deal, yeah?” The bed started to shake lightly from the movement of his now vibrating leg.
“Y-Yeah, I know, it's just.... It was really mean for them to keep on-”
“-Yeah, no, I know what you're gonna say. I agree, yeah? But it's fine. It is completely fine, yeah? Anyway, I don't wanna talk about it, yeah? I just wanna forget it.”
I opened my mouth to speak again, but let my lips slowly close. At no point in Joseph's rapid, almost rabid speaking had he looked over at me. Not once. He'd looked just about every other place not in my direction. And his leg continued to beat with enough energy to rival a foot racer.
“J-Joseph...?” My voice came out quiet and worried.
His head jerked in my direction and his eyes widened a bit.
“...Why is there blood on your bed.... W-Wait, it's-”
He pulled his hand away and hid it beneath the covers, while simultaneously shifting the blanket over the blood spot.
“Joseph! Why is your hand bleeding?”
“Shh! Don't say it so loud....”
“S-Sorry.... But, what happened...? W-Why is there blood in your bed?”
“Don't worry about it. I just... scratched myself wrong.”
“...Then why are you hiding your hand from me?”
“I'm not hiding it,” he said with sudden frustration.
“Then show it to me. If you're not hiding it, show me your hand-”
“-Look, it's nothing, yeah? It's nothing. Nothing at all, yeah? Nothing to see and nothing to show so just, just stop worrying about it, yeah? Stop pestering me.”
“Joseph,” I said softly. “Please let me see your hand.... Please? I won't... do or say anything weird. Just lemme see it.”
His eyes took on that look from earlier: the 'I feel like crying' look, except with an added edge of anxiety, like he were trapped in a small box. Seeing this look on his face made me sick to my stomach.
“Please?” I asked one more time.
His head started to turn toward me, as if he actually intended on meeting my eyes, but it stopped after a few inches. It turned away again, but I saw his hand move from beneath the covers. At first, for only an instant, but then it began to slide out.
He presented his closest hand to me—the one that had not been bleeding. Even before I brought it up to my face I could tell there was something wrong. The claws had long been picked away, and while I'd noticed this before, I'd not noticed how far down they'd been chipped.
Large portions of the claws had been peeled back past his finger, leaving long areas of soft, exposed flesh extending out past where his claws should have terminated. The spots where claw-nail was supposed to be were swollen and red and covered in dried blood and scabs. The areas to the sides of his claws, where the nail met the skin, were covered in dried blood too. One spot looked moist, as if he'd been picking at it and managed to open it up not long ago.
My stomach lurched. Having seen this, I suddenly had no desire to see the other hand, the one which he'd mutilated badly enough to actually bleed on his bed.
He gently slid his hand back under the covers. His expression remained nearly the same, but now more uncomfortable than sad—and in some strange way, petulant.
“It's nothing...” He murmured.
“Joseph.... That's not nothing.”
“It's really not a big deal.”
We sat in silence for several moments. I tried to find the right words, words that could make this dysfunctional situation find it's place in reality, to fit them together with the precision of perfect squares, but only jagged, irregular words came to mind, and words like that could never heal wounds of flesh.
“You....” I shook my head. “You have to stop this.”
“...I know,” he said after a brief silence. “I know I do, yeah?”
“Why do you do it at all? Doesn't it hurt?”
“Sometimes, yeah... Well, no, not sometimes. I mean when it gets like this it... it hurts all the time. And I do it because I have to. I don't have a choice.”
“You have to?”
“Yes. I can't stop. I just... have to do it, yeah? I can't explain it, yeah?”
“Was, uh... the thing that happened earlier... the punching game.” He winced as I said it, but I continued on. “Did that make you wanna... pick?”
“...Yeah, that's what got me doing it again. I kinda do it all the time, but not normally this bad. It makes me feel better... yeah?”
“But... you're basically ripping the skin off your fingers. How does that make you-”
“-I don't know, alright? I don't know, yeah? We can just stop talking about this, yeah? I've never... shown anyone that before, and for good reason, yeah? I don't wanna talk about it.”
“Okay. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable.”
He sighed with frustration.
“There is one more thing I wanna say, though. Before we talk about something else.”
He turned his head the slightest bit in my direction.
“I don't know if saying it will make any difference or anything, but please, you have to stop. This isn't good for you. This isn't... natural. Please try not to do it anymore.”
“I can't make any promises. When things happen, I... I don't really have control over myself sometimes. This helps me.”
“If you ever wanna talk or if there is anything I can do to help, come to me, and I promise I'll do everything I can... but you can't keep doing this. If any part of you can stop, then... just stop.--Please, for me.”
He sighed again, this time a very uncomfortable, even more frustrated sigh. “Fine. I'll try, yeah? But like I said, no promises.”
“Just promise you'll try.”
“Fine, whatever, I'll try, yeah? Can we stop talking about this now? I wanna get out of here; it sucks in here and I need some air.”
When Joseph finally pried himself from his covers, he led the way to his usual training spot. I followed behind him, still having trouble keeping up, but getting better at weaving and ducking through the predictable vines and branches.
I'd once asked Joseph why he hadn't cleared more of it out of the way, and he'd said to keep the path difficult to follow, to prevent unwanted people from finding the spot. He'd definitely been successful, since without a guide or previous experience, getting off the path in the natural clearings was almost a guarantee; though, I worried my flat-footing had severely compromised its stealth.
When we arrived, Joseph started training in silence, a large frown on his face, a certain lethargy to all his actions and to all his pauses. I forced myself up into my tree and awkwardly tottered my way over to my reading spot--a small area created by two twisting branches which held me firmly in place.
I glanced over at him every few moments. His sullen look grew lower and more strained, until the 'I feel like crying' look returned. It always made me want to do something, anything to help, but I never knew what. I never knew how I could be of any benefit to someone like him. So I just looked over every few moments, hoping my concern could stand in for real action
Joseph warmed up with his stretches and then hesitatingly went into the more intensives maneuvers of his regimen. I say hesitatingly because he normally did so with a sense of haste that was constantly at ends with the setting sun, but this time he paused and fidgeted for a few moments before beginning his running exercises, which were also done without their usual vigor.
Between exercises he would pause and look around, as if having to will himself on to the next bout of intense motion. Whenever he messed up or made a mistake, he'd come to a complete stop, pause, and then begin again. The running exercises were slow, the jumping exercises were halfhearted, and anything that involved a flip came after immense delay—though, were done with expert grace as usual.
After about an hour, Joseph looked up and met my eyes.
“I think...” He paused a moment, and then went on uncertainly. “I think I'm gonna head back.”
I looked at him with concern and closed my book.
Like the walk there, we stayed silent on the way back. Joseph said nothing, I said nothing, and he maintained a healthy distance ahead of me, even further than usual, making it clear he wanted it like that.
I thought about asking if he wanted to go swimming, but quickly reconsidered. If I asked, he'd feel pressured to take me there, as if I wanted to go for my sake. Plus, he was in no mental state to worry about his shirt. (We'd gone swimming one other time since my second day at West-End, and he'd just swam in his clothes).
Upon returning, we headed to the cafeteria and ate lunch in silence. I looked up from my soup every few moments to steal a glance at him, but he never looked back at me.
His entire body meandered and swayed like it weighed a million pounds. His feet dragged, his ears sagged, and his tail bobbed around loosely. Whenever I saw his eyes, they looked back at me drolly, emptily, his eye lids hanging low like weighed down hammocks.
After we finished our meal of silence, Joseph promptly excused himself to bed with a wave of the hand and a hardly audible utterance.
I stopped him and asked if he planned on using this time to pick. He looked back at me as if I were the most uninteresting thing in the world and said no, with no particular inflection in his voice.
I decided to trust him on this and let him go, though I thought later even if he'd laughed in my face and started ripping his own flesh off right there, there was little I could do to stop him. I did believe him, though. He seemed too downtrodden for any action, even a relieving one.
I went back to my bed and tried to read my new book, but my eyes glazed over and my mind wondered ceaselessly. I thought about Joseph and about his depressed state and 'the punching game.'
It's disgusting. My lips curled down into a tight frown. How did they even think of something so stupid to begin with? Did they do it JUST to screw with Joseph? I've never seen anyone play it before.... But why go through all that trouble? Why would anybody want to tease him like that?
I remembered how quickly he'd sat up when they'd called him, like he'd been waiting for it—not in the short term, but in the long term. As if he'd been wishing for it, for somebody, somewhere, to involve him, waiting for the end of his isolation.
I looked up from the book and over at the sullen mass beneath Joseph's, my frown tighter now. I looked across the room and regarded the few kids left inside who'd been involved in the game with contempt. How could they not care about the pain they'd caused him? How could such a thing actually please them?  My heart pounded against my chest, emphasizing my anger.
Where was Daughtry when all of this was going on? Why was he not here? Why was nothing ever under control? We were kids. All of us. Everybody in this room. Even I could recognize that, and I was the youngest.
Was there something I was not understanding? Some sick joke to which I was not privy? Who gained from this demented arrangement of abandoning kids in Flux; in a place where one's odds of success were based on their ability to be evil?
The word evil made my chest tighten and my emotions rage. I felt like a thunderstorm searching for a tree to ignite.
It just mystified me beyond on all understanding. It angered me beyond belief. I didn't know who to talk to. I didn't know who to ask. I wasn't even sure what needed to be answered anymore.
I'd asked Joseph and his responses had always been aimed at terminating the conversation as quickly as possible. 'That's life,' he'd say. Or, 'because they're all bastards,' and other equally misanthropic statements about humanity being fundamentally evil.
I'd attempted to be specific as well, and had asked him about Daughtry. He usually ended the conversation even faster, and sometimes fell into a bad mood as a result.
Every time I mentioned Daughtry around him, Joseph would get angry. His eyebrows would furl, his lips would curl down, his tail would lash around like a snake searching for prey. Other times, he would just scoff and go quiet, telling me not to mention that 'bastard's name, yeah?' Or, 'don't mention that... him, around me, yeah?'
I often found humor in his responses, though I'd have never told him that.
I looked at it like Daughtry were a parent and Joseph were an angry teenager. I didn't know too many teenagers, but Mother used to make jokes to me about how they were unruly, and how I was at such a good age. She'd say how she dreaded my growing older and dealing with my 'angst'.
I learned very quickly that whatever angst was, it wasn't the emotion Joseph was feeling. Joseph's hatred toward Daughtry asserted itself without bounds. I could tell because he refused to talk about him, but he would talk plenty about the other people he disliked.
I looked up from my book again and gazed around the pit called West-End, seeing only dread and nausea. To my pleasure and momentary surprise, I caught sight of a boy reading a book, but the surprise faded when I recognized the red hair.
I'd talked to Scott once before; Joseph had introduced us. I'd stood there silent, watching as Scott lectured us about politics, though most of it had gone over my head.
Before this conversation, I'd vaguely recalled hearing that Joseph was older than him, but I'd begun to doubt it after seeing how Joseph nodded along with everything Scott said and looked at him with wide eyes, often times mouth hanging open as if in awe.
Scott was popular around West-End, and unlike Blon and Ant, he managed this without being a sinister monster--at least to my knowledge. From what I'd heard and the little I'd seen, Scott cared a lot about the the orphan situation, as well as the things that led up to it, but that--and the fact he was a die-hard 'political-moralist'--were the only things I'd found out.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling nervous. An idea occurred to me, more like a joke at first, but seeming more and more plausible with each passing moment. Technically, I could walk across the room and speak to Scott of my own accord. I didn't need Joseph to take me everywhere.
A truly life changing development.
I'd already been introduced, and even if we weren't well acquainted, this struck me as a textbook time to remedy that. Furthermore, not having Joseph by my side would allow me to be a bit more... in-depth when I spoke of certain topics, most notably the Daughtry conundrum.
After several more nervous swallows (and a bit of nervous shuffling not unlike Joseph's restlessness), I stood up and headed in Scott's direction. My eyes instinctively went downward toward my feet, as I hearkened to Mrs. Shire's met-one advice.
'How unusual,' I thought with a mocking edge. 'The shy little Fen boy walking across the room without his personal bodyguard to keep him safe. I'd better stare.'
I looked up from my feet to see if their nosy eyes were indeed aimed in my direction, but only a few had taken any interest, and the interest was halfhearted at that. A few more eyes shifted to me upon my arrival at Scott's bed, but at that point, I'd made my journey and had far more serious concerns.
Scott looked down from his book and half-cocked a red brow.
“H-Hi.”
“Um, hello... Do you need something?”
“Um, I was-” I stopped to swallow. “I was just wondering if, if, um, w-we could, could, uh.... talk for a... few minutes.”
His half-cocked brow went full cock. “I guess. What'd you come over to talk about?”
I stared at him for several, long seconds, and then realized I'd spent the few precious seconds I had to conjure up a response on regretting having not planned this out better.
“O-Oh, um, I was, uh... I was just thinking t-that y-y-you could m-maybe tell me a-ab-about... um....” I paused for a long moment, as I tried to determine how to start this off. Would it be better to start with West-End's situation? Maybe to mention Joseph? Or what about the Daughtry thing?
“P-Politics?” I muttered, finally.
The instant the word left my mouth his hard eyes softened and I detected the faint hints of a smile on his lips.
“I should have figured,” he sat up and put a strip of ripped paper in his book to mark his place. “Politics is kind of my specialty, if you didn't know.”
“I-It's not just that, though. I-I also wanted to ask about some o-o-other stuff too.... Stuff about West-End.”
He squinted at me. “You're a smart one.”
“H-Huh?”
“So young and you already realize those two topics are one and the same.”
“I d-do?”
“It does my heart good to see the young ones picking up the cause.” Scott shook his head at me, like he were prideful of something intangible in the room. “What do you want to know.... Aw damn, what was your name again?
“L-Leo....”
“Leo! Leo, that was it. Now I remember—your friend's with Joseph.” He laughed. “What am I saying, of course you are! You're both the only two Fen in here! Yes, now I remember—he introduced us, but you didn't say much. --I like that. I feel like people should listen more. If they just listened they'd just... get it.
“Um....”
“Anyway, what'd you wanna know about? What can I tell you? You trying to learn a bit about the movement?”
“The movement...?”
“Of course! You've heard of the movement haven't you? The movement of political moralism? The One Movement to help shatter the shackles of argent reinvestment schemes and systematic oppression based on legacy wealth and privilege?”
I stood there silently, staring at him.
“Oh, you have a lot to learn, you little creature. Take a seat, Leo, I'll tell you everything.”
My eyes widened a bit. I couldn't tell if this was a good thing or bad, but I decided to take a seat anyway. Good or bad, I was already locked in.
He took a deep breath and paused for a moment, staring at me the entire time. “How much do you know about money? Do you know the difference between money and wealth?”
“Um....”
“Okay, okay, actually, I should start off by explaining what money is. Most people don't know what money is so I think it would be a good idea to get that out of the way before we start talking about the difference between the two. It'll be easier that way, just starting from scratch. That'll help if the brainwashing is bad.”
“B-Brainwashing?”
“Yes. You are familiar with brainwashing, right?”
“I-I've heard of it.”
“Okay, explain to me what you think it means.”
“O-Oh, I-I, um, I'm-”
“-Brainwashing is an argent propaganda trick. It's something that is institutionalized so they can get to the minds of babes—including the little kids. Even the not so little kids and adults. They'll pretty much brainwash anybody, but the younger the victim the more detestable it is. And it's the young ones the Argent's really aim for.”
“A-Argent's?”
“Ohn you don't know the Argents?” He asked with infinite surprise. “Do you even know what argent means?”
“I'm s-sorry, no....”
“Wow, you've got a lot to learn, Leo, but I guess that's not your fault. Who is gonna tell you all this, huh? Not that corrupt bastard Daughtry. Anyway, argent is a word used to describe the rich. Like, the super rich who use their money to make more money and keep the poor poor.”
“Daughtry is corrupt?”
“Of course he is! Daughtry is one of the worst argent bastards I've ever seen. Sure, there are worse out there, guys who own more, guys who basically own slaves, people who literally own slaves, but Daughtry used to be a governor and he used to do the Lord's bidding like some kind of lap dog—everybody knows it. He doesn't come out and say this stuff, but it's pretty obvious. You just look at his policy. It's the only thing that makes sense. I mean, that he is no friend of the Movement. Real bastard that guy.”
“Hey, um, h-how come he stopped being a go-ver-ner, anyway? Why did he come to West-End?”
“Because Comisosa seized his district. Publicly, it was advertised as a joint idea by Comisosa and Daughtry, when it was most likely just another scheme by the Lord and whoever is masterminding him, and they said something about how Daughtry wanted to 'help fight the fight at home,' --you know, 'cause he is too big of a coward to go fight the fight on the front lines against that slave-driver Germanus. Anyway, that's the public reason, but it's a whole lot of crap, I'll tell you that right now. ...Tch. Like we can trust anything this faulty administration of Argents and thieves and oppressors says or does. The real reason is cause he probably got threatened by some Movement radicalists and turned tail—no offense to you or your tail. He probably went to the Lord begging for protection, who then ordered Comisosa to take over control to help quell the One Movement, while Daughtry tried to save his own life by doing something that would appease both sides of the coin. Shifty bastard is what he is. Can't even die for his own beliefs. What's even more disturbing is that it is impossible to tell whether these 'Movement radicalists' were even real radicalists or not. They might have been sent by the Lord himself to spook Daughtry so he could repossess the district.”
I remained speechless. I didn't understand even half of what Scott was saying, but I'd understood enough to gather that Daughtry was a craven and devoid of honor.
Scott went on for awhile, mostly talking about things that went far over my head. About the only thing I got out of it was a complicated explanation of money, about how it represented something and didn't actually exist, and that the rich 'propagate the illusion to stay rich.'
I refrained from asking what 'propagate' meant. I also pretended to understand what the illusion was. I believed I had a general idea, but had he asked for an explanation, I'd have remained speechless.
When his monologue came to an end he asked if I had any questions. I shook my head and he laughed.
“Don't worry, I know it's a lot to take in. Once you start seeing it for yourself it'll make more sense. It's like... you ever seen those toy blocks real little kids use? They build them and up and up...? Well, that top block can't be placed until the bottom ones are. So you'll get to the top block eventually, but there are a lot smaller, littler blocks you've gotta place first. And then your eyes will open.”
I nodded, feeling a bit reassured. At least he wasn't mad.
“Just keep on paying attention and you'll see through the lies. Don't let yourself be deceived.... One of my favorite philosophers once said 'in the short term, deception is in the fault of the deceiver.' Think about that, Leo. 'In the short term.' If you can figure out the significance behind those words, I promise you'll make an excellent addition to the Movement when you get a bit older. Ode Fig Sol, Leo. Honors to the One!”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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A Tail of Two Tails, 2/5 of Vol. I
A Tail of Two Tails, 4/5 of Vol. I
A Tail of Two Tails, 2/5 of Vol. I
A Tail of Two Tails, 4/5 of Vol. I
3/5 of Vol I.

Keywords
male 1,109,005, fox 231,848, cat 198,398, feline 138,494, boy 74,010, young 58,551, teen 30,744, magic 23,411, shy 13,372, sweet 5,454, smoking 5,443, drama 4,270, drugs 2,551, innocent 2,496, cigarette 2,338, bullying 1,633, depression 996, adolescent 628, politics 433, occult 297, spiritual 170, magick 119, philosophy 77, orphanage 73, diplomacy 39, forgiving 6
Details
Type: Writing - Document
Published: 3 years, 10 months ago
Rating: General

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