Xavier Storm: The Leaf of Hope

Chapter 2: Promised

"Oh, yeah. That was a big night," said a familiar manly voice. Every syllable vibrated on my forehead.

"Mistress Mitzi just won again against that corrupt Edgar!" squealed another voice of a man.

"As we expected. God knows who does the right thing, doesn't he?" uttered the familiar one.

I slowly made my eyes half-open. All was blurry except a stainless steel in a size of staple, supported by my nose, and on either sides were concave glasses, gleaming against a patch of weak light.

"Of course he does, Councilor Mag," answered the non-familiar guy groggily.

"Oh, sure. No matter what happens, let's support her," said the familiar suave voice.

I squinted. Attempting to manage my glasses, I lift my left hand to my head, but it just collided with something I vaguely saw.

"You can count on us. She's the boss," assured the squealing voice.

I closed my eyes again and sluggishly rose up, making my posture. I stretched my sides, bent my arms, left and right, and inclined my back backwards. I shook my head, and I banged with something in a soft thud, and my glass fell somewhere on my lips. I just realized that I was still wearing the helmet.

"No. Not a chance. You're her boss, and she's your servant." It seemed that it came from the man in front of me in a black jacket.

I took off my helmet and caught my glasses that nearly fell by my free hand. I placed it gently on the level of my eye, and everything went clear. I saw my dad sitting in front of me, and we were still on the motorcycle. His arms off from the clutch.

"That suits greater, Councilor Mag," said the guy, who looked like a snowman scratching his bare huge tummy, standing on the near right of the motorcycle, facing my dad, while dad got his head towards the man.

I wiped my sweat-flecked face with the back of my hand. It was very hot even the sun was hiding behind a small group of fluffy clouds. Backgrounding them was the vast blue sky that looked like a map with the littered clouds boringly crawling towards north-east.

"Great. So, how's the Barangay?" asked my dad.

It was again a political-sensed conversation, and it was really pissing me off every time I heard words about them.

"It's still under the great Captain's control," answered the man.

It would seem to be a long row of political information sharing. I didn't want to be there if it would be. I was hoping this would finish earlier than earliest.

"How's Captain Olive? Does he communicate often with the council?" Daddy asked again.

"Well, he communicates very well," said the constituent. "In fact, he would call for a meeting three times a week. He really was eager to know us."

"That's a good sign," sighed my dad. He sounded relieved.

Thank, God, it's finished, I thought. I was to place my helmet ready on my head again when the man said something again.

"He was really good, really good. I would bet my house."

My ears was furiously heating, my upper row of teeth hardly bit my under lip, my free hand viciously balled to fist, the other tightly locked the helmet, and the worn-out veins on my temples throbbed speedily in anger.

"No need, Councilor Michael. I trust you," said my dad.

I was really tired and sleepy, and my craving to go home now was reaching to it's highest level. I wanted to poke dad on his head with this helmet, and to punch that whoever-Michael-he-was.