Chapter 17: The Beginning, Part III

Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Reads: 1026

Zidane smiled. "I heard that. Thanks for the sarcasm."

You're welcome. But this one was much quieter; something the crossbreed didn't hear.

Zidane nodded a few times, as if approving of the silence.

"You really should have something to eat," he said. "There's another omelet being made, if you want it."

A face flashed; the same girl he had seen in the photograph yesterday. She was making them, and it was with this thought that the feeling of light came to Lance again.

He swallowed, trying to rid the warm light in his chest and the heavy snarl in his gut.

He looked back to the stove top, seeing the pan warming nothing but air. So something was... Getting teleported over? From where?

Their house? He ignored the way his stomach knotted further.

"Where's the omelet coming from?"

"You heard of place called MOCT?"


The abbreviation was repeated again, the T kindly emphasized. "Stands for Medical and Occupational Combat Training. I spend a lot of time there."

Lance's eyes went wide, realization hitting him. "This is the place you were talking about before, with working for the government."

"Yeah. It's a fairly new program that aims to train people in both medicine and combat; create the ultimate soldiers. I work in the SWAT division with a nod to sniping. My girlfriend's in the pediatrics department."

His eyes changed, when he mentioned children, the bright electric blue dimming to a medium shade. Lance thought back, remembering his reaction when his parents were mentioned.

"So..." You don't have any parents?

Zidane remained quiet, and then looked away, staring at the floor near the refrigerator. He turned a little, speaking quietly. "Omelet's done."

"And it came from this weird facility?"

Zidane grinned. "Teleported over from apartment 207."

Lance nearly declined again, but his stomach cried out, shriveling in on itself.

"You don't mind vegetables, right?"

Lance looked up, seeing an omelet suddenly in the pan. The same one that had been completely empty a second ago. He watched Zidane slip a spatula underneath the omelet and remembered the question.

"N-no. I don't really care." His stomach was too empty to really protest, anyway. He stood, beginning to walk to the small kitchen area attached to the living room.

"Alright, good." Zidane grinned, and with the omelet now on the plate from before, he pushed it over to Lance. With his steps slowing, Lance watched the dish float over, stopping a few feet away.

He wasn't going to take it. Lance still didn't know what this guy's motives were. This could be poisoned, for all he knew.

He put a hand to the edge of the plate, gently pushing it back.

"You eat it."

With the plate stopping in between them, Zidane leaned forward, grinning as his eyes brightened in pure amusement.

"You really think I'd do all this work just to poison you?"

Lance's confidence faltered at the question. He briefly looked down, glancing to the omelet, stuttering for a single moment before regaining himself again.

"I really don't know anything about you, Zidane."

The crossbreed relaxed, giving a light shrug. "Ah, well, fair enough." He raised a hand, the plate returning to his grasp. A fork was withdrawn from beneath his sleeve, and casually he began cutting into the omelet. Lance looked over to the countertop beside him, to the other fork he had set down.

"So what would make you trust me then?" Zidane asked before taking the first bite.

Lance hesitated for a moment, once again a little stunned at the bluntness. "I..." He thought of Zooka, and for some reason some part of him wanted to ask about her. But the rest of him shied away from the curiosity, denying any sort of significance.

"Think about it," Zidane said kindly. He nodded to the pan, which now held another omelet. "That one's yours, if you want it."

That stupid feeling shot into him again. Lance almost shouted out of pure frustration, but he shunned the emotions away instantly, never letting them reach his face.

His stomach acting for him, Lance moved a little closer to the stove, part of his mind taking notice that Zidane had suddenly teleported to the other side of the counter. Keeping his distance, but for what reason, Lance didn't know.

A plate floated up to him, a fork resting on top. Lance looked up from it, seeing Zidane sitting at the corner of the kitchen counter, eyes closed in pure contentment as he continued to eat.

With his stomach beginning to tie itself into small little knots, Lance took the plate with one hand, feeling the energy holding it up instantly give way. He looked to the omelet still warming in the pan, then looked to the spatula nearby. With a sharp protest from his stomach, Lance picked up the folded egg and slipped it onto his plate. As he sat down at the table, Lance started thinking about Zidane's request.

There were a lot of things Lance was curious about, and of course the first thing that would come to his mind was Zooka. How her and Zidane met, why she was so important to him, what she was like... Lance shook away that last one, focusing on what else he needed to know. Really, there was just one big question that kept eating away at the back of his mind.

He waited for a few moments, making sure he had the words right. Then, with his stare on the plate below him and his hands folded near his mouth, Lance began to speak.

"I... Need to know why you're here," he said. "I need to know why you're doing this, helping me." He turned, meeting Zidane's neutrally blue eyes. Another thought came up, the words sliding from him. "I need to know how you got to be the way you are." His stare went to the tail, casually running along the edge of the counter before draping off. "With... Everything..."

Zidane was silent. His eyes had quickly turned dark when Lance finished speaking, and the blue continued to disappear as the crossbreed set his plate down beside him.

"You're absolutely positive you want to know?"

After a brief hesitation, Lance nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright..." Zidane slipped off the counter, hands in his pockets as he closed the distance in between the counter and the seat across from Lance. As he took the seat, Lance saw those eyes become nearly black.

A chill shot down Lance's spine. What in the hell did he just get himself into?

Zidane cleared his throat, resting his arms on the table, bringing his hands together.

"So there's a few ways we could go about this," he began. "There's two, actually. I could tell you about my life, where I grew up, how I got from point A to here, point B. Everything in between that will answer your questions." He shrugged, and a moment later, his mouth hooked upwards in a small grin. "At least, I hope so. I've been told I'm really not all that easy to figure out. 'Undeniably perplexing', to quote the thought exactly." He shook his head, and the small amount of sky blue in his eyes disappeared again. "Anyway, that's option one. Your basic, verbal story."

"What's option two?"

"I can show you parts of my life."

Lance waited for something more. When nothing else was said, he asked, "What're you talking about, showing me?"

A small grin came to the crossbreed's face. "You'll have to pick it to find out."

Lance thought back, remembered how dark Zidane's eyes were when he had first asked, and how they were nearly black when the crossbreed had sat down in front of him.

Submitted: November 13, 2019

© Copyright 2023 Meaghan Kalena. All rights reserved.


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