Shadow of the Winter (Open)

It was cold.

Randir sat down on and empty crate. The alley was deserted, though he could hear the sounds of the city a ways away. The temperature had plunged down to near zero,  and snow had begun to fall, turning his hair even whiter. He shivered; all he had was his thin jacket.

He wasn't doing himself any good sitting here, so he set off, looking for some warmth. A few hundred feet above, the swarm he kept ready at all times dodged in and around the rooftops. In these temperature, there was barely anything left of it.

As he went down Lexington Avenue, he found himself across the street from Grand Central. It was a public place, and enough hooligans hung out there most days. One more wouldn't be noticed. He wandered in, passing comuters turning their heads away from another homeless boy. If only they knew..

He came to the great hall of the station, and sat on one of the benches, looking up at the great mosaic. Something was off. His eyes drifted over the crowd. There. Someone was watching him.

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    A young man sat next to Randir looking a bit disheveled. A ripped suspender dangled behind him and the other looked as if it was well on its way to snapping. His hair, wet with sweat despite the biting cold. The sleeves of his white shirt were a bit browned and were rolled up past his elbows.

     If it weren't for the fact that he looked uninjured, it wouldn't be a long shot to assume that the young man just been mugged. Mel leaned his head back , released a sigh of exhaustion, and attempted to let go of today's stressors. Too many more days like this, and I won't live to see 20, he thought to himself.

    Mel leaned over to the boy sitting beside of him, and quietly whispered in his ear, "Why are you here instead of relaxing in a cozy castle somewhere. Maybe not 'why', maybe 'how',or 'who did this to you', or 'what happened to you'. He began to slowly trail off as his curious mind wandered.

He looked curiously at the man next to him. The city was full of drug addicts and homeless people with mental disorders. It wouldn't have been too far fetched to say he was one of them.

But something about the man put him off. He looked at him, and sent out feelers towards his soul. He wasn't human. Kishen. Witch. Something else. It would have been less scary if he had been something he could recognize. The unknown held its own dangers.

However, his words struck a cord. His questions were very pointed, like he somehow already knew the answers. Randir had looked at his soul. A chill went down his spine. Had someone been looking back?

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     With his head still leaned back he quietly mouthed more gibberish as he watched the boy from his peripheral vision. He accepted that there was little he could (read: cared to) do to prevent someone from staring at him. His mind wandered for a moment as he wondered, How long could a witch live? Then quickly he dismissed the thought.

     When the boy didn't answer, Mel moved onto halfway questioning him some more. "You could be hiding from them, but that implies fear. If you are afraid of them, is your magic must be so underdeveloped that you cannot scare most of them off? That couldn't be the case. You might simply like running." He couldn't stop wondering why this boy was in this situation.

      He began trying to imagine the events that could have sculpted this child into who he was today. He was an enigmatic little fellow, and he had piqued Mel's interest, and he had to know his story.

Ok, now this was downright creepy. Being phsyco-analyzed but a.. what ever he was in the middle of a crowded train station was not his idea of a good time. But he obviously knew he was a witch, which made him VERY dangerous. He could either kill him himself or report him to the Academy.

But neither of those things had happened. He was still sitting here, carrying on his one-sided conversation. Maybe if he played along, he could get a better read of him..

His mouth moved before he knew what he said. "I don't like running. It's been a year since I had any real place to stay. Im cold. Im hungry. Who wants that?"

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    A solemn look fell upon Mel's face when he finally got a response. "Then why do you run?" His gaze grew cold. He waited to hear the boys answer before he decided how he felt.

Again, his spoke before he thought. "There is an entire organization out there whose soul purpose is to kill me, people like me, and eat our souls. I'm scared. They've put up posters around the city looking for information about witch activity. If I stop running, I die at the hands of a miester."

Saying it out loud, he felt the hopelessness of the situation. He had the might of Death himself put up against him, and what did he have? Bugs? A well aimed flyswatter could reduce his power to nothing. His eyes lowered to the ground, and his gut wrenched with new, fresh fear.

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    He was quite disappointed by what the boy said. "Let me get this straight. You are afraid to fight because you are weak. You hate to run yet you do. You remain alone, while your enemy is great in number. Your enemies can track you, yet you hide. You search not for a way out, but instead seek pity. Mel's cold gaze slowly fell upon the boy. "It seems you also have another issue that you have yet to address."

He was torn. Half of him knew he was right. He hadn't confronted his issues head on. He could have easily fought any number of miesters around the city, but he had avoided them as much as he could.
But his other half told him he had done all that he could. And this side won out. He boiled over "What am I supposed to do, huh? Go pick fights with every miester I see? I'm sure that would end well. And whats this about being alone? I've never met another witch in my life! Who the HELL am I supposed to be palling around with?"
He looked around quickly, to make sure his outburst hadn't drawn attention. Thankfully, noone had noticed. He turned back to the man. Another comment came to the forefront of his mind. "What do you mean I have another issue? I;ve got plenty enough already, I think I'm keeping a pretty good count going."

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    Mel saw his bus approaching in the distance as the boy finished his rant. "Come with me back to the DWMA." Mel said as if he was ignoring all that the boy had just said. "You won't need to fight. You can sleep on a bed. There will be food. There will be no need to run. Most importantly, there will be answers." Mel's eyes wandered back up to the sky. He almost felt bad for not being blunt with the boy, but he got the feeling that it wouldn't have really mattered. "I assure you that I am more of a monster than you are, and they took me in."

His faced drained of all color. There were those evil letters. DWMA. Here this person was. Something he couldn't define. Asking him to leap into the jaws of death and hope he didn't get chewed. "What, a rogue witch just showing up at the DWMA steps? Ill have an army of weapons trying to be the first to cut me down." A shudder went through him as he imagined the scene.
Something about it was enticing, though. Warm bed. Food. New clothes. It was all very tempting. But he steeled himself back to reality. If he accepted, this guy was going to get the easiest witch kill in DWMA history.
Still, the thought persisted. "If I go.... how do I know they won't just cut me down. They have actively sent miesters to kill me. I am on the hit list. What are they going to say "Oh, well, since you asked nicely, we'll let you in?"

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    A small smirk appeared on Mel's face. "No they are going to stay out of my way as I bring in a possible new student." Mel knew very well that getting an audience with Death might very well be impossible, but he saw no reason to give up before trying. He was also confident that he could fend off the few students that would be riled up by this boy's presence. "Like I said before though if you want answers come with me." The bus began pulling around the corner and approached the duo. On the front of it above the window was a little screen that scrolled through many different locations, one of them being Death Valley, Nevada.

Who was this guy, anyway?

He saw the bus pull up outside the station. The word "Death" sent another chill done his spine. There was no way he was going...

But why not?

What was he ever going to accomplish here? Keep running? Witch or not, he was going to die sooner rather than later. This might be his only chance.

"Fine. Ill go. But you have to PROMISE nothing bad is going to happen."

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    A warm smile made its way from Mel's core to his face as he saw thr faint glimmer of a silver lining in this boy's future. He quickly hid it though and replied with, "I will do everything in my power to get you to the meeting safely. Barring that, I will offer you the oppurtunity to rest and eat at my apartment for a day." He took a step backwards towards the bus in his ragged clothes before putting a finger near the top of his sternum and sliding it down and to the left. "Cross my heart, and hope to die." He then crossed the imaginary line that he had drawn with a similar perpendicular line.

He stood up. It was time to go. To what, he was unsure. He followed the man as he went up onto the bus, sitting next to him in the aisle seat. The bus pulled away from the station and began navigating through the dense New York traffic.
As they rode, one of his comments struck him as odd. He turned ot him and said "What do you mean, "Get you to the meeting? What meeting?"

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   While he was blankly staring out of the window, the boy asked him a question that he almost wanted to answer. He would wait though, it was probably better to not tell the boy and possibly rile him up. "Your questions can be answered when we get there. For now we should rest." Mel hesitated for a moment, "If we stop at a fast food joint, I can bum you some money for foodstuffs," he said as some of the formalities left his voice.

He hadn't had a good meal in as long as he could remember, so he jumped at the chance. The bus pulled up beside a burger place, and he walked inside, trailing behind Mel. When he got to the counter, he ordered two burgers and fries. He made himself wait until they got to a table, and tore into the food. He had nearly forgotten what warm food tasted like.
As he munched on his meal, he was keenly aware of the holes being burned into his forehead by Mel's eyes. But that didn't stop him from enjoying his meal. Eventually, he tried his question again. "Who were you talking about meeting with?"

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    There was a sick kind of pleasure that Mel got from watching people eat. Though he could no longer eat foods like a regular person he could still imagine their taste based off of the way they smelled. Mel watched as the boy ate the burger like a fat man on a diet might watch someone eat a dessert. He could almost imagine being able to consume the decadent smelling meal. Snapping out of his distraction he said, "There will be answers when we... is that burger good?"

He finished off his burger and fries, and leaned back into the booth. For the first time in months, he felt full. He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of contentment. "It was marvelous."
He noticed once more that his question had been avoided, but decided not to call him out on it. "So, what do we do now?"

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    His eyes trailed over to the exit to ensure that bus was still there before they focused back on the boy. "It'll be days before we arrive in Nevada, so until then we wait patiently." He felt tired as his hunger reminded him that it still existed. He really needed to get back home soon because going this long without food was killing him. "Since we are going across the country, it will take us quite sometime to get there." He looked around the room again to make sure that the bus driver was still in the room.