Sigma Eta

The Preferred Peacekeeper

"Greg you can't just let them in like that." John scoffed; watching as two girls yet unknown to the fraternity went strutting into the living room. "There's a list, remember?"
"Ya but the only people on this list are dudes, we're supposed to keep these parties interesting, are we not?" Greg reminded him, pouting a little bit as he slumped over on the cement wall. He didn't seem very interested in his task, though it was still only the beginning of the night and the flow of people had yet to pick up. As the bottom of the totem pole, John and Greg were assigned the duty of gatekeeper. It was their summer party, the first one of the year which was celebrated on the first weekend of the semester. It was a Saturday night, the beginning of what would turn out to be a very promising semester of partying. However, tonight John didn't feel as though the party was hosted with the intentions of keeping him entertained. Quite the opposite, in fact. He felt more like a pledge again, doing the dirty work so that the rest of the brothers could operate as they wished. He was armed only with a list and a pen, tasked with reading off the entrant's names so as to make sure they were known well enough within the fraternity to be trusted. Greg had a little collection tin of money, so as to collect their dues, and together they were supposed to be filtering out the trouble makers. Parties in frat houses always had to run smoothly, for the college was always watching for them to make one little error, a good excuse to kick the entire program out. There was always a vendetta against having a good time, and those sat up in the President's office were all just waiting, praying that some foul accident occurs so as to cleanse their campus of the trouble making fraternity boys. It was an important job, though with Greg's rather slack sense of security John could tell that tonight may very well be a dangerous event. With so many strangers walking around, who knew what sort of trouble might ensue? John stiffened as a group of football players rounded the corner off of the sidewalk, a bunch of younger guys that he recognized from his brief encounters within the team. He tried his best to look intimidating, for he wasn't sure if they were on the frat's good or bad side as of yet. Then again he was easily three times smaller than most of those boys, and so whatever stance he took up surely wasn't going to make any difference in his intimidation levels.
"John Watson! Good to see you, buddy!" declared one of the boys, one so far lost in his memory that John couldn't quite remember his name. Instead he gave a rather hesitant smile, excepting a hand clasp with his free hand while the clipboard dangled within his other.
"Let's hear the names, boys." Greg insisted, interrupting whatever show of friendship these footballers were trying to display. There would be no sweet talking here, at least there wouldn't be so long as the questionable entrants were men. Greg would probably let one of the townsfolks into the house if it was a blonde haired lady. Slowly the boys listed their names, though as John scanned the paper he found that none of them were on the list, however extensive it may have been.
"Sorry guys, doesn't look like you're on here." he muttered, though he was not very disappointed. Anyone from the football team seemed overly hostile these days, as though they were all out to avenge him and his month long football extravaganza.
"Well you know us, don't you? Come on man, we were all on the team at one point!" one of the boys defended, folding his arms rather threateningly across his very broad chest.
"If you couldn't already tell, we're not exactly in charge here. If you're not on the list you're not getting in, and if you have a problem with that then you can take it up with our president sometime else." Greg insisted.
"I'm not going to take orders from some man in a grass skirt." The footballer commented, "I think I'm going to step right inside."
"And I think I'm going to smash this bottle over your head." Greg suggested, waving around one of his beers so as to make sure the boys understood that he was armed and dangerous.
"Let's um...well let's all just be civil here." John muttered quickly, trying to intercede on what might turn into a classic brawl. Thankfully Greg could hold his own in a fight, for he was just about as tall as any of these boys; however John didn't want it to get to that point. To start hitting each other over a simple party would be an incredibly childish thing to do.
"Ya, sure, I'll be civil." One of the boys assured. "I'll be so civil, and so cooperative, that you won't even know I'm here."
"Get off the da*n porch." Greg demanded, finally having enough with these boys and their ever annoying demands.
"I'll send you off first." The footballer promised, stepping back only to get the proper momentum he needed for a good, solid punch. Thankfully John had a better reaction time than most, and as soon as he saw that muscular arm extend backwards he had the sense to jump upon it, pulling the arm so that it would have much more trouble smacking his best friend with a deadly blow. Though as soon as John intervened things became something of a mess, for each of the three footballers took that as their cue to begin to defend their leader. All of the sudden John was pushed back with arms much stronger than his own, and before long he was sprawled out on the bottom of the concrete steps with his head smacked solidly against the grass. He could only hear the sounds of a scuffle above, though the world was spinning rather hazardously and the sky was blinking in and out of existence. Each one of the stars seemed to be moving, and the trees that he could make out in his direct line of vision were bobbing up and down without the power of wind. John lay there for a brief moment, worried for Greg but not strong enough to get up. Perhaps Greg had the sense to run, or maybe he suddenly gained the skills he needed to fight off four macho footballers at once. Either way, John was helpless to do anything. At least he was helpless until a face appeared, the stars morphing and materializing into something of a face, a radiant looking face, shone with the color of moonlight.
"Find strength, Mr. Watson." breathed a voice in his ear, a voice that sounded as though it was coming from all around, something of a disembodied echo that had perhaps come from the sky. John blinked apprehensively, staring up into a pair of eyes which gleamed with no particular color, rather a mix of blues and greens all colliding for space within the iris. He couldn't respond, though he felt a hand upon his chest, as if the stranger was trying to dig their fingers within his rib cage.
"Find strength." The voice repeated. It was as if his body was obeying such a simple command, though how it was possible he could not entirely understand. As soon as the words were uttered, this time John felt a reaction beginning to brew within his muscles. It was as if someone had poured warm liquor down his throat, suddenly empowering each one of his limbs to cooperate with his brain's intentions. His head cleared, the world returned to its solid state, and ultimately he was able to sit up. However rejuvenated he began to feel he was still useless in the fight, not because he was hopelessly outnumbered but because it would seem as though the fight was over. There was a stranger standing upon the porch, running his hands over the foreheads of each of the aggressive football boys as if he was marking them with some sort of anointment. As the stranger touched his fingers upon their skin the boys suddenly began to relax, the anger dissipating from their eyes and their muscles all slacking to a normal, useless state. Each one of the four had a rather confused look in their eyes, and while John could tell from this angle that the strange man was speaking to them he could not make out what he was saying. All he could hear from where he lay was the almost music like melody of the deep voice, uttering instructions or perhaps some kind of spell. After his voice had been heard each one of the footballers seemed to regain their composure, in fact they even apologized to poor Greg, who was now sitting down upon the porch, his nose bent in a strange direction and his body riddled with developing bruises. And like that, one after another, they left. They stepped down onto the sidewalk, walking right past where John was still sitting upright and confused, and made their way down towards wherever they had come from, back towards the heart of campus. John sat for a moment, stunned beyond belief, before finally regaining the motivation to get to his feet. Abruptly he struggled to his feet, all dissociation gone from his mind and all weakness vanished. He appeared back on the porch, now witnessing as the stranger held Greg within his arms, whispering things into his ear so quietly that John could hardly hear the fluctuation of his voice. Knowing better than to interrupt, John now studied the man who had come to save them, a mystical being if ever he saw one. It was a boy around their age, though with a voice so deep one might have assumed he had passed through many stages of life already. He was thin and tall, bent down onto one knee and letting his other leg stretch along side of him, wrapping Greg within a circle of his limbs so as to keep him better contained. The man was dressed all in black, wearing what appeared to be a suit, and to compliment such a shade his hair was dark as midnight, curled about his head in a most orderly mess. All of these features were quite striking, though it was his skin that John was most fixated on. Even as his hands fluttered about Greg's injured face it was all that John could do but stare at the way the pale skin looked in the darkness, radiant as the moon and perfectly unblemished. The boy had a glow about him, something of an aura that felt like a familiar warmth. His very presence made John feel safe, as if he was protected from whatever dangers the world might throw at them. As John watched he realized now that Greg had fallen unconscious, and it was the stranger's task to wake him. The boy had been beaten pretty badly, and even though he slept within his own mind his nose was gushing out blood, perhaps draining him from the inside out. John lingered behind the stranger, watching as his whispers became more urgent. And just as the words became harsher he pressed his lips almost directly over Greg's ear, perhaps with a mere centimeter of space between the two. With that he said another word, and as if on command Greg's eyes flew abruptly open. John gasped, not sure what sort of healing or magic he had just witnessed. As if the world had been bowing to obey him, the stranger had ultimately brought Greg from his unconscious state and back into the world of the living.
"Welcome back, Mr. Lestrade." muttered that voice, that familiar voice who addressed both boys as if they had been acquainted all this time.
"You're...well dare I say it but you're a little close." Greg said at last, the first unintelligent words that his brain could muster up. It was true; in fact the stranger had taken Greg up in his arms like a child, holding him upright so that he could whisper his blessed words down upon him. Obviously Greg wasn't very comfortable with such proximity, especially with someone he had only just met.
"He woke you up, Greg. Saved our lives." John exclaimed, trying to draw at least a fraction of the due appreciation from his rather clueless friend.
"That's nice, that's very nice. But he's handsy." Greg insisted, shivering away from the touch and falling back upon the porch. The stranger released him at last, getting to his feet and growing almost to a much larger, more impressive stature. He was so tall now that John had to stretch his head back in order to look in fully in the eyes. Finally his attention was spared from Greg, and he turned now to John. His attention felt like warmth, as if with his gaze someone had wrapped a fluffy blanket around John's shoulders.
"May I go in?" the stranger asked in that deep, musical baritone.
"Are you on the list?" Greg hastened out at once. Perhaps it was a joke, for the stranger managed a smile.
"No." he admitted simply, with such a tone of amusement as one would expect from an all-powerful deity. Well of course he wasn't on the list, but of course that didn't matter.
"Go ahead." John assured, waving his hand rather nonchalantly towards the front door. Obviously he was bypassing the rules which had been assigned to him, and if Sebastian ever found out that he was allowing strangers into the house, without even knowing their name, well then he would most certainly find himself burdened with the first and worst punishment of the year. Though that didn't seem to be a problem, right now he found himself much more impressed by the calming and cool words of the stranger before him. He knew for some good reason that so long as this strange boy was on his side, well nothing could hurt him any longer. Even Sebastian was powerless over this boy and his influence.
"Thank you." The boy muttered, looking past both boys and pushing the door open. From inside the music could be heard, the deep base pulsing through the floorboards from where it was being played out through the large basement speakers. Below the house there was a good time, though above and outside there was now the aftermath of a tragedy.
"Greg, god you look like you've broken your nose!" John exclaimed, suddenly coming out of whatever trance that strange boy had put him into. Once the stranger had left it was as if a fog had lifted, and suddenly all sense of common sense was returning. John rushed up towards where his friend was still sitting, his back now leaning against the porch railing with his hand upon his face, trying to catch some of the blood before it splashed down the front of his bare chest.
"I'm fine, really." Greg muttered, though by the state of his face John was incredibly doubtful.
"You don't seem fine." John reminded him. "We should get you down to the hospital; see if they can sew your nose back on."
"Oh shut up John." Greg grumbled, obviously not in the mood for humor.
"I'll go and tell Sebastian, at least." John offered, figuring it was best to get some authority figure on the scene.
"Ya, why don't you?" Greg agreed, though his tone was incredibly mocking, as if he couldn't care less what John did any longer. John hesitated, not entirely sure why Greg was making this into such a big deal. He seemed downright hostile, as if he felt wronged in some strange way. Had it been the stranger's influence that set him on edge, or was he still upset about the football players and their aggression? Either way, John felt as though he didn't deserve to be at the other end of his irritation. It wasn't as if John had asked for any of this to happen, and he had done everything he could think of to prevent it. Nevertheless, Greg was scowling even behind the now slowing geyser of blood, as if he couldn't bear to look at his friend for much longer. John nodded, getting to his feet and letting himself into the house, abandoning his post and clipboard to look for some assistance. The kitchen was dotted with some of the more mellow party goers, those who were too drunk to handle the commotion downstairs and those who were struggling with excessive outbursts of emotion, whatever the kind. The kitchen always proved to be the healing area of the house, for the people always took to vomiting in the sink or helping themselves to the snacks hidden in the cupboards. John still hadn't learned how to best protect himself and his food from the strangers, in fact he noticed that his box of Cheerios was currently being eaten by a fair number of drunken girls, all laughing when they found a little sphere of cereal that was augmented in any sort. Well there was nothing to be done about that now. Instead he passed through the basement door, descending down the rickety staircase that was supported only by the bare wall, no handrail of assistance. Downstairs he was approached with darkness, the multicolored flashing of various lights blinking on and off, and the cheerful if not deafening music that the boys had put over the speakers. In the middle of the floor there was a large dance going on, multiple couples all swarmed together in a bit of a mess, dancing and swinging their partners as they tried to keep up with the increasing tempo of the song. Along the sides of the basement were the groups of girls or boys who were much too nervous to ask for a dance partner, instead they were swaying to the music and trying to keep up a conversation between themselves. John scanned the perimeter for two faces, not only that of his president but also for the stranger who he had admitted into the house. The basement was dark, though he felt as though he would be able to make out either face through the crowd. Sebastian was taller than most, and the stranger was certainly more illuminant even in the shadows. At the moment the basement was filled with joy, it was a safe if not chaotic environment, and so John pushed through the crowds on the hunt for someone who could help Greg and get their positions taken over by some other younger, more obedient brothers. At last he spotted Sebastian, standing off in the back corner of the basement and talking with a boy that John did not recognize. From the looks of him he might have been on the soccer team, though John was not about to introduce himself or inquire any father. Despite the seemingly private conversation, John stepped up towards Sebastian and motioned for his attention, trying to signal that it was a rather urgent matter. Sebastian sighed heavily, as if he was quite bothered by this interruption, though he touched the boy's shoulder to excuse himself before stepping over and giving John his undivided, if not inconvenienced, attention.
"Greg and I got beat up by football players, and I think his nose is broken." John exclaimed. Sebastian blinked, and it took him a while to understand each segment of such a statement. After a while, however, the information seemed to soak in. Finally his eyes were alight with worry, and before long John was leading him back up the staircase to where Greg was still sitting, quite immobilized, and keeping a long line of college students held up on the sidewalk.