NoHoper Ch 5 - Enraged
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.
And thanks to a generous donation to the rescue mission, all twenty four cats are now alive and well. In other news, the Casts, a mother-and-daughter writing duo, have been taken hostage, and exclusive video footage from the writer-nappers shows them to be locked away in a basement, tied together with what looks to be a rainbow flag. Police are sceptical.
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Chapter V
Enraged
Warm, light brown eyes gazed into mine, radiating all their love and care, like the Sun. She stroked my cheek, a smile beaming on her face, and I couldn’t help but grin back, giggling with joy as she cooed, whispering my name. Picking me up, and out of my highchair, she held me close, and my hands grabbed onto her tightly, unwilling to let go as she slowly turned on the spot, singing her lullaby.
I let my gaze fall behind her, watching the world spin gently by as he returned through the doorway, still wearing his work suit. I watched as he put down his briefcase, and ended the spinning, enveloping us, both her and I in a bear-like hug. Moving apart eventually, he gave her a kiss before pressing one to my forehead.
Patting my back, she began to sway and rock this time, shushing me to Nod, my eyelids drooping with her song. The motions soothed, and I was soon asleep.
Suddenly, the phone rang, and I was laid on the sofa, wide awake now. I observed as she went to the phone and picked it up, pressing the receiver to her ear. “Hello?” she whispered, a look of confusion blossoming onto her face as no sound came; the phone just continued to ring.
“Hello?” She spoke again, this time a little louder. Nothing answered her, nothing but the ringing. As her expression turned from confusion to worry, a thin red line etched itself slowly along the side of her neck, through the jugular, blood seeping silently through and down her neck. Slashes tore through her clothing without command, as though by an invisible knife-wielder, and yet she did nothing, nothing but wait for the caller that never answered, for the ending of the ringing that never stopped, even as incisions covered her, leaking blood until it covered her, soaking into the floorboards, a stain that could never budge.
Searching for him, the Man, the Protector, I finally found him on the floor, bleeding just the same, eyes wide open, clothes torn to shreds. Not knowing what to do, I did nothing, not even when I found blood on my own hands, fresh and wet, seeping from my arm, dripping from my head.
Even as she fell and joined him, the phone torn from her grasp, it carried on ringing, swinging from its cord.
With a start, my eyes opened, and I covered them, grimacing against the light of the day that shone to them. It was too bright, too irritating. Even the echo of the phone carried on into the conscious world, still filling my ears in the otherwise silence. My heart still beat fast in fear, and I looked over to my bedside table to see my cell phone vibrating, knocking with a hum against the wood.
Jack still asleep, undisturbed, I picked up the phone and pulled the covers over my head, staring at the electric light of the screen: It was Yamamoto, a childhood friend to whom I hadn’t spoken in five years. Pressing to receive the incoming call, I put the phone to my ear, whispering like the woman, “Hello?”
The answer was almost immediate. “Yagami-kun? Is that you?” The voice was significantly deeper than when I’d last heard it, but it was familiar all the same.
“Yes,” I answered, “it’s me.”
“You sound tired. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, but you would be tired too, in my position.”
“What do you mean, in your position?”
“It’s now 7AM where I am, not,” I paused a moment, converting time zones in my head, “9PM where you are. I got to bed around midnight, so I’m still tired.”
Yamamoto laughed, no doubt because I was correct. “I bet you are. Sleep deprived, after all these years, and you can still run circles around me.”
“And don’t you forget it.” We both laughed at my response - it was an exchange we’d started years ago, and had come back to often, repeating it like it was going out of fashion. It had been five years since the last repeat, and now it was nostalgic, almost comforting, a reminder of what once had been.
The quiet laughter running its course, I became silent again, waiting for him to tell me why he’d called in the first place. Instead, of course, like the Yamamoto I had known and put up with, he continued with another piece of mindless conversation. “So, where are you right now?” he asked, concerned, “Still in the US?”
“Yes,” I whispered, “I’m still in Tulsa.” Giving a small sigh, I prepared myself for the big reveal, to tell him the one thing I always knew I’d have to one day. “Look, Yamamoto-kun, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“Oh?” he asked, “Can it wait? I’ve got a message for you from your dad. He’s been trying to reach you for two days, but every time he tries, he gets a message saying he’s blocked.”
“Ah, yeah, there’s a reason for that.” I began, remembering how I’d blocked his number from calling me a week ago, determined not to be disturbed as I worked on the Denyxinil and prepared myself to become the next test subject.
“I bet there is. Listen, your dad’s been trying to give you this message for ages, so I’m not gonna miss out on giving it to you now just because you’ve got something to share, too.”
I sighed. I hated it when he dominated the conversation like that - the only reason I’d befriended him years ago was because he was more of a listener, didn’t make a habit of interrupting me, and rarely tried. “Go ahead,” I said, keeping my voice down, “what is it?”
On the other end, I heard him pause, taking a deep breath before finally coming out with it. “It’s your mother, Yagami-kun. She’s dead.”
A sudden chill ran down my spine, and my breath caught in my throat. What? What did he say? Dead? But-
“H-how?” I asked, unable to stop my voice from shaking, “How did she-”
“I don’t know. Your dad wouldn’t give me the details. The funeral will be on January 2nd, at the temple in Tokyo. I know you probably won’t be able to make it, but I thought you’d want to know anyway.”
“Right, I see.” I couldn’t say much more than that, lest my voice break.
“Your dad’s talking about moving the rest of the family to you, to Tulsa. He doesn’t want you guys to stay apart, not after this.”
“I… I see.” Taking a deep breath to control myself, I continued, “Tell Dad that I understand, but I’m not going to phone him back. Tell him that…” I paused, almost for effect, “I don’t want him to come to America, not now, not ever.”
“What?!” The response was immediate horror, only to be expected. “What do mean, he can’t come to America? Why don’t you want to see him so badly?” He didn’t understand of course, not at all. He wouldn’t until I gave him a reason, not that he’d leave this lying down, given the choice.
“It’s because… because I can’t see him, not if I wanted to.” I took a deep breath, readying myself to drop the bridge on him, to tell this friend of mine that I was living amongst the vampyres.
But, the words didn’t form, instead catching in my mouth. I literally couldn’t tell him, no matter how hard I tried to say it, my jaw would go slack, or my tongue would all else fail me. The confession died on my tongue. Rather than let him endure another five minutes of choking sounds and gaps of dead air, I ended the conversation, cutting it off with no pleasantries attached.
If he tried to call again, I wouldn’t stop him. However, I would have to make the point of scripting my words first, for the aversion of a second meltdown.
Setting the alarm function on the cell phone for 6PM, I placed it back on the bedside table, going back under the covers to attempt to get back to sleep. At the same time, I informed my body clock that the normal rules no longer apply, that a nocturnal sleeping pattern was to be the new setting from now on.
Old rules would have to be forgotten if I was to survive, every piece of reality to be rearranged if I wanted to stay a part of this one, or at least remain one part myself.
Darwin, then, would have to be the new rule-maker here, if not the vampyres themselves.
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Needless to say, it wasn’t until around midday that I finally drifted off to sleep, but not before closing the curtains, pacing the room for a full two hours and drinking four glasses of water to aid it. An insomnia-battling routine I’d picked up during restless nights at the Tulsa Research facility, it never failed to work for me until tonight. It didn’t help at all that Yamamoto’s news was still circling my mind, imprinting itself in every node and back again.
How did she die? A car? A family condition? A vampyre… again?
All through the pacing, I tried my best to put those thoughts to bed. I knew the Yagami family medical history forwards, backwards and in ascending alphabetical order, so I knew for definite that no fatal condition was to blame. The only prevalent killers and afflicters were Obsessive Compulsive Disorder on my now-late mother’s side, and Overwork on my father’s, so this wasn’t the problem. Car or other traffic accidents weren’t very common in Japan, certainly not common enough for consideration: Dad was the only driver in the family, so if an accident had transpired, Yamamoto would’ve mentioned that Dad had been injured also. A hit-and-run was far too low on the probability scale for the streets of Japan.
But a vampyre? If personal experience has taught me anything, it’s that this was altogether very possible, possible enough to be true. It would also explain why Yamamoto was never informed of the cause of her death.
Perhaps because Dad doesn’t want this to affect me at all. He doesn’t want me to believe that vampyre is out there chasing me, that everyone I know and love will fall to a pair of fangs and a crescent-moon tattoo.
So far, this could be the only discernable reason - the only reasonable one, of course.
Thankfully, my few hours of sleep were dreamless. Yet, they had the effect of sleeping half the time: By 6PM, I was still tired, and only half-awake. So much so that I stripped off my pyjamas and stumbled into a hot shower with no regards as to Jack being in the bathroom and brushing his teeth, too tired to recognise or even feel shame at my nakedness, or even to care. Both being males, of course, the act of him happening to see anything of my indecency during my zombie-stroll into the shower should be inconsequential - it wasn’t like he’d be seeing something he didn’t already possess.
Looking back on this, were I fully awake, I would’ve waxed horrific at the thought of being seen naked like that, and I certainly would’ve waited for the bathroom with something like a towel or some underwear to cover myself.
Glad that the boy had scarpered by the end of my two minute blast and scrub with hot water, I got ready as usual after that, pulling on a black pair of jeans and black dress shirt, this time teaming it with a deep purple blazer with the first year (or ‘Third Former’, as Jack had put it) insignia representing the labyrinth (as Damien had put it). Around my neck, I clasped a silver chain holding a silver cross pendant, tucking the relic under my shirt out of sight. Whilst the legend of vampyres being unable to stand holy artefacts as they inflict physical damage was as untrue as the myth with garlic, the nature of their own religion would hold true that the cross would affect them, nonetheless.
Pulling out the newly emptied rucksack from out of my wardrobe, I packed it with the new school timetable and the Fledgling Handbook that were waiting for me on my desk, along with a few black biro pens, a few books to read throughout the school day and a couple of pencils. While this had barely filled the bottom of the bag, I didn’t worry - I’d no doubt be greeted with a barrage of school books that I’d have to carry around with me in the event of no lockers in the halls.
Finally ready, I trudged down to the dorm room, where Damien, Jack, and a few nameless boys were eating breakfast in the kitchen extension, while others sat on sofas by the flat screen TVs. With no sign of blood, nor of raw meat, I put the cliché to the back of my mind. This wouldn’t be the morning routine here, as it would seem.
Finding a packet of Cornflakes in the back of the cereal cupboard, I poured myself a bowl and reheated the kettle to make myself a strong cup of coffee to get me through the night/day. Sitting down with my breakfast at the counter with the other, I began eating quietly, blocking out their mindless chatter easily. Instead, I forced myself to remember a piece of muzak that I’d heard the day before from the elevator speakers, if just to get it stuck in my head.
“Wow,” said Damien, sliding over to sit by me, “you weren’t kidding about the caffeine addiction, huh?” His smile, this time, was more understated, filled with concern.
“No, I wasn’t.” taking my mug (a HON standard designed mug in purple), I drained the rest of the coffee, ignoring the fact that it was still piping hot. Giving a sigh of refreshment, I smiled back. “Hot and strong, that’s the way I like it.” I watched as many of the boys did spit-takes, laughing at the evening/morning innuendo. Giving a pantomimed look of thoughtfulness, I continued. “Yeah, I’ve only just realised that now.”
And with that piece of well-delivered dirty-talk, I’d already started to fit in. Then again, the fact that my accent made me sound like a clueless, innocent foreigner probably helped too.
What a load of dirty-minded idiots! And to think, these are going to be the new generation of stealth hunters!
One fledgling in particular found it funny, another Third Former, short with an athletic build, who’d collapsed into a coughing fit that warranted a minimum of two minutes recovery time. When he was finally able to breathe again, his features pulled up into a permanent grin. “You’re the new kid, right?” he’d asked, wiping a laughter-tear from the corner of his eye. “I’m Drew, Drew Partain.” Fixing me with a masculine glare, he stretched out a lean arm over the table and I took it, allowing his to give a brief if firm shake.
“Light Asahi.” I returned, giving him a glare of my own, not breaking it until he did.
“So,” he said, taking back his arm and picking up his spoon, “what do you think of the House of Night so far?”
“It’s… it’s okay, I guess.” I replied, keeping the lie from showing itself on my face, “I mean, it’s not how I expected it, but-”
“What do you mean, not how you expected?” asked Drew. “What did you expect?”
“Oh dear,” Damien said, almost cooing, “He probably thought there was going to be a human sacrifice for every meal.”
“Oh yeah,” Drew put on an animalistic growl for his unwilling audience, “I remember those! It’s where we first find some drugged-up kid and suck her dry of her hot, delicious blood! Next, we scoop out handfuls of her fresh, warm intestines, before preparing them to be burnt at the altar of Satan!
“Then, we bury our teeth into her lean, tender muscle, stripping it off her bones and eating ‘til we can’t eat any more! When there’s nothing left but bones licked white and clean, and the rest of her organs, our High Priestess breaks apart her little ribcage with brute, animalistic force, and sinks her hands into her chest, taking out her big, beautiful, red pulsating heart before blessing it in the name of the Satan-Sataniel and taking a huge, bloody bite out of it!
“Finally, we gather round once more and ravage what’s left, gulping down the thick, grey, juicy brains and crunching through her bones like dry cornflakes, just to partake of the luscious marrow inside!”
Deep gashes scored into pallor skin, gleaming deep, dark red… lips deathly blue, no longer moving… red stains drying brown into the carpet, into the hardwood, onto the walls… entrails walked in, walked on, tracked into fingernails, into fibres, painted on the walls in mindless frenzy… bones cracked, broken, piercing the skin, pulverised into shards… tiny, sharp, splintered pieces of bone, like…
Feeling the bile rise in my throat, I pushed away my bowl of cereal, barely listening to the other boys laugh at the look of discomfort and nausea that no doubt crossed my face.
Sick. Just sick! Repulsive! Why did he… how dare they… just… just…?
“Shut up!” I yelled, “Just shot up, you cotton-brained, foul-mouthed, blood-sucking FOOLS!”
Every boy present, from the ones by the counter to the one on the sofas by the televisions stared up at me, eyes wide, mouths open in shock, some even physically scared by this red-headed, psychotic newbie that couldn’t take what was, in retrospect, a simple hazing from senior class-men. Looking back on the event later, I couldn’t really blame them: I’d stood up out of my seat, hands slammed down on the counter and arms tensed, teeth bared and eyes narrowed in anger. The chair had been knocked onto its side, on the floor, the cornflake packet knocked onto its side until cereal poured in a continuous stream onto the floor.
“What are you?!” I continued, my voice louder, fiercer, rougher, “A barbaric tribe of dim-witted, uncivilised, hunter-gathering, bestial Mesozoic fauna?!!!”
“W-what?” whispered Jack, confusion and hurt on his face. Turning to face the whole room, I blocked it out, persevering with the rant of hate and disgust.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves! And you call yourselves fledglings?! You don’t even pass as humans, any of you!”
“Geez, Light,” Drew muttered, “it was just-”
“It wasn’t ‘just’ anything! I’ve barely been here 24 hours, and already I can see what the next four years are going to consist of: Sick minds, mind-numbing conversation, and disgusting, degenerative, disorganised HELL!”
My eyes darted rapidly, looking out for the primordial human slime-ball that was going to object, make his argument for the blood-suckers, and stand against me. But, when, after a full minute, no one said anything, did nothing but stare and cry (in Jack’s case), I relaxed, picked up my rucksack-turned-school-bag from under the counter and - while resisting the urge to pick up the fallen cereal from the floor - exited the dorm, slamming the door closed behind me.
Although glad that I had escaped the feeling of being trapped in a room full of killers, I now had a full half-an-hour to wait until my first class began, and nothing to do to occupy my mind in the meantime.
That is, until I remembered the leader fledgling, Zoey Redbird. Marked with the most extensive tattooing of any fledgling (or indeed vampyre) that I have ever seen, a miracle of vampyre physiology if there ever was one, this made her the senior - and therefore most dangerous - of the fledglings, and yet the most interesting as well. While she was repellent by principle, a creature that any mortal man would find all too easy to tempt fate with, she also seemed to know more about this coven than anyone else, a veritable source of information.
Taking up my school bag, I took up the journey to the other end of campus, to the girls’ dormitory, where I would wait for Zoey and her idiotic pair of sycophants to emerge, and perhaps walk to the first lesson with them. All three of them may be unappealing and repulsive, but, so far, they were the only set of my new friends that had no reason to hate me or be pissed off at me - a safer, logical option, of course.
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There, another chapter of NoHoper! What is surprising about this is how quickly I'm blasting through it. I mean, I suppose it's because I've planned most (if not all) of this fic, and now that I know some people are actually reading it, I'm happy to work. While I know I should be working on such as AoSI: R and Fame Less than Infamy, this is the one that my head is loving right now, and since this is such an unusual crossover, I'm excited to try and do it justice, especially since I've wanted to do a vampire fic for a long time - the only problem has been trying not to pander to any of the stereotypes set by the modern vampire genre. Since this series is slightly better in that it has taken such a different stance with vampires (or is that vampyres?) it makes me feel better about it.
One day, I would like to do a fic with vampires and Death Note, only without crossing over anything. Once I get some more ideas together I might do that - but not until I've done more of my other projects. Until then, do keep an eye out for my stuff - I never set out to disappoint, so hopefully you'll like what I have in store.
Until next time,
Thank you, and please R&R!
Ruin Takada XXX
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