Transported

p r o l o g u e - xi

“Ughh! I'm already super tired from cleaning all day, and now we're gonna wash a hundred windows?!” Grim, unsurprisingly, complained, groaning from the thought of him cleaning.

“Hmm, wonder who's fault was that.” You narrowed your eyes at the raccoon cat, who guiltily evaded your glare, whilst you munch on your sandwich.

Grim cleared his throat. “A-Anyways, that Ace guy is sure taking his sweet time. Who does he think he is, making me wait like this! I'm pissed off!”

‘You're not the only one.’ You mentally scowled, continuing to eat the last piece of the sandwich.

An hour, or so, passed with Grim getting more annoyed.

“Argh! I don't care what happened, there is no way he's this late! Is he really trying to skip out?!”

“Seems plausible.” You nodded. “Or maybe he wussed out. Scared him too much.” You shrugged.

“He literally looked like he was close to pissing himself, what to do you mean?!” Grim threw his hands– paws(?) up, and jumped down from the table. “Even still, I'm not gonna let him get away with putting all the punishment on us! Let's go, henchman! We're gonna catch Ace and make him do all the work!”

You sighed and stood up, stretching out your slightly stiffed joints, sighing out in satisfaction as you feel them pop.

“Call me henchman one more time, you'll never see your canned tunas ever again.” The serious tone of your voice was enough to make Grim shiver.

The two of you took off, running around the area looking for the orange haired troublemaker. The two of you then reached the history classroom, bursting through the doors.

“Where's Ace?! We're not gonna let you get away with this!” Grim shouted only to realize that the room was empty. “Ah, there's no one here!”

“I am here.” An unfamiliar voice responded.

You looked around and saw that the wall portrait moved on its own. Grim screamed whilst you rubbed your eyes, wanting to know if you're tripping or not. You pinched yourself, to make sure you aren't dreaming.

You're not. It's real. A painting is really moving.

You let out a short, weirded out scream.

‘Santa mierda– mother of fucks, that painting is moving!'’ You thought, horrified.

“The picture talked!!” Grim exclaimed, staring wide eyed at the painting.

‘No shit, Sherlock.’

“What? It's not uncommon for paintings to talk at this school. The Wall Lady over there, the Wall Gentleman over here– everyone can speak.” The painting said. “Portraits can speak because they have a mouth. That's normal, you know?”

You looked at the painting warily. “From where I remember I came from, no it's not.”

The painting merely glanced at you. “Your and my 'normal' differ in regards to our quirks. Isn't that true?” You shrugged. “That aside, who are you looking for?”

“A guy named Ace, the guy that has a heart mark on the side of his face and weird hair that sticks up.” Grim described.

The portrait's eyes lit up in recognition. “Ah yes, I know him. He's one of the first-years that started today. He went back to his dorm not too long ago.”

“Wha–! So he did try to skip out!” Grim growled, now mad.

“Can you tell us which way he went?” You asked the painting, your hands itching to smack a particular orange, spiky haired male.