NoHoper Ch 11 - Fooled
Tentative Title: No-Hoper
Full Summary: Merely a test-subject and researcher for the anti-Vampyre drug Denyxinil, a No-Hoper in the grand scheme, all that changes when he is Marked and forced to live among those he despises most. No identified pairings so far, takes place somewhere around a canon-changed 'Untamed'. Expect pride and a lot of prejudice.
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, nor do I own the House of Night series, or the various mentions to various other products of modern and post-modern Western culture. Let me warn you that, while I'm sure the Casts' way of doing things works very well for them, I took the liberty to take what I hated about the series' narration and change it to suit my tastes. So just expect some changes to things, like narrative style and the competency of character development.
If there’s one thing I have to say I like about the HON series, it’s the educational value it has for this generation and all generations to come: Vampire fiction, fantasy fiction, any fiction at all… children, this is not how to write it!
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Chapter XI
Fooled
It was 9AM on the morning of December 30th when I woke up: Approximately 4 hours after the conversation with Damien the night before. It was only the second day sleeping in my new room, and yet Sleep was as elusive a friend as the first day. My thoughts had plagued me until exhaustion caught up with me, forcing my mind to reluctantly settle with unconsciousness. When I did sleep, the thoughts had swarmed even then, filling my mind with the same nightmare as the one before; the only change was that Damien held the starring role of the attacker, the face in the memory that had burned itself into my head 13 years ago.
Admittedly, my awakening had been less than peaceful; covered in sweat, I’d awoken with a start, finding myself sitting up in bed. I didn’t remember screaming, or making any noise at all, but it was still enough to wake Jack, who seemed to be one of the heaviest sleepers I’d ever known.
Amazingly enough, he didn’t seem to mind being woken up in that manner (at least, not that morning). In fact, he merely gave me a tired smile, turned over, and suggested that I go off-campus to explore Tulsa in all its shopping-related glory. “You should try Utica Square, but wear shades,” he’d warned, “and use the concealer in the bathroom, too. There’ll be warrior-guards, so go by the tree on the East wall. Oh, and be careful, ‘kay?” After that little speech, he’d gone right back to sleep.
A shower later, I’d dressed into some non-school clothing, all originating from Dr Primrose’s rucksack of tricks: White skinny jeans, a white dress shirt, and white converse high-tops: It had been a practice among the No-Hopers in the years gone by to share out the clothing of the others once there’d reached the ECU; once a No-Hoper was gone, his or her clothes would still be there to serve the remaining guinea-pigs. Although the High Priestess had indeed stressed that I never leave the House of Night in any school uniform, I was still glad to be able to leave in something that revealed nothing of my current abode, that held no ties to the Coven of the Damned.
Once dressed, I was back in the bathroom, facing the mirror that - I had to admit I didn’t notice until now - was the façade for the door of a medicine cabinet. Swinging the door towards me, I found the concealer on one of the shelves among other stray containers of moisturisers and lip-gloss, sitting underneath the cover of a folded paper note. Picking up the note, I read it.
“If you wish to leave the HON campus, apply this concealer to your Mark (HON rules). Don’t use too much in one go, less is more!
“Be safe.”
At the top, the name ‘Jack Twist’ had been crossed out, my name scrawled next to it. At the bottom, the name ‘Erik Night’ had been similarly nullified and replaced with ‘Jack Twist’ under a “Thank you!” that sat below the first sender’s name and above Jack’s. I smiled. So, was Professor Night Jack’s roommate before? The coincidence was more of an amusement than anything meaningful or disturbing, all truth be told.
Getting the idea, I found a pencil sitting on the same shelf, and wrote a little ‘Thank You’ at the bottom of the note before replacing it back on the shelf. The concealer itself, I found as I applied it over the filled-in Mark on my forehead, was designed for all skin-tones, and it blended in easily, completely covering the sapphire-blue tattoo. By the end of that short procedure, it was almost as though I’d never been Marked to begin with. The thought made me beam back at my reflection, pleased enough to overlook the paler complexion, even the red-tinted hair - those were all easy to live with, compared to the stress and revulsion of the Mark itself.
Finding a pair of sunglasses in the rucksack (a pair that once sat on the ear of that same Primrose), and slipping them over my own eyes, I armed myself with my wallet and a book in the rucksack, and left the room. Soon enough, I was at the dorm’s front door. Opening it slowly, I found myself bathed in the bright, harsh light of day, sensing it beating heavily on my face, making me glad of the shades shielding my eyes from those rays. With a deep, preparatory breath, I stepped out into the open and closed the door behind me, and walked with haste to the East wall, a place marked out by the overgrown tree leaning on the brick.
I stood by the tree, rested a hand against the lightning-split trunk, and took a cursory glance of my surroundings: There were indeed Sons of Erebus Warriors posted at the front gates, and at other obvious entrances. If I had any hope of getting outside the campus walls, I would indeed have to climb up the tree and risk staining my clothes in the process. As for the inevitable jump down on the other side? I’d have to hope I was made of sterner stuff in my current condition, and could absorb the shock waves on impact without receiving a broken leg or a twisted ankle.
Taking hold of a hanging branch, and placing my foot in the vertical groove, I heaved myself up into the tree, using the branches as ladder rungs whenever I could. With less effort than I’d anticipated (for I’d never before given thought to preparing myself for the event of vertical climbs), I was soon high in the tree, and standing on the top of the wall as I looked over the edge; there was a greater drop to the civilian sidewalk than I’d risen from the monster’s ground, high enough that even vampyres could be troubled by it, where a rank coppery stench still lingered, though it couldn’t be seen.
I would have prepared myself for such a lemming-style great escape, was there not a convenient rope tied to a thick branch and hanging down to the sidewalk below. Sending a prayer to the great god of Humanitarianism (to the inspiration of Science, Enlightenment, Logic, and the occasional Random Event, may he rest in the Eternal Home of Glasgow), I told hold of the rope, twisted round and abseiled lightly down, landing smoothly and swiftly on the sidewalk facing the Human-Only façade of the House of Night, where only a trace of the odour lingered still, attaching itself to link to a distant memory, like total recall.
But… it wouldn’t do to dwell on that just now; the sun still beat heavily down on me, unshielded by non-existent clouds. Lowering my head, I broke into a swift jog from the East wall, and began following the signs to the only commercial signs for miles around - to Utica Square.
Over the five years that I’d stayed at the Research Facility, I had been to Utica Square shopping centre numerous times, usually accompanied by a plain-clothed staff nurse, occasionally by Dr Summers out of her lab coat (what she lacked in self-confidence she made up for in shopping expertise, and so she made for an excellent teacher in this respect - being that she’d spent most of her life in New York city, I wasn’t surprised). Considering the amount of money I was paid by Dr Primrose to work for the team and the amount I was often left with once I’d sent money back to Japan for my family, I never found myself short of money, even after a spot of over-indulgence at the stores.
However, I’d never gone to Utica Square unaccompanied before, and never before from the House of Night. Nevertheless, I remember enough about the layout of the area that, if I followed the sign posts down S. Yorktown Avenue, past the Temple Israel Synagogue, and took the second-left turning to face away from Monte Cassino School, I was soon at Utica Square, and strolling through car parks towards the shops.
I made the American Eagle my first port of call, buying first a pair of Aviator sunglasses with almost black lenses to replace Dr Primrose’s gift (while his had strong enough UV protection, they were undoubtedly unsuited for me or the current decade). Along with these, I bought a messenger bag, perfect for day-to-day book-carrying. In another store, The Gap, I found a couple of pairs of black skinny fit jeans, perfect for both in and out of classes.
During the whole shopping trip, it had occurred to me that someone was very likely still mad at me, someone who wouldn’t be as swift to forgive as Damien had been - his only saving grace as a decent vampyre, if he had one. As quickly as that thought had occurred, I’d soon found the perfect gift for him, paying for it at the checkout before I could change my mind.
By the time this shopping was over, and I’d had my fill of the shops, having put on my new shades, it was well past noon, well past, and the sun was having a hard time penetrating the new lens, despite it shining brighter still. What was more, I hadn’t eaten anything for a long while, and I was thirsty. Thirsty for a large, strong, dark cup of coffee.
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KAYLA
Oh. Em. Gee! I just adore these sorts of days, with the sun out, sitting in Starbucks with all my bezzie-mates, chatting about all the customers, and being all like, “Nice ass, right?” and “Who does she think she is, Beyoncé?”
I mean, what’s better than, like, just being with your girlfriends, and being totally, irresistibly single?
Probably being with a hot guy, and hanging out with your girlfriends too, while they got to know what it’s like to be third-wheels.
Anyways, today I was just sitting with Corrine, Darcy, Ally and Emi in Starbucks, in a booth not far away from the door, just peep-watching the other patrons (yeah, like I don’t pay attention in class) as they walk in and out of the coffee shop. Yeah, we’ll giggle and point, especially if we see anyone from our high school - I mean, travelling here all the way from Broken Arrow totally calls for making our trip worth it.
After sipping our Frappuccinos for half an hour, talk turned right round to guys, of course.
“Ugh, my ‘rentals have so not stopped bugging me about that whole thing with Dug, seriously.” Corrine sighed, and we all totally went to her rescue on it.
“Please, just please,” said Darcy, “just because a guy likes to smoke a joint once in a while does so not make him a bad person!”
“I know what you mean,” said Ally, “my Mom’s been a total bitch ever since she caught me in the same goddamned room as Carter the other day. Geez, that woman just won’t let go!”
“So you’re gonna blame her, even though you two were in your bedroom at the time, and he had his guitar-strumming hands all over you?”
“Oh, shut it, Emi,” Ally shot back at her, “everyone knows your mommy and daddy want you to hurry up and find yourself a nice Japanese boyfriend before you get too old to get knocked up!”
Emi, being the shy girl she was, just blushed and looked back down at her drink again. I swear, that girl needs a few lessons in self-esteem… and a totally Anti-Geek-Chic makeover. While Geek-Chic might suit most Asian girls, I so don’t think ‘I+U=r++++’ slogan tees are even cute anymore. She may as well just pull up the waistband on those cute jeans of hers and go a creepin’ for the father of her parents’ grandchildren.
Suddenly, a cell phone began to beep Pac Man themes, and Emi gave a tiny sigh of relief. “Sorry guys, that’s me.” Tapping a button, she didn’t have to ask who it was before someone was yelling from the other end. “Kaasan?” she whispered, going straight into panic mode, “Daijoubu?” Before she could continue, she pulled the cell away from her ear, put a hand over the cell and walked out, making her excuses.
Before the door could even swing shut again, someone else came in - a hot someone else! Seriously, that was the first thing I thought when this guy came in: He was kinda tall, dressed all in white (jeans, sneakers, everything!), looking totally cool. Not only that, but he had the most amazing hair I’ve ever seen on a guy - a deep, vibrant red, and not ginger red; a blood red. He was even wearing a totally cool pair of Aviators indoors, like he had a license to thrill or something.
I would’ve made him mine right there and then, if I weren’t with my friends and their disapproving looks.
“Wow, I didn’t know Reverse-Goth was the in-thing now,” said Ally with a smirk.
“Nice butt,” I whispered, ignoring her snide remark.
“Yeah, I suppose he’s got the mysterious-stranger thing going on, with the shades and all.” Commented Darcy. “He’s cute, but I can see him being too suitable for Emi to date with her mama’s permission.”
“Why?” I asked, “Just because he’s Asian?”
“No,” answered Corrine, “Because he looks like a total scholar-on-vacation. Sheesh, he looks so uptight he could be a bureaucrat when he leaves Harvard with a Doctorate in Point-Dexter.”
I narrowed my eyes at her bitchily smarmy attitude with that face that Zoey used to hate so much and continued to gaze at him, watching as he took a large cup of coffee (an Americano, I think) to one of the empty window seats, sat down with his back to us, and took out a book from one of his bags.
“Y’know what?” I said, standing up from my seat, “I think he’s cute, and I’m gonna talk to him.” Even as those oh-so-evil pals of mine started telling me not to, and urging me to sit back down again, and tell them what the hell I was thinking, I got up anyways, finding myself already standing behind the red-haired hottie. I was so close that I could see he was reading a book with vertical lines of strange letters, that he turned the pages of in a backward manner, like he was starting at the end and finding out how it began.
Summoning up all the courage I had, and putting on all my hot-guy-magnetising charm, I trapped him on the shoulder, getting his attention. “Excuse me,” I said, surely loud enough for him to hear.
But he did nothing, just turned a page and carried on reading, like he couldn’t understand English or something. Damn, he was probably some sorta out-of-town tourist-type. Trust me to have all the bad luck with guys!!!
I cleared my throat and tried again. “Excuse me?”
This time, he looked up from his book and turned to look right at me instead, his expression hidden by the Aviators. “Hello? What is it?” He asked. His voice was kinda deep, with a strong and kinda-hard-to-follow accent that made the greeting sound like ‘herro’. Yeah, he was totally Japanese - Emi’s mom and dad have the same kind of accent, where L’s become R’s and vice versa, and it sounds like they’re dissecting every word. I’d even say that her parents and this guy looked a little alike, but I’d probably get divinely punished for being racist.
Shit… I hadn’t banked on him saying anything, really (I totally work best with guys who let me do all the talking) so while I tried to form a decent reply out of nothing, he took a sip of his Americano, turned back to his book, and turned a page the wrong way again.
“So…” I began while he ignored me, “what are ya reading there?”
“The Tales of Genji.” He replied, not even looking up at me.
I gave a small ‘yeah?’ in reply. “Is it any good?”
“As good as it will ever be.” He said, again in that strange accent of his. Despite it, his voice was just to die for - the sort of voice every cute guy seemed to have. Speaking of ‘cute’, I had the sudden urge to take those shades off, just to see what his face was like underneath.
“Do you like reading?” I asked, giving him one of my sweetest smiles.
He nodded.
“What else do you like?”
He stopped reading a moment to think. “I like… science.” He answered.
“Oh?” I faked an interest - guys love talking about themselves, and you could guarantee a date if you turned the conversation to their interests for a while, and said next-to-nothing about yourself. Guys love a mystery, and when you played hard-to-get. “Really?”
“Yes. And some silence.”
“Is that a band?” He gave a small yet almost movie-star-like smile. I nearly pounced on him, and I would’ve; only most guys don’t like that kind of thing, except maybe those that like a girl to take charge. He didn’t look like that kind, but then again I could be wrong.
“What else do you like?” I asked, making it sound more like a flirt than a real question. I tugged on my t-shirt a little like I was stopping it from riding up, really to turn his attention to my chest. Most guys couldn’t get enough of it, and I bet he’d be the same. “I bet you like a lot of coffee, huh?”
He nodded, but his eyes didn’t seem to go to my chest like I was sure they would. That meant he was either more of a thigh or butt man, or - God-forbid - gay.
He was taking another sip from his cup when I delivered one of my best lines, “I bet you wouldn’t need coffee to stay awake all night with me around.” It must’ve gone down the wrong way, because he gagged a little, putting his cup down as he coughed. I made to pat his back, but he stopped before I could. He put a hand up to stop me, too.
“I’m fine, he said. “I just… never mind.” He wasn’t blushing, but I think he got the message - the spit-take was evidence enough for me. No doubt he’s warming up to me a little, playing the tough guy act like he was.
He began again after a sigh, “You know, I hope your friends are the comforting type.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ve just been rejected.” I stared at him in shock, while he just smiled back. His voice had just changed as he spoke; the Japanese accent suddenly unpronounced and predominated by a British accent laced with American. It was one, but not, the other, but not.
I could only stare in shock. “You-” I began, “You-”
“What?” He asked, “Didn’t want to be disturbed? Yes. Didn’t want to be chatted up by some high-schooler while I read The Ring and drank coffee? No, because I really wanted to be drooled over today. That’s really what I walked all the way to Utica Square to do today.”
“But, but… you said you were reading the Tales of Genji!”
“Did I?” He asked, “Well, wasn’t that what you wanted to hear?” Wait, what? “Isn’t that what you expected when you came up to me with the intention of asking me out? To be talking to a sweet little Japanese tourist?”
“How… how dare you!” I yelled, not caring that the whole coffee house had their eyes on me. In a huff, I sat down in the empty seat beside him, glaring right at him in the eyes. He’d been a perfect dick to me, and I wasn’t going to sit there and take it like that, not ever!
It was with that thought, and while glaring at him that another thought crossed my mind: The shades indoors, the pallor, the attitude… could it be…?
“Lift up your fringe.” I said. “Take off those shades, too.”
“What?” He asked. An eyebrow rose. “Why should I?”
“Just… because!” I answered. “After all that, I deserve to know the truth!”
“And what truth would that be?”
“I need to know if…” I paused to lower my voice, “if you’re a vampyre.” I practically whispered the last word like it was a cuss, and still he must have heard it - the look of offense he seemed to portray was enough to see that.
“Don’t confuse me with them!” He spat, keeping his voice down still.
“You still have to show me.” I insisted. “You owe me that.”
He heaved a sigh, and took off his shades. Underneath them, his eyes were brown and weary, half-lidded in the light from the window. Sighing again, he lifted his fringe to show…
Nothing. Just a blank, smooth forehead marred only by a scar hovering a few inches over his left eyebrow. For the next minute I just stared at it rudely, my mouth gaping like a fish out of water. Finally, I replied. “I’m sorry.”
His expression softened. “It’s alright.” He said, “I didn’t mean to offend or be so offended. Personally speaking, I hate vampyres. I’d hate to be mistaken for one of them.”
I couldn’t help but smile at that. “I know what you mean,” I said, “ever since one took my boyfriend away from me, I’ve been the same way. It sounds really stupid, but I haven’t forgiven her for it, and I don’t think I could.”
“Her? You mean… you knew her personally?” He took another drink from his coffee, awaiting my answer, actually looking interested.
“Yes.” I said, “We used to be best friends, but you know the deal - she got Marked and she had her damn fangs on him before you could say ‘pro-league’. I’ve barely seen the guy since.”
He gave a sincere, apologetic look, and I had to struggle to stop myself from putting my arms around him. “I’m sorry for your loss.” He said. It was as though he understood exactly what I was going through. Picking up his cup one more time, taking one last drink from it, he put it down, picked up his things, and extended a hand, obviously for me to shake, which I did.
“It was nice meeting you,” He said, “Despite the interruption; you’re not too bad to talk to.”
“Th-thanks,” I stammered, feeling hot all over as he smiled at me, “you too. My name’s Kayla, by the way.”
The smile widened a little. “My friends call me ‘L.A’.” he said.
“You mean, like the city?”
He rolled his eyes a little, like I’d missed the punch line of a joke or something. “Yeah, sure… why not.” With that, he slid his shades back on his face, gave me a wave, picked up his things, and made to head out the door. He would have too, had I not noticed that his book was still sitting on the table, left behind. I picked it up, going to the door.
“You left your-” thunder sounded, and I had to take a moment to register the grey clouds, and the rain pouring from them in torrents. I looked left, then right, but, well… he was gone. Nowhere to be seen.
I turned away from the door to walk back to my friends, who were all still there, ready and waiting to hear the account first-hand. Even Emi was back with us, having soon gotten off the phone from her mother.
“So?” asked Corrine, smiling as I sat back in the booth beside Emi, “How did it go?”
I just beamed at her for a full-minute day-dreaming before I answered, “Fine.”
“Fine?” Ally said, “Is that all it was? Fine? Or fiiinnneee?”
I kept on grinning like a loon, putting the book on the table in front of me, “Oh stop, he’s not like that!”
“You’re right,” said Darcy, “He’s probably gay or something!”
I turned a furious red blush, horrified at the idea, “No way! You take that back, Miss Not-Had-A-Boyfriend-Since-Last-Semester!” She laughed it off, as Darcy always did, but I bet she didn’t like that remark - I wouldn’t, if I were her.
The others were still babbling on about it, all except for Emi, who was looking through the book L.A had left. There was a serious look on her face, and she wasn’t laughing like the others.
“What’s up, Emi?” I asked, smiling, “Jealous?”
“Not at all,” she replied, “but if you think you’re gonna date him, then don’t. He’s bad news.”
I glared at her, watching as she lingered on the last page in the book (or the first in that backward book), where a little hand-written inscription sat on the page, no doubt in his handwriting. She really was jealous! She’s just saying that because she wants him all to herself! “And why do you think that?” I asked, “Just because he reads horror stories, it doesn’t make him a bad person!”
“I agree - that doesn’t make you a bad person,” she said, “but if he is who I think he is, and if Kaasan is right, then he is bad news. Be glad that he can’t phone you up or anything.”
“Oh yeah, and what make you think-” I stopped there as a thought crossed my mind, a horrible one. “I haven’t got his phone number.” I whispered, a statement more than anything.
“Oh yeah!” Ally said, “You would’ve been shoving it in our faces if you had it!”
“And he hasn’t got mine,” I said, ignoring her.
“That’s good,” Emi said, allowing herself a little bitch-smirk, “at least he knows not to put himself where he doesn’t belong.”
I turned on her then, “What IS your beef, huh? Does he have bad chi? Is he pure evil? What is it?!”
Emi sighed and looked away. “I can’t say.” She said. “Just be glad that you won’t have to cross his path again - the chance of meeting him again is slim to none.”
I was still fuming over that for a long time, but not over the insults she’d flung his way - actually, it was the fact that, if she was right - and she usually was - I would never see him again.
When I left Starbucks in my car later that day, once the rain had died down, I took L.A’s book with me, taking to looking at the foreign hand-written letters on the inside of the cover every now and again. I’d have to keep this book on me at all times, if I could, always in my purse. While Emi was probably right about never seeing that guy again, I really hoped that she wasn’t. I mean, if I knew anything about him at all, he’d definitely come back for his book, and if he so happened to come back to Starbucks, then I’d be there. I’d be ready.
He wasn’t going to be the one that got away… at least, not for long.
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I have a little announcement to make, somewhat, before I comment at all on this lovely chapter. Between now and the writing of the previous chapter, I have:
- Read all of the books on the HON series, all the way up to Destined and including the Dragon Lankford extra novella.
- Read the first issue of the HON comic (a comic that I can buy from the local comic store in the UK for a measly 50p, a ridiculously little amount of money, considering it’s half of a Great British pound sterling (£1)).
- Started reading the series from the beginning again.
(UPDATE 22/07/12: I have read all the currently released books, the Dragon and Lenobia novellas, all five issues of the HON comic series, and have not gotten past the first book in reading the series again, still.)
Needless to say, you can imagine it’s given me a lot of new ideas for this fic and what’s to come, so expect some coolness and such.
As for this chapter, are you surprised at the reintroduction of the lovely Kayla? I’m surprised at myself a little, really. Not only has it given me a chance to show you what this fic would sound like if I kept to the Cast’s original narrative style, but, in my opinion, it’s given me the chance to use a much undersold character, one that I wanted to reintroduce for the simple fact that I think she should have her say, maybe prove to the world how little of a bitch she can be if she just had the opportunity. Not only that, but I really doubt that there are HON fics that use her at all, and I wanted to try something different here and pull it off, which I hope I have so far.
(UPDATE: It has been confirmed - I am the Champion of Minor Characters Everywhere. It is my new title, in fact. ‘Ruin Takada, the Minor Character’s Champion’… I like the sound of that.)
I know I’m rambling, but it’s because I’m glad, I suppose.
Meanwhile, I’m planning on a new fic, called Omake Discharge, a drabble fic in which I’ll publish omakes and side stories about my fics, including this one, and teasers for fics that will soon be here, including definite fics and ones that I’m not so sure on. What I really want to do is publish it soon, but since I have no idea what to do for the first chapter, you can find a poll on my profile asking you this very same question. Now, you have two options to choose from, so choose wisely!
(UPDATE: I have published the first chapter on FFN, but you can still choose the content of all subsequent chapters: Go to my FFN profile for a poll, or just tell me! Commissions sound good.)
Thank you for waiting, until next time, and please R&R,
Ruin Takada XXX
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