━in which a lonely, ridged boy finds himself biting more than he can chew by falling for the new girl.
═ ═ ═ ╰☆╮ ═ ═ ═
started: 11.18.19
completed: 03.1.20
"YOU PROMISE YOU'LL BE OKAY?" I asked for the umpteenth time, watching Perla load her things into a fancy white car that definitely didn't belong to us. I stood outside on the front steps, my mom just a few feet ahead of me sharing the same stance as me. Perla rolled her eyes, giggling softly. "I'll be fine, Keith."
She'd repeated that statement multiple times, but part of me couldn't stop worrying. My mom eyed the car with distaste. It was slick, white, and way out of our budget. Sometimes it hurt to see things like this, but knowing how Perla's uncle was, I knew that he was rich in currency rather than his heart; his sprite was greed, after all.
My mother glanced at Perla, "You know what to do if something does go wrong, right?" The teal haired girl nodded, holding up her phone with a small grin. "Call you and then kick his ass," My mother smirked, seeming triumphant due to her teachings. The chauffeur even seemed a bit surprised at the vulgar language that left my best friend's mouth.
Guess things aren't like this in the rich side of the city.
"And you," My mom took a confident stride forward. Due to her sprite, it physically affected her body similar to mine. However, hers was always permanent. Her eyes were always a bright, golden yellow and her skin was purple. Her hair was a bit fuzzy and her ears had little wisps of fur.
Her sprite of wrath activated, pupils constricting as her nails become long, poisonous purple claws. "You tell her uncle anything about this and I will make you wish you were never born. I don't care how much he pays you; you rich folk have it too easy." My mom must've noticed it too; the large golden chain that hung on the chauffeur's neck.
Even from here, it was certain that it didn't hold Perla's uncle's name. It was most definitely the name of some significant other. The chauffeur gulped and nodded, opening the door of the car to invite Perla inside. She waved one last time before disappearing into the car. Soon enough, it was gone with the rumble of an engine.
My mom let out a sigh, "I forgot how quiet car engines were." As she went to go back in the house, I watched her with widened eyes. What could she mean? Car engines were one of the loudest city sounds, other than the sirens that ran through the streets late at night. "Mom?" I questioned, going back into the house and slipping off my sneakers.
She turned at that, "Yeah, Keith?" Kosmo followed at my heels, nipping and licking at my right calf for attention occasionally. "Was it really that loud out there?" It's a stupid question to ask, I know. However, part of me was curious. I wanted to know what it was like, no matter how dangerous it was.
"It's. . . loud. It's mainly the racket of guns that keeps you awake and occasionally the people training early in the morning before drill time," She pondered, chopping away at some onions. "But I don't regret joining and fighting, y'know? It's worth it. I've met countless people and I've lost some, but it only makes me realize how precious life is."
I sighed, leaning my body against the door frame against the kitchen. "I heard the Blade of Marmora is under some heat now, though. Something about people being 'unfairly' kicked out," I didn't buy whatever the press said, knowing that my mom probably knew better. I grabbed an apple from the fridge, closing it before taking a bite of the fruit.
She shook her head, sliding the remaining pieces of the onion off the side of the knife. "No, they were suspected to be working for the other team. They kicked them out for that very reason. There were letters, some voice recordings, and even some hidden rations." Her hand clenched against the knife and I knew if her grip strength increased any further, she'd break it.
I just nodded quietly. I moved off the door frame, opening the fridge instead. I'd already suspected what she was making; her famous ravioli. "Can you get the eggs—" I turned around with them already in my hand, smirking slightly. "Your ravioli?" I looked over at the bowl that she set aside for the egg wash.
She quirked a brow at me, but smiled back at me. "Was it that obvious?"
I shrugged, "You gave up last time, but you rarely do. I didn't expect you not to try again," I crossed my arms, chuckling softly under my breath. She took the carton of eggs from my hand, putting it on the counter. "You know, this isn't even my recipe," I looked at her confusedly. She made it so often that I figured that it was hers.
"It's your father's. Your father grew up in a different area then here, but the maternal side of his family was Italian. It was one of his favorite meals, so he made it often. I guess I picked it up from him as I helped him over time." My mom let out a sigh, looking down at the pasta with a fond look. I can tell that this was her remaining connection with him.
I approached her side, picking up what I guessed was the right amount of pasta in my hand. "Well then you better teach me too, right?" She looked over at me. It seemed that I was full of surprises today since her eyes were wide slightly and her lips parted. "Yeah, definitely," My mom turned back to the pasta, her smile growing.
My phone buzzed after about an hour of shaping the pasta into little pockets for the filling. I was about to grab my phone, but my mom scolded me, saying something about she didn't pay for my phone just for me to smear food on it. I washed my hands before grabbing it, unlocking it to check who sent me the message.
