This Is A School For Ants
Flavors: dragonfruit 27. I know all sorts of things that I don't believe
Characters: Alex & Roan
Rating: PG13
Story: Abbadon
Arc: Sicut Erat In Principio. Follows Drowning In Shallow Waters. (Um, Roan is from the And Louder Sing arc, but apparently this is the arc where everyone comes to play. So.)
Title: This Is A School For Ants
Words: 1074
Note: Alex should really be dead by now, considering how much he seems to love following sketchy strangers around. That said, OMG TWO ALEX PIECES IN LIKE TWO-ISH DAYS. wtf, man. insanity. Another may be on the way. INSANITY.
“Hey, don’t tell anyone I gave you that, okay?” the other boy muttered, slipping his fingers deeper into his jacket pockets.
“Um, okay,” Alex was visibly perplexed, stuffing the small, warm bundle safely into the space between his jacket and his chest. “What is it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” the kid responded cryptically. Despite his best efforts to comply, Alex worried about it. “You should trust me,” the stranger insisted, seeing the uncertainty colouring Alex’s expression. “I knew your mom.”
Alex frowned. He didn’t seem like the kind of person that Miriam would have over for biscuits and tea. “You’ve been to Sax?”
“No,” the kid said bluntly. “Your other mom.”
It was cold and this conversation was making Alex’s head hurt. It took several long moments for him to register the information. “Like my mom mom?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Like fifty years ago.” The boy looked no older than twelve.
“Is she alive?”
He laughed. “As far as I know, yeah.”
It occurred to Alex that a twelve year old knowing someone fifty years ago was impossible, and the kid was probably lying. But he knew that Alex had two different moms. The more tired Alex felt, the faster his thoughts seemed to race through his brain. It had already been a long night when he’d left the house, and it had been a long week even before a stranger who knew his birth mother handed him a squirming, warm package in the street at two in the morning. Maybe there were a lot of questions - probably there were - but Alex’s brain moved sluggishly, like trying to squeeze molasses out of its container, not at all keeping up with the swarm of questions and potential paths of action that kept forcing themselves into his consciousness. And ever since he’d left Saxus he was keeping up with far too many things to actually handle and he really wanted to just sleep for a bit and. And, um. “Who are you?” Alex asked, his eyebrows tensed in a deep knot of confusion.
“Don’t worry about it,” said the stranger. This kid kept saying that, and it was driving Alex crazy, because he didn’t even remember the last time he didn’t worry about something. At least if he was worrying about the small, likely breathing thing near his chest that he kept having to shove back into his jacket or the identity of this stranger he wouldn’t be worrying about making God angry, or making his mother cry. And if he wasn’t allowed to worry about his world turning itself on its head over the course of a week (or so, he reminded himself), then what was the point of it all?
When he looked up the stranger was gone, remembered only by a path of quickly filling footsteps in the snow. Fuck it, Alex thought (though he knew he shouldn’t curse, even in his head) and followed the steps. It wasn’t like he was about to go back to his room anyway. Maybe it was the cold air crystallising in his lungs, or the unfamiliar leftover rush of anger that had driven him from the house in the first place, but something impulsive and probably stupid guided his steps.
He caught up with the other boy in a wide, deserted square. “What’s your name?” He called after the stranger, feeling decidedly lame as his voice echoed strangely around the empty city.
“You followed me?” The kid turned to face Alex with a sceptical sideways glance. “Huh.”
“Yeah,” admitted Alex. He looked at his hands for a moment, wringing them awkwardly. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Roan,” he said, nodding in emphasis and putting a hand out to shake. Alex took it hesitantly.
“Where are you from?” Alex frowned.
“Keep walking,” Roan said, gesturing at Alex to follow him toward a narrow street at the far end of the square. “I’m from here.”
Alex followed, shaking his head at the last statement. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
“So?” Asked Roan, increasing his pace as they hit the street.
“I dunno. Are you allowed to be called that?”
“‘S what my mother called me,” he shrugged. “Roan Ceallach Delaney.”
Alex frowned at the other boy. He definitely wasn’t from here, there was no way that was a registered name.
Roan gave Alex a moment’s thoughtful look and rushed forward, humming softly to himself as he went. “Come in here,” he said, darting around a corner and disappearing into a small entranceway with a low ceiling. Alex stared miserably at the door, hunching over at the shoulders and bending at the neck to fit inside.
“You’re Alexander Scott, right?” Roan asked, walking quickly around the room gathering dirty clothes and garbage in a vague attempt to clean up. “Are you hungry?”
Alex shook his head. Nodded. And shook his head again. Roan stopped what he was doing to stare, amused, at Alex.
“Um, I’m not hungry,” he explained. “I think it’s like two in the morning...” Alex trailed off briefly. “How do you know my name?” He called after Roan, who had disappeared into what Alex imagined must be a kitchen. When the boy returned with a full mouth and arms piled high with many, many varieties of bread which he promptly dropped in a pile on a small, cluttered table.
“Eat!” Roan insisted through a mouthful. Alex warily took a piece and chewed slowly on the edges.
“Um,” Alex looked hesitantly up at the boy. “How do you know my name?”
Roan snorted, struggling to swallow his food before laughing. “Kid, everyone knows your name.”
This, honestly, was starting to make sense to Alex. He shook his head though - something else was bothering him. “You’re like twelve,” he grumbled. “What’s with everyone calling me kid?”
The boy laughed, putting his feet up on the table and sliding back comfortably on the couch. “Believe me Alex - I’m just gonna call you Alex,” he said. Alex shrugged, because Alex was his name, and it was way better than kid. “I’m way older than twelve.”
Alex sighed, looked around the weirdly tiny house he’d found himself in, the stack of breads on the table, and the apparently-not-a-twelve-year-old sitting in front of him eating them. The warm package squirmed again against his chest, and suddenly, he was reminded of that headache that had been bugging him when he first met the kid.
Sorry, the grown-up.
Characters: Alex & Roan
Rating: PG13
Story: Abbadon
Arc: Sicut Erat In Principio. Follows Drowning In Shallow Waters. (Um, Roan is from the And Louder Sing arc, but apparently this is the arc where everyone comes to play. So.)
Title: This Is A School For Ants
Words: 1074
Note: Alex should really be dead by now, considering how much he seems to love following sketchy strangers around. That said, OMG TWO ALEX PIECES IN LIKE TWO-ISH DAYS. wtf, man. insanity. Another may be on the way. INSANITY.
“Hey, don’t tell anyone I gave you that, okay?” the other boy muttered, slipping his fingers deeper into his jacket pockets.
“Um, okay,” Alex was visibly perplexed, stuffing the small, warm bundle safely into the space between his jacket and his chest. “What is it?”
“Don’t worry about it,” the kid responded cryptically. Despite his best efforts to comply, Alex worried about it. “You should trust me,” the stranger insisted, seeing the uncertainty colouring Alex’s expression. “I knew your mom.”
Alex frowned. He didn’t seem like the kind of person that Miriam would have over for biscuits and tea. “You’ve been to Sax?”
“No,” the kid said bluntly. “Your other mom.”
It was cold and this conversation was making Alex’s head hurt. It took several long moments for him to register the information. “Like my mom mom?”
“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Like fifty years ago.” The boy looked no older than twelve.
“Is she alive?”
He laughed. “As far as I know, yeah.”
It occurred to Alex that a twelve year old knowing someone fifty years ago was impossible, and the kid was probably lying. But he knew that Alex had two different moms. The more tired Alex felt, the faster his thoughts seemed to race through his brain. It had already been a long night when he’d left the house, and it had been a long week even before a stranger who knew his birth mother handed him a squirming, warm package in the street at two in the morning. Maybe there were a lot of questions - probably there were - but Alex’s brain moved sluggishly, like trying to squeeze molasses out of its container, not at all keeping up with the swarm of questions and potential paths of action that kept forcing themselves into his consciousness. And ever since he’d left Saxus he was keeping up with far too many things to actually handle and he really wanted to just sleep for a bit and. And, um. “Who are you?” Alex asked, his eyebrows tensed in a deep knot of confusion.
“Don’t worry about it,” said the stranger. This kid kept saying that, and it was driving Alex crazy, because he didn’t even remember the last time he didn’t worry about something. At least if he was worrying about the small, likely breathing thing near his chest that he kept having to shove back into his jacket or the identity of this stranger he wouldn’t be worrying about making God angry, or making his mother cry. And if he wasn’t allowed to worry about his world turning itself on its head over the course of a week (or so, he reminded himself), then what was the point of it all?
When he looked up the stranger was gone, remembered only by a path of quickly filling footsteps in the snow. Fuck it, Alex thought (though he knew he shouldn’t curse, even in his head) and followed the steps. It wasn’t like he was about to go back to his room anyway. Maybe it was the cold air crystallising in his lungs, or the unfamiliar leftover rush of anger that had driven him from the house in the first place, but something impulsive and probably stupid guided his steps.
He caught up with the other boy in a wide, deserted square. “What’s your name?” He called after the stranger, feeling decidedly lame as his voice echoed strangely around the empty city.
“You followed me?” The kid turned to face Alex with a sceptical sideways glance. “Huh.”
“Yeah,” admitted Alex. He looked at his hands for a moment, wringing them awkwardly. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Roan,” he said, nodding in emphasis and putting a hand out to shake. Alex took it hesitantly.
“Where are you from?” Alex frowned.
“Keep walking,” Roan said, gesturing at Alex to follow him toward a narrow street at the far end of the square. “I’m from here.”
Alex followed, shaking his head at the last statement. “I’ve never heard that name before.”
“So?” Asked Roan, increasing his pace as they hit the street.
“I dunno. Are you allowed to be called that?”
“‘S what my mother called me,” he shrugged. “Roan Ceallach Delaney.”
Alex frowned at the other boy. He definitely wasn’t from here, there was no way that was a registered name.
Roan gave Alex a moment’s thoughtful look and rushed forward, humming softly to himself as he went. “Come in here,” he said, darting around a corner and disappearing into a small entranceway with a low ceiling. Alex stared miserably at the door, hunching over at the shoulders and bending at the neck to fit inside.
“You’re Alexander Scott, right?” Roan asked, walking quickly around the room gathering dirty clothes and garbage in a vague attempt to clean up. “Are you hungry?”
Alex shook his head. Nodded. And shook his head again. Roan stopped what he was doing to stare, amused, at Alex.
“Um, I’m not hungry,” he explained. “I think it’s like two in the morning...” Alex trailed off briefly. “How do you know my name?” He called after Roan, who had disappeared into what Alex imagined must be a kitchen. When the boy returned with a full mouth and arms piled high with many, many varieties of bread which he promptly dropped in a pile on a small, cluttered table.
“Eat!” Roan insisted through a mouthful. Alex warily took a piece and chewed slowly on the edges.
“Um,” Alex looked hesitantly up at the boy. “How do you know my name?”
Roan snorted, struggling to swallow his food before laughing. “Kid, everyone knows your name.”
This, honestly, was starting to make sense to Alex. He shook his head though - something else was bothering him. “You’re like twelve,” he grumbled. “What’s with everyone calling me kid?”
The boy laughed, putting his feet up on the table and sliding back comfortably on the couch. “Believe me Alex - I’m just gonna call you Alex,” he said. Alex shrugged, because Alex was his name, and it was way better than kid. “I’m way older than twelve.”
Alex sighed, looked around the weirdly tiny house he’d found himself in, the stack of breads on the table, and the apparently-not-a-twelve-year-old sitting in front of him eating them. The warm package squirmed again against his chest, and suddenly, he was reminded of that headache that had been bugging him when he first met the kid.
Sorry, the grown-up.