Nanowrimo Day 1!

[selene_umi]

It's time of the year again! Didn't get to reach quota yesterday since I was bone tired from the day at the cemetery, and my poor brother got into an accident when he slipped on the stairs. Thank god he didn't get a concussion. He did hit his elbow and back badly though as his elbow is entirely bruised right now, that he couldn't attend bowling night tomorrow. Oh, well. It was the second time, you know? Those Crocs never bode well, honestly.

Anyway, Nano! I chose to finally rewrite Stockholm this year and god, I prolly sound like a broken record by now. Three years and all I keep saying was "rewrite, rewrite, last rewrite I swear" then bam! Another rewrite. I did quite some heavy plotting now though and kept the plotlines to a minimum. I'm hoping it'd make sense to someone that isn't me.

Shameless plugging: despite my initial complaints, Writers App and A Novel Idea helped me through some of the plotting. A Novel Idea is concise and direct to the point and good for general novel ideas, while Writers App is more for specific character roles and plots.

I'd be posting what I've written as the days progressed. I've also taken to writing using PlainText as opposed to iA Writer, simply because of the font and that I can also use PlainText in the iPod Touch. I do wish there'd be an iPhone version of iA Writer so I can make better use of that $0.99.

Several notes: There are several name changes around. Rosenkreuz to Rosenkrantz (German>Swedish), Shaina Lee to Shaila Tagore (Korean>Indian), Mikhail to Michael, Vergessen to Smith. Some characters cut off from the previous were recycled. Mikhail and Jeremy's animosity was also cut off to better focus on the main plotline... which is big. Heavy plotting does that, apparently.


--

The rain was still pouring when he woke up. The cold was almost unbearable with the heater dead.

Grumbling, Jeanne pulled himself out of bed. A new term, the second for the year... He hated it. But skipping school was out of the question. The trust fund left to him by his parents can only be used under the condition of full attendance. And besides, Mr. Norrington, the boarding house caretaker, would have made sure he left the dorm. In complete uniform.

He didn't know if he ever enjoyed going to Niebel High pre-accident, but he knew things weren't the same post-accident.

He scoffed at the thought. He hated it as well that his life was now divided between pre- and post-accident. The car accident where he had lost his parents three years ago had also cost him his memories, the trauma strong enough to block any memory that could make him remember about the accident, according to his therapist.

There was nothing to be done but continue on with his life and hope he could remember them one day. For now, he had school to attend and a shirt to find.

-

Established in the early 19th century, Niebel High was a private school reserved only for the most elite families in the world. All of his classmates were sons and daughters of important people whose names he couldn't bother to remember. He didn't know how his parents had afforded to leave enough money for him to continue attending, but he knew he wasn't important enough. Nouve riche, they called him. It was as if the school estate was stuck in the Edwardian age while the rest of the world goes on.

Like most private schools in London, Niebel High was situated in a large estate, the castle at the centre of it turned into a school while more modern building were built on the meadows for outside-classroom activities. The boarding house he stayed in was within campus ground, but still a good couple miles away from the school proper.

The whole estate was previously the summer home of some noble family.

Several feet away from him, Leander Winston and his gang of prats stood by the main doors, insulting and sneering at everyone passing.

He wondered if he had ever done anything bad to Leander Winston pre-trauma. The bastard always sneer at the sight of him.

"Hey, Smith! What's with the shoes? Not enough money in mummy's vault to buy a new pair?"

Rambactuous laughter followed diligenty. Jeanne gritted his teeth, fighting back the urge to sock the git in the face. Apparently, fist-fights were Not To Be Done by young gentlemen like them.

"No, your mummy couldn't bear to sell her ring for me," Jeanne said as he passed by Leander, cheering internally when Leander flushed red. "Nice pool, by the way."

Leander turned even redder, the sniggers from his groupies impossible to miss.

Whatever he had done to Leander in the past, it must be bad enough to leave a mark, and whatever it was, Jeanne hoped it'd stick until the end of the term.

Halfway to his classroom, he stopped by the loo and almost backpedalled out, eyes widening at the sight.

Just because they were rich kids didn't mean they were free of vices, but they did try to be as discrete as possible to avoid any scandals. And Jeanne, being not quite elite enough, was always the one expected to squeal first.

He hated that notion, as if he wasn't good enough to keep a secret, as if everything was measured by their social status.

"Stop staring and close the door!" Armand Vicerra hissed at him, pulling him into the loo as he slammed the door shut and turned its lock. "Christ, you'd get us caught before classes even start."

"Maybe if you don't smoke first thing in the morning you won't get caught," Jeanne retorted. Armand glared at him, burning fag held between two fingers poised like some rich woman from those old films.

Whatever they were smoking had to be either of really high quality or home made because there was not a stench to be smelled. Jeanne almost asked for a roll just to try if it tasted like it smelled.

Armand was from an extremely powerful family from Italy, except it wasn't the normal kind of powerful. He was important enough though to make himself one of the most feared individuals in the school. His shoulder length blond hair looked like they were spun from gold and his eyes were the brightest of green. Lean and lanky, Armand looked more like someone belong in the spreads of fashion magazine than old-fashioned albeit classy schools like Niebel High.

Jeanne sighed. He supposed he didn't have much choice now on how to do his business.

Ignoring Armand, he went for the line of urinals, wondering absentmindedly if there was a spot in the campus that didn't scream of opulence.

Business done, he was about to leave when beside him, leaning against a post between two cubicles, Armand spoke. "Jeremy said Winston had been bothering you again."

Jeremy Reiner was, for the lack of a better word, a living school legend. Everyone feared him as much as they respected him. And he also happened to be Armand's best friend.

"Just tell us if he bothers you again. We've always been looking for an excuse to bit the shite out of him."

Jeanne shrugged one shoulder. "Thanks for the offer, but it's none of your business."

Really, it was. It wasn't like he knew them well. He'd only conversed with Jeremy Reiner once or twice, and Armand only because they shared most of their classes.

"Your loss," the blond called out as Jeanne opened the door and stepped out.

He doubted that. He'd been doing rather well when school had started last term for someone who'd basically lost everything; his parents, his memory, his life. He felt that he only continued attending school because it was the only part of his life left that he could do something about.

And he kept reminding himself that two hours later when Leander Winston, out for blood, rounded him up in the hallway to the locker room.

"Ready to get your face pummeled, Smith?" Leander snarled as he pounded his fist against his other palm. He would have succeeded being threatening if it wasn't for the facial tic gracing his nose which seemed too comical for Jeanne to withhold a snort.

Leander must have noticed it as well, because one second he was threatening him, the next he pounced, ten stones and all, fist flying towards his face and only his speedy reflexes saved his nose. Jeanne cheered internally at the sound of shattering bones despite the lung-crushing weight on him. Above him, Leander howled in pain.

Tossing the lumbering body off him, Jeanne rolled away and ran.

He didn't stop until he reached the ever familiar loo, and for a moment, a niggling voice in the back of his head noted it was stupid to hide in a washroom with only one entrance and exit.

The door to the loo opened and behind him, a groan resounded. It felt like a déjà vu twisted around.

"Is is some sort of a cosmic joke?" Armand said, hnad already deep in his coat's pocket, digging out a case of cigarettes. So they really were homemade.

"Sorry," Jeanne said, still slightly out of breath. Just as he said "Leander Winston was chasing me," the door burst open again and in Leander toppled into Armand's back, causing the blond to lose hold of his cigarette case.

"Fuck!" both boys swore. Jeanne immediately chose that moment to grab Armand's arm just as Armand hid his cigarette case from view. "Come on!" Jeanne hissed, pulling them both out of the washroom and into a busy hallway that Jeanne noticed belatedly was packed with Leander's minions.

"Oh, bloody shite fuck!" Armand swore under his breath when he realized just what sort of trouble he had gotten into. Jeanne bit back the comment of Armand offering his help earlier.

"Jeanne, I am going to kill you after this," Armand muttered. Then without warning, he turned them both around, hand gripping Jeanne's shoulder tightly, before pushing him into a run. Jeanne didn't know how Armand could think so fast in such a span of time, but he did get them both into safety, thouhg relatively, as they burst into Mr. Velmonte's Chemistry class with only a snappy reprimand for their trouble.

-

Armand didn't really try to kill him after class, but Jeanne thought it was because Jeremy Reiner had entered the classroom and stole him away before Armand could anything beyond just glaring. While he didn't enjoy seeing the cold and somber sight of Jeremy Reiner, he let out a sigh of relief when Armand left without a complaint.

A few seats away from his, a girl approached him, her face a cool composure of calm.

"You seem awfully close to him," she said, keeping a good, respectable distance between them.

Not knowing what to say, Jeanne shrugged. "It comes with the years, yeah?"

The girl nodded knowingly, pale blonde hair following the movement of her head smoothly, her lips pinched as if not knowing either what she was supposed to say. He didn't even know who she was, much less her point of approaching him.

"This... is awkward," she said with a tiny huff. Jeanne snorted, as was his habit when the obvious was pointed out, before he could stop hinself.

He really should get a check on his habits.

"I'm sure you can think of the right thing to say later," Jeanne told her as he slipped his books into his satchel, buckled it and slung it over his shoulder. "I'll see you then."

He left, sidestepping her when she tried to reclaim his attention. The last thing he needed was to deal with a girl who didn't know what to say before talking to him... or any girl, for that matter.

The girl was pretty adamant, he had to give her that credit, when she invited herself into his lone table by the window come lunch time. He stared at her a bit too rudely, but she didn't seem bothered by it. In fact, she made herself even more welcomed by stabbing a straw into the box of orange juice she brought with her.

"I didn't see you in today's gym class," she said conversationally as she looked at him. Jeanne frankly didn't know what to say, so he made this clear by growling softly. She raised a pale eyebrow, arms crossed over the table as one finger toyed with the straw.

He looked away. Her stare was becoming too heavy.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"Took you that long to figure it out?"

"Not really," she said. Her voice lowered, as if sharing a secret. "I knew you, you know. Problem is, I don't know if you still know me."

He dropped his fork before he could properly understand her words. When he glanced at her, she was still staring at him, her blue-gray eyes telling him she wasn't lying nor joking at all.

"Who are you?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Her lips curled upwards.

"Selene. Selene Rosenkrantz."

-

Growing up in a stuffy household has taught Armand one thing: how to express his displeasure without making his face look funny like most of the ladies did when they didn't like somebody else's dress or the wine was a terrible choice. So when Jeremy dragged him into the boy's loo in the third floor corridor, and Armand did believe then that there really was something wrong with that particular loo, he settled with a annoyed look on his face that pulled a scowl from Jeremy.

"What?" Jeremy exclaimed, unaware he had stolen Armand's opportunity to deal bodily damage on Jeanne. "This is important, you know?"

"Yes, because anything important has to be discussed in the boy's toilet." Armand glared, finally showing his annoyance. "I had promised to kill Jeanne and you made me break it!"

Jeremy shrugged, and for a moment there Armand was taken aback by the familiarity of it. Brunets. Always such a boor.

"I apologise then that I had to see to an important matter while you're... I don't know, socializing with some person I have never heard of."

"You have never heard of?" Armand repeated doubtfully. "Jeremy, you've been talking about this bloke for the past three months. Have you finally gone mad?"

"Who?"

"Jeanne. Jeanne Smith. Poor bloke who lost his parents in a 'car accident,' and got an amnesia from it, 'completely traumatized, the poor boy!'" he quoted Nurse Dearlington in her shrill voice.

"Oh, him. Well. Screw that. Anyway, I should be cross at you right now."

The stare he gave Jeremy must have been so blank it unsettled the other boy to make him step back.

"I am serious. I can't believe you didn't tell me. I had to hear it from Michael!"

"Jeremy, what are you talking about?"

Jeremy groaned. Then he pulled them both into a cubicle and locked the opaque screen door. Armand would have cracked a joke if his friend wasn't so jittery.

Leaning against the wall, Armand waited for Jeremy to stop being overly cautious. Or paranoid, from the anxious looks he kept shooting at the door.

"Well? Come on, now."

Inhaling, Jeremy nodded again, hands flattening the lapels of his coat. That important, then.

"Selene Rosenkrantz."

Armand eyes narrowed.

"The girl I told you about when we moved here?"

At the shake of his head, Jeremy groaned.

"You are unbelievable. I tell you about this very significant person and you can't even bother to remember her!"

"I'm sorry for not keeping list of your girlfriends then!" Armand snapped back with another sharp glare.

"No!"

Now Armand was thoroughly puzzled.

"She's not a girlfriend. She's..." Jeremy gestured with his hands that made no sense to Armand at all. Sighing, Jeremy hang his head in surrender. "Christ, I can't believe you. Michael remembered, and he's terrible with names."

"So who is it?"

With one last stare, Jeremy frowned and pulled out his mobile. A few clicks later, he showed him a picture of a pale, blonde girl with eyes stormy enough to match Michael's gray eyes.

Armand's jaw dropped the same time his eyes widened in shock.

"That Rosenkrantz?"

"The one and only."

"What? Seriously? How? I mean, why?"

"Yes, and I don't know how or why. Michael just told me that she's here, and get this, a transfer student."

Armand almost laughed aloud but stopped himself when Jeremy cuffed him at the head.

"Hey!"

"I still can't believe you didn't tell me or even remember her."

Rubbing his head, Armand scowled at Jeremy who slid down onto the floor, legs splayed open. Jeremy was right. He didn't really bother to commit her to memory. He never liked the girl for particular reasons, the primary of which being that her presence always unsettled Jeremy in not a good way.

"What are going to do about it then?"

"I don't know." Jeremy groaned, hand swiping through brown hair that only ruffled it out of its coifed state. "Michael said I should keep away until she approached me, because that's what she had been doing the whole day."

"You mean approaching people?"

"Yeah."

Armand hummed an understanding sound, arms crossed. On the floor, Jeremy scowled at him.

"You are so helpful I don't even know how thank you."

"Sarcasm is unbecoming of you, mate."

If it was even possible, Jeremy's scowl turned darker. With a sigh, Armand sat on the toilet and watched Jeremy undo and recompose himself.

"If this is any help at all, I think that Michael is right. Just pretend you don't know she's here. I'm sure you don't share any class with you."

"She's actually in your class," Jeremy said, scowl still in place. "I really cannot believe you didn't recognise."

"Actually, I might have. I just probably wasn't focusing enough to connect her face to the name. You do know I sit at the front."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I wouldn't know who's in my class. Jesus, I only know a handful of my classmates. That's five of them, excluding Jeanne, because they sit around me."

"I honestly don't know if I should pity you or just stay angry."

"I'd rather you forget about me and think about this."

And Jeremy did. They didn't move from their spot, not even when the door to the washroom opened and closed and sharp footsteps echoed loudly in the marble-tiled room.

Armand looked up when the footsteps stopped outside their cubicle and blocked the light coming through the ventilation screen at the bottom of the door.

"Open up, would you?" Michael's voice carried through.

Grinning, Armand ignored Jeremy's grumblings and stretched out to unlock the door. Michael slipped in before the door even reached halfway open.

He was probably about to berate them for staying in a locked cubicle together for more than a minute when he took notice of Jeremy's gloomy state on the floor.

"Please don't tell me he is brooding."

"Not a word."

The two boys glared at each other, Michael's gray eyes still sharp and cutting behind his rectangular glasses. Armand had to remind himself that it was never safe to let the two bicker past the first exchange of words. One would think two people of so much similarities would get along nicely. Leave it to Michael Anderson and Jeremy Reiner to prove the world wrong.

"I did not tell you Selene Rosenkrantz is here so that you can lock yourself up, with him of all people," Michael pointed at him, and Armand had to bite back an indignant "Hey!" at that. "You were supposed to be demanding an answer from Yamato because God knows this must be her doing!"

"I highly doubt that," Armand said as Jeremy slapped Michael on the knee. "Yamato would have warned us."

"Oh, like she did perfectly well when someone we didn't even know got into a car accident?"

"I still firmly believe there was more than just a newsflash to that," Jeremy added, looking at Armand pointedly. "With things like these, Yamato's the only one who knows what's going in the shadows, and knowing her, her telling us about Smith and not telling us about Rosenkrantz have to have meanings."

"I hate her. Have I told you yet that I hate her?"

Michael was the only one who answered him. "Every time, mate. Every bloody time." Then he turned his attention to Jeremy and softly nudged him with the point of his shoes. "Aren't you going to get up yet? You do know the floor isn't as clean as it seems."

Slapping the leg away, Jeremy finally stood up as requested, dusting off any dirt from his pants.

"I'll go and look for Yamato then."

"Alright. Armand and I will go to the Council then and see if they know anything about this."

"Knowing Tagore, they probably do."

Nodding, Michael flipped the lock and pushed the door open.

-

It didn't take long for Michael and Armand to reach the Council's office at the second floor. One of the ornately carved doors was open, and leaning against it was Zide Arcanum, a senior Michael amd Armand met through their brothers and Zide's cousin.

"Anything going on?" Michael asked. Behind him, Armand tensed, looking at anything else but Zide's handsome face. He still had to understand that particular reaction his blond friend always did at the sight of Zide.

"Hello, mate," Zide greeted with a grin. "And no, not really. I'm just waiting for Chris to finish. Bloke is working himself to his grave."

"Oh. We might have to make you wait longer, then. Something's up, and Jeremy's in mood all over it."

Smiling wryly, Zide shook his head. "I'll be fine. It's not as if I've waited longer."

"Cheers, mate." Michael gave him a friendly slap on the back which was returned just as enthusiastically. He almost laughed when the same was done to Armand, eliciting a yelp from his normally cool friend.

Michael made sure to give Armand a knowing look before entering the Council's office. They had to talk about this later, preferrably with the company of Jeremy.

Seated at the far wall to their left, Council president Chris Balteisse was buried deep in a mountain of papers, the only thing visible of him was the top of his head, long, black hair loose in its chignon.

Michael coughed politely, and when the Council president didn't hear him, he tried again, louder. When Chris finally took notice of him, Michael reminded himself he was speaking to a bloke despite the effeminate features.

"Anderson," the senior greeted, and then nodded at Armand out of politeness. If there was one thing always abundant in Niebel High, it was politeness. "It's only the first day of the term. Anything wrong?"

"Nothing at all, but I am hoping you can shed some light on a mystery we're trying to solve right now."

"You have ten minutes. As you are probably already made aware of, I have a bloodhound already waiting outside."

"I can hear you from here, Chris!"

"My point exactly," Chris returned smoothly, fixing a heavy stare at the other senior at the doorway. "I'd appreciate it if you'd actually wait inside like a normal person," he added before turning back to Michael. "Sorry about that. You were saying something about a mystery?"

"Yes. The mystery about a transfer student. In the middle of the school year."

"Ah." Chris nodded knowingly. "I was actually waiting for one of you to ask me about that. Shaila warned me."

Of course Tagore would warn him about them, Michael thought.

"I'll be quick then. I do not know why she transferred here, but i am guessing it's for the same reason as you three. It just took longer time to get her papers processed."

"Yamato's doing?"

Chris nodded again, smiling tightly. "When has it never been her doing?"

Michael chuckled. "When it's Tagore, obviously."

"Touché."

"Nine minutes and twenty seconds, Michael. Chris, I'm starving."

"Such an impatient git," Chris said exasperatedly, but Michael could note that same fondness Jeremy would use on Armand. "Anyway, that's all I know. You have to get the details from Yamato. I'm not exactly the fountain of knowledge here."

"Yes, just the fountain of power and authority, we know."

"And slowness," Zide muttered loud enough for them to hear.

Not wanting to intrude between the friends anymore, Michael gave Chris his thanks and left, half-dragging Armand with him when the blond froze up at Zide's grin that he guessed was meant to be charming. Honestly, he'd never understand Armand and his deal with Zide.

They returned to their cubicle in the third floor boys' loo, and Michael was not surprised when he opened the last cubicle's door to find Jeremy already seated on the toilet's lid, frowning.

"I take it that you found Yamato."

"Yeah. You?"

"Chris said Tagore's the only one who knows the details, beside Yamato. He mentioned something about delayed paperworks, hence the mid-year transfer"

Swiping his hand through his hair, Jeremy groaned. "That's also what Yamato said. Other than calling me a pretentious prick, but I think that's because she just hates me."

Michael grinned. "You were never good with ladies."

"I blame it on your company. Both of you."

"Please keep me out of this," Armand said, who finally deigned it approriate for him to speak since their separation.

At the quirk of Jeremy's eyebrows, Michael shook his head. "I have no idea," the look on his face simply said.

The three settled onto a tentative silence, the whirring sound of the air-conditioner droning on. It was Michael who broke the silence.

"What's the plan then?"

"Obviously, we can't ignore her presence," Armand answered. Jeremy concurred with a nod. "Shall I keep an eye on her?"

"That'd be the smartest course for us at the moment," Michael said. "Until she talked to us, we pretend we are not aware of her."

"That she's the transfer student," Jeremy corrected him. "For now, Armand's the only one who knows, and that's because he shares some classes with her."

"Which I am sure he was not aware of until you told him," Michael added with a knowing grin at the blond who scowled at him.

"Front row seat, damn it, you two!"

Meanwhile, three levels the boys' loo, Aki Yamato perched on the edge of the teacher's table, knee-high black socked legs swinging, watching Selene put her things back in her bag. When Selene slung the bag over a shoulder, she jumped off the table.

"How's your first day?"

Selene grinned. "As expected."

Aki raised a dark eyebrow imploringly.

"He took the 'I knew you before the accident' reason like a sponge to water, and I didn't even have to lie."

"Yes, while I was busy fending off some nosy do-gooders."

"The trio?"

Aki huffed, irritated. "Who else but those three? I swear, if Zide had not warned me in advance, I would have ratted them out."

"Don't you ever wonder why they're always around?" Selene asked when they were out of the building.

Aki had been wondering about that since they moved to London the previous year, actually. After Aki and Zide transferred to Niebel High the year before that, to be precise.

"Quite the mystery, those three, don't you think?"

"Yes. You don't reckon they are one of us?"

"No," Aki said softly. "Not in the way you think, I mean. Do you want me to ask my mother?"

"You don't have to. Perhaps Tagore might know."

"I honestly doubt that," Aki said dryly. "There's nothing Tagore knows that I don't."

"Of course," Selene mumbled, blue-gray eyes following the westward movement of the clouds. "Of course you don't."