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Creative Writing Share your fan fiction, stories, poems, essays, editorials, song lyrics, or any other related written work. All written must be your creation. Start a new thread, and keep replying to that thread as you add on more chapters. Anyone can join in at anytime.


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  #121  
Old 12-14-2010, 11:51 PM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13)

Quote:
Originally Posted by EmBreon View Post
Teehee, well you did an excellent job. The shift from the Earth world to Purgatory was like night and day. Crazy switch of the story's mood. I loved it.

Slightly bummed to read that Deoxys won't be around much anymore, I thought he/she/it was a really badass character. ;P You did a great job conveying him without ever giving him any dialogue.

And aw, Kat, you think too highly of me! Haha.

I'll be sure to keep reading, don't worry. ;] This story is great.

I want to get to reading Graceful_Suicune and Scytherwolf's stories too, so I'll be lingering in this section for a while. ;P
:) Well Purgatory is a fun place to write about (lol). Plus, I love writing about Purgatory as a parallel to Heaven and Earth.

Actually, Deoxys will come back! :D After I wrote that chapter, I made some revisions to some parts of the fan fic's story line, and Deoxys will have a nice, big role later. After he grew on me, I just had to put him back. He's so cute. x3

*stops kissing the ground on which you walk on* j/k (Or better yet, the keyboard on which you type. xD)

Good luck on reading Scythe's and Xanthe's stories, especially Scythe's. Man, her story is practically novel right now. xD


Quote:
Originally Posted by ShionRasenka View Post
Ugh, after months of going through my Foodservice Manager class, I FINALLY finished yesterday.... With a B..... @_@_@_@_@ I'm SO glad that accursed class is over.... It was a royal pain in the arse, let me tell you. I'm surprised I managed to pass. There was so much to learn and remember....

ANYWAY, enoguh of my gripping! xD On to the topic at hand!

I found this chapter to be extremely interesting and entertaining. I felt bad for Celebi being coerced into doing what she did. Poor girl. And the festival scene was particularly interesting. That was an interesting twist that gives a little extra basis to Dialga's and Palkia's rivalry.

I can't wait for the next book, PK!!

And I also have some good news: I'll finally be able to post my own fanfic on here and other sites pretty soon. I got some of the plot filled out, and I can work on the rest of it as I go along, but I have most of what I need to do done. All that I need to do now is refine my character list, and finish up several characters' Pokemon teams.
I know what you mean about accursed classes; back in Sophomore year, I HATED Geometry. So many rules to remember about shapes I don't even care about.

Thanks. :D Yeah, I feel bad for Celebi, and unfortunately, things are only going to get worse for her before they get better. And in the sequel, things aren't so bad for her. The festival was fun to write about because Sinnoh seems to be a region of traditions and folklore, not like Hoenn or Kanto.

Awesome! I'm glad to hear the planning stage is going well for you. :) I can't wait to read it. ^-^

- Kat
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  #122  
Old 12-19-2010, 02:44 PM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13)

*hisses and bares teeth* I absolutely DESPISE Geometry.... I never could understand it. And I'm not planning on needing it, so good ridance I say.

Aw, poor Celebi.... *huggles* Well, at least things'll get better later on. And yeah, Sinnoh is steeped in traditions and keeps them alive, unlike Kanto and Hoenn. I think Johto is another region rich in history and tradition, which is why it's my most absolute favorite.

Yeah, it's gonna be nice to finally get it up so people can read it. I hope those who read it will enjoy it as much as I will writing it.
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  #123  
Old 12-22-2010, 05:59 PM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13)

Quote:
Originally Posted by Phantom Kat View Post
:) Well Purgatory is a fun place to write about (lol). Plus, I love writing about Purgatory as a parallel to Heaven and Earth.

Actually, Deoxys will come back! :D After I wrote that chapter, I made some revisions to some parts of the fan fic's story line, and Deoxys will have a nice, big role later. After he grew on me, I just had to put him back. He's so cute. x3

*stops kissing the ground on which you walk on* j/k (Or better yet, the keyboard on which you type. xD)

Good luck on reading Scythe's and Xanthe's stories, especially Scythe's. Man, her story is practically novel right now. xD



- Kat
Haha, silly Kat... But yay! Deoxys! I'd just read that footnote that said he wasn't gonna be in the story much anymore and I was all "awwww :'(". But awesome, I really like him.

Read the next couple of chapters, now on 5. (Dang, I'm slow) I'll catch up, I promise! I must say.... I really hate Mew and Celebi. Now when I'm reading about them, I just want to slap them both across the face. >_> Jerks...

XD

Poor Jirachi. I hope she owns them later.

Things are starting to get real interesting. 8D

Oh, and I saved some typos I saw along the way. I figure its common courtesy since you were kind enough to do the same for me. :3

There were hardly any though, how many times have you proofread this thing? xD It's practically flawless.


Chapter 3: Part 2

Quote:
Pain flared up whenever a leave touched her skin and refused to let go.
Leaf


Chapter 4

Quote:
His uniform of a silver jacket and pants were in better shop that Mark Antony’s, although the sash that had been around his waist was gone; Edward had resorted to carrying the sheath of his sword in one hand. Mark Antony turned towards the thirty-year-old man.
Is that supposed to be “shape than” ?


Quote:
“…They’re capable of carrying out this mission but for how long?…”
COMMA. OMG.

Quote:
Edward had not doubt that it was this overpowering feeling of regionality that had propelled Mark Antony to the top and made him this intelligent, if intimidating, man.
No doubt? ;O




Man, those were some serious mistakes, too. I mean, jeez. Just terrible! XD haha

/tried to be somewhat helpful


I'll be around reading this... I like it more and more the farther I get. :]
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  #124  
Old 12-23-2010, 12:51 AM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13)

Quote:
Originally Posted by EmBreon View Post
Haha, silly Kat... But yay! Deoxys! I'd just read that footnote that said he wasn't gonna be in the story much anymore and I was all "awwww :'(". But awesome, I really like him.

Read the next couple of chapters, now on 5. (Dang, I'm slow) I'll catch up, I promise! I must say.... I really hate Mew and Celebi. Now when I'm reading about them, I just want to slap them both across the face. >_> Jerks...

XD

Poor Jirachi. I hope she owns them later.

Things are starting to get real interesting. 8D

Oh, and I saved some typos I saw along the way. I figure its common courtesy since you were kind enough to do the same for me. :3

There were hardly any though, how many times have you proofread this thing? xD It's practically flawless.


Chapter 3: Part 2



Leaf


Chapter 4



Is that supposed to be “shape than” ?




COMMA. OMG.



No doubt? ;O




Man, those were some serious mistakes, too. I mean, jeez. Just terrible! XD haha

/tried to be somewhat helpful


I'll be around reading this... I like it more and more the farther I get. :]
Typos found and fixed! Thanks for that. :) (lol, I actually haven't proofread that much after I post them. Sometimes when I'm the browsing the thread, though, I catch a mistake.)

Yeah, Mew and Celebi need some good slapping, though I gotta say, Mew is the cruelest of the two; his sister is just misguided. :P And don't worry, Jirachi will surely pay them back, though that will much later on and not in the way you might expect.

Thanks for the review, Emma! ^^

- Kat
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  #125  
Old 12-31-2010, 01:03 AM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13)

I have news, PK!!!! MY FANFIC IS FINALLY UP!!!! It's called Shadowed Hearts. So whenever you get the chance you can go and read it at your leisure. ^^
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  #126  
Old 02-04-2011, 02:30 AM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13)

Song for this chapter: None right now.

_____

Book Two: Intertwine

Chapter 13

The Girl with the Invisible Soul

April 21st, 2011

With a few muttered words of greeting to the family, Mark Antony let the spirit within his scythe’s orb free. The soul steadily grew into the glowing silhouette of a boy no more than eight. The temporary grim reaper knelt down to the boy’s eye level and waited for him to blink himself to reality.

“Hey, kid,” Mark Antony said when those lifeless eyes began to widen in horror. With decades upon decades of practice, he managed to make his usually harsh voice softer and comforting. “You alright?”

The boy formerly known as Allen Hale bit his lip in an intense effort to not cry. His eyes found his reflection on Mark Antony’s scythe, and Allen gave a sharp gasp. Those lime-green eyes people always said made him look like his mother were now a washed-out gray. He averted his eyes to the dry earth at his feet.

“Where a-am I?” he stuttered. Allen wrapped his arms around his shaking frame. The blue T-shirt was no longer ripped and stained with blood. “And wh-why is it-t so cold?”

Mark Antony instinctively shuffled back. Comforting the kid was one thing, but Allen was shaking like a leaf because his tiny soul was near another, much more powerful one that could easily tear it into nonexistence. Trying not to seem so intimidating, Mark Antony leaned forward, gripping the staff of his scythe for balance. Allen mustered enough courage to look up.

“You’re home, Allen,” the dead sergeant told him. Mark Antony smiled as the transparent boy met his eyes. He seemed to relax when he saw they were the same shade of gray as his own. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew their stares shouldn’t be so empty, but all he cared was that the man before him knew where they were.

“I don’t remember anything,” the eight-year-old mumbled. Allen stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans and focused on the shoelaces of his tennis shoes. Soon, his vision grew cloudy. Mark Antony put a hand on his shoulder, and thankfully, the soul didn’t draw away from his touch.

“That’s okay,” Mark Antony soothed. There was a small beat of hesitancy before he said, “You’ll like it here.”

With that he gestured to his left. Allen turned, and he smiled for the first since his death. There, behind a picket fence, was a young woman and two playing children. The woman caught his wide-eyed stare and gestured for him to come. Allen was unaware of how the woman and the children looked nothing alike or that their clothing ranged from one century to the next. In seconds, his little feet had him running towards the humble home of wood and the family that welcomed him.

Mark Antony stood up and leaned against his tool of trade. The two children had grabbed Allen by either arm and dragged him to their game of tag. Black, blonde, and now red hair disappeared behind a pair of sickly-looking trees, laughter filling the air. The woman looked at them, wiped nonexistent dirt on the apron of her dress, and decided to go inside.

“Damn Death,” the assistant cursed, running a hand through his disheveled auburn hair. If he wasn’t dead, he would no doubt be getting gray hairs from these side-jobs. “I hate it when he dumps his grim reaper job on me.”

As much as he gritted his teeth and urged to slice something up with his scythe, Mark Antony had to admit that being Death was never meant to be a job for one person. There were billions of people in the world, so of course Death piled on some of the deaths on him as well. The Dusclops were of some help, but on top of roaming the streets of Purgatory’s villages they also had to go out and hunt for stray souls.

And after roaming the dimension for over three hundred years, Mark Antony could safely say that Purgatory seemed never-ending.

Childish laughter seized the air again, and the sergeant growled. Determinedly, he turned on his heel and began walking away. “But I’ll be damned if this isn’t depressing. That woman has been there since the early 1800s. By the turn of the century, those children will still be running around in their games.”

Mark Antony had entered another street surrounded by houses of all shapes and sizes. Just like every day, families went about their day, their memories of when they were alive forgotten long ago; it would be a couple of days before Allen, too, forgot his family, friends, and dreams. The mere thought sent a dark look to cover Mark Antony’s features. Just because it was his job it didn’t mean he had to like it.

The soul stopped and lifted his gaze. In the distance he made out the crumbling tower he called home. There was a possibility Death was out collecting souls, but Mark Antony didn’t want to take the risk. Being given another job so soon made him seek a bench to lay down for a while instead. Whenever he had to ferry in people’s souls, it made him miss the tension-filled atmosphere of a battlefield or the sometimes-chaotic missions of a guardian angel.

Laying his scythe against the wall of a dilapidated convenience store, Mark Antony laid down on the bench outside and put his arms behind his head. The garnet sky of Purgatory was as harsh and cloudless as ever, but it somehow lulled him. There was no sun to blind him, no clouds to drop rain upon him, and he certainly didn’t miss snow. He despised the cold and wetness of snow; it had been one of his bitterest foes back when he was a sergeant battling the Kantonians and the forces of nature.

“Afternoon,” a voice greeted him from above.

Mark Antony blinked and picked himself up to rest on an elbow. With nobody around except the ignorant souls, he sighed and shifted his gaze to the leaning scythe above his head. The orb glowed a vibrant red despite the fact that no soul inhabited it.

“Yes?” was the slightly sarcastic response.

He could almost hear Death chuckle at the other end. “I have an urgent job for you.”

“Splendid,” Mark Antony quipped, but the sarcasm was lost as a smile graced his pale face. Gathering souls was never ‘urgent,’ so this had to be a job for guarding a living.

“I knew you would find this better than bringing more souls into this lovely world of ours,” Death said, his own grin lining his words.

“I’ll be right there.” Mark Antony grabbed his scythe and then remarked, looking pointedly at the orb, “I would appreciate it if you would let me fly over in silence, Death.”

This time the grim reaper laughed his hollow laugh. “As you wish, Mark Antony.”

When the voice faded and the orb grew dark again, the Johtonian levitated off the ground and took off towards the tower in the distance, sliding the scythe back into its sheathe on his back. Already his previous bad mood was fading away into the red skies of Purgatory. For now, he could forget about lost memories, waiting souls, and little kids who were much too young to die. As unfair as it seemed, all those he guarded went on to become so great they were first in line for Judgment. Whoever this person Death saw in his visions was going to be no exception.

Mark Antony began to count those humans on a hand. The creator of the Pokémon Tower, the founder of the very first Pokémon League, the discoverer of Isshu. All of those had been passed Judgment and were now spending a blissful eternity in Heaven. Others, such as the trainer that went on to disband Team Rocket, were still alive but promised the same favoritism. The rules of the afterlife might be skewed beyond recognition, but he took comfort in the fact that he had a part in sparing them from this bleak dimension. He himself didn’t mind living here, but at least his free will and memories had been spared.

Slowing his flight, Mark Antony landed on one of the many floating bricks that surrounded the tower. He leaned forward and witnessed an unsettling sight.

By the grim light this world gave off, Death could be seen pacing the room. Straightening, Mark Antony raised a curious eyebrow. Just by his shadow’s rapid, flickering movements, he realized his superior seemed more troubled than usual. Even when it had been his first guardian mission Death was calm and rearing to go. Why did this new mission put him on edge?

“So, Father,” Mark Antony mused as he hopped onto a lower brick, then onto another like a winding staircase. “What has gotten you so worked up?”

From his latest step, the assistant put out a hand against the tower and lowered himself into the room through the window. Death stopped and turned his way. Though he smiled with his sole eye, the face on his stomach was pinched in worry. Mark Antony gave a tentative grin.

“I see this one’s different from the others,” he remarked, crossing his arms. Grays eyes scrutinized the Dusknoir’s stiff posture and conflicting expressions. “Why?”

“The girl’s relatively normal,” Death began.

He began to pace the room again but without that anxious air from before. Mark Antony, more at ease, took a seat on the window’s ledge to hear the case. That was more like it. When the ruler of Purgatory was troubled, even he couldn’t help but squirm.

“A college student, a devoted daughter. Her mother is ill, and her father is a rare sight among the home, but such cases are not at all that uncommon. No, what makes her interesting is the fact that whenever I try and sense her soul to determine the possible time of death, something prevents me from doing so.”

“Really?” Mark Antony asked, more interested and eager to start on the mission than ever. He leaned forward with childish curiosity. “And why do you suppose that is?”

Death gave an amused chuckle at his assistant’s piqued interest. “I can’t say for sure, but it may have something to do with the fact that fortune telling has run in the family for generations. Dabbling into ancient magic and witchcraft does have unforeseen affects.”

Mark Antony sat back with a frown. He had met with a couple of fortune tellers during his missions, and they had all left a bad taste in his mouth. There were a handful that actually seemed to make accurate, yet vague, predictions, but most were fake and eccentric.

“Oh stop,” the Dusknoir chided upon seeing the soul’s expression. “No one in the immediate family fortune tells, so your sanity will be safe.”

“I’ll still hold you accountable,” the chastised Mark Antony promised.

“I’m sure you will.” Death then fixed his eye on the expectant spirit. “Now it’s time for you to get going.”

Mark Antony slid off his perch and closed his eyes. Through three centuries of being bound to Death, he was easily able to extract the information he needed from the reaper. Johto. Goldenrod City. A modest house that overlooked a busy street.

“I’ll keep you updated,” he said when he reopened his eyes. Mark Antony took his scythe in his hands and gave a salute; old habits died hard.

Death was about to turn his back and continue with his own duties when Mark Antony relaxed his stance long enough to give a smirk. “Please don’t let this place fall to shambles while I’m gone.”

“Mark An-!”

But the youth was gone in a haze of curling smoke.

Death shook his head. It was going to be really quiet for a while.

_____

Oh, Johto. It didn’t matter how much it changed over the decades. Mark Antony absolutely loved his home region and would die a second time for it.

Said soul floated above the vast city of Goldenrod. The number of neighborhoods that crisscrossed each other was mind boggling, yet what Mark Antony found the most curious was that the citizens knew exactly where they were going. He flew in closer, and the shops that littered the city popped into view. The Radio Tower to the west had some catchy tune on the airwaves that Mark Antony found himself enjoying. However, the biggest and the most prominent aspect of all was the Goldenrod Shopping Center. More than six stories tall, it towered over many of the surrounding houses.

Including a quaint, two-story home right below.

Mark Antony began to descend, his scythe held close. Voices began to reach his ears, all carrying that strange Johtonian accent that was so different to the archaic one he still spoke with. A man was seen fixing a lighting fixture on the second floor, and a woman was seen sleeping on a chair on the first floor’s living room. By the time he landed on the house’s front yard, Mark Antony had concluded that maybe this family had all their screws in place, despite their ancestors being fortune tellers.

That was all nice and well, but he had not seen a Pokémon anywhere in the house. There had to be one around or else Death would have warned him beforehand. (Mark Antony didn’t want to think that his superior had purposely screwed him over.)

As he walked around, invisible to all, the twenty-five-year-old (at least, he still liked to think himself as) admired his surroundings. It was rare to see such a well-cared yard in such a big city. The grass was so green and vibrant that he didn’t need a sense of touch to know that it was soft. A bushel of colorful flowers were nestled next to the house, and a tree near the front gate shaded it all from the afternoon sun. It stretched upwards as the plant at its base snored—

Mark Antony did a double take and immediately concluded that Kanto Pokémon were stranger than the natives.

“You’re not the most pleasant thing to the eye,” the assistant remarked as he walked towards it. “But you’ll have to do.”

Mark Antony knelt down to inspect it, and already felt phantom goose bumps rise along his arms at the sight. The closed pink flower on its back told him it was a plant, but the stout, quadruped body told him it was a Pokémon. He’d seen Oddish and Bellosom, but at least their Grass-type features didn’t look like parasites trying to take over their hosts.

Just then, the Pokémon lazily opened its eyes. Ruby red met silver for a split second before the Ivysaur stood and stretched, the leaves that fanned out from its flower shaking as though trying to absorb the sun above. Mark Antony had stood up in surprise, but he now took a deep breath (another one of his old habits) and raised his scythe.

The Ivysaur stopped dead in its tracks. Its blood ran cold, and its lime-green skin paled to the shade of a frozen plant. Mark Antony pulled the scythe out of the Pokémon’s head with a brief apology to the soul that struggled at the sickle’s tip. As though soothed by his words, the ball of green light slinked into the orb nestled within the weapon’s skull. Then the scythe disappeared from his hands with one last farewell.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Mark Antony mumbled as he felt the Ivysaur’s body pull him towards it. One again, he knelt to the creature’s eye level. Those soulless eyes were going to be his in a matter of moments, and for some odd reason, it made hesitant him about the possession. It was the same feeling he would get before engaging in a battle, a foreboding instinct only the stupid cast aside.

“You better have many tricks on you,” he warned before touching the Pokémon’s head.

The world flipped then turned black.
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Last edited by Phantom Kat; 02-04-2011 at 02:57 AM.
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  #127  
Old 02-04-2011, 02:48 AM
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____

When Mark Antony came around, he could feel the soft grass beneath him.

Groggily, he shook his head and opened his eyes. Everything was much bigger than before and had a distinct smell to it. Mark Antony scrunched up his new snout as the smell of the grass began to disorient him. Dew, dirt, the remnants of a barbecue; all of it put him on the verge of a headache. With a distasteful snort, he stood up. It really didn’t help, seeing as how his snout was still a mere two inches from the ground. Mark Antony immediately wished to be bipedal again.

<It can’t be helped,> he reasoned. <Really, I should be glad I didn’t end up in a body with no legs at all.>

It took him a few moments to learn how to control four very short legs, but once he did, they allowed him to bound towards the house and away from the intoxicating smells of nature. Interestingly, though, a part of him didn’t want to leave the giant tree and the carpet of grass. Mark Antony had a feeling he was going to be forced to pay the front yard a second visit. Damn Grass-types.

“Santtu!”

Mark Antony looked up and saw the man from earlier on the backdoor step. His worn jeans and gray T-shirt were heavy with dirt stains both old and new, and even his hair seemed more gray than its original chocolate brown. Yet his smile was genuine and unmarred with exhaustion. Again, he beckoned to the undercover guardian.

“Santtu, time to come inside. A cold front’s coming.”

The Pokémon gladly obliged and stepped inside. The sound of claws against white tile was heard as Mark Antony exited the kitchen and entered the living room. It was time to find his newest charge.

Mark Antony suddenly stopped. There was the now-awake mother on a rocking chair, and though she smiled, one hand outstretched to him, he felt an unpleasant chill rustle his leaves. The woman noticed his wary stance, took one look at her hand, and chuckled. She grasped her trembling fingers and flashed an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, Santtu. I’m acting up again.” The woman, Lillian, flicked away some auburn hair from her face with a shaky hand and leaned forward. “Enjoyed your nap?”

Mark Antony merely nodded before he turned to climb the stairs to the second floor. The woman was certainly sick, yet the sight of her still unnerved him. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she had gotten back from the frontlines. Shaking hands. Unfocused eyes. He had seen it all too often.

In a couple of hazardous leaps, the Pokémon had cleared the stairs and was exploring. He passed a bathroom and a linen closet before stumbling upon the two youngest members of the family. Mark Antony was about to investigate the other room when he felt a strange sensation creep up his spine. Before he could escape, he felt himself float backwards into the waiting arms of a girl.

“Santtu, were you really going to pass by without saying ‘hi’?” came a lilting voice.

Mark Antony craned his head upwards and saw two bright blue eyes blink back at him. The girl quirked a smile and leaned in closer until the two chocolate braids that framed her face tickled his nose. Just as he was about to sneeze, she let him go. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

The Ivysaur shook himself and looked up. Whoever this girl was, she was pretty but a bit on the childish side. The tight-fitting, lavender pants and the thick belt that wrapped around her white blouse were just as odd as the way her eyes sparkled whenever she laughed. Yet there was something about her, when he looked close enough, that made him think twice about dismissing this girl as an ordinary human. Maybe it was the way those joyful eyes analyzed everything a little while longer than what was normal…

The girl now turned to the boy next to her, who just shook his head and offered the Pokémon an apologetic smile. He was a stark contrast to his sister. While her hair was dark and braided, his was a short blonde and parted to the side. She dressed eccentrically while he found himself comfortable in slacks and a buttoned-up shirt. However, just like his sister, his brown eyes took in everything.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the blonde said with a shrug. He picked himself up from the floor to sit on the bed’s edge. To hide his teasing smile, he focused his attention on the purple lilies that decorated the white walls of the room. “You know how Natalia gets when someone cute walks by.”

“Hey, it’s Natalie,” his sister corrected. Natalie narrowed her blue eyes in mock-anger. “Elijah.”

However, she couldn’t help but smile when her brother tauntingly grinned back. The sixteen-year-old laid back on the beige carpet with crossed arms, muttering, “It doesn’t work if you actually like being called Elijah.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Elijah shook his head again and went to pick up the book he and his sister had been reading. “Now reading on the floor is weird. Why don’t you read on your bed?”

“A bed is for sleeping,” came the response, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. “If the brain associates a bed with reading and other activities such as watching television, insomnia can pop up.”

As though to prove her point, Natalie stood up and resumed her laying down on the bed. Really, though, it provided a good vantage point for punching her brother in the shoulder if he decided to mock her more.

He had been left alone, but Mark Antony hadn’t moved. That strange feeling was still crawling up and down his body like ants. Blood-red eyes wandered over to the girl on the bed and then towards the boy that leaned forward for the book. They narrowed as Elijah came closer.

“What’s wrong?” the youth asked.

The words were enough to bring the guardian back to his senses before he bared his teeth and blew his cover. There was a beat of silence in where he took a mental step back and tried to reassess the situation. Meanwhile, Elijah picked up his book and sat next to his sister, trying to ignore how the little alarms inside his head were going off. This was the family pet. It wasn’t some strange animal that wandered into their home.

Much to Mark Antony’s surprise, the book flew out of the teen’s hands and hit him square in the forehead. Elijah yelped and turned a glare to Natalie that soon softened upon seeing her stop being so serious grin. He picked up the book, glanced at it, and stood up.

“I’ll just take this, then. Since you hit me with it, I guess you don’t want it.”

As Elijah walked out, Natalie stopped chuckling to sit up. “He-hey! I was reading that! Come on, Elijah, give it back!”

Natalie quickly followed her brother, and soon, only Mark Antony was left. He turned around and could have face palmed in frustration.

The kids were psychic.

Damn it all, they were psychic.

<I swear, Death,> the assistant began, looking up as though his superior was right above him, laughing at his misfortune. <When I get back, you will not hear the end of this.>

It wasn’t that he hated psychics, but the mere word brought back memories of his first mission and the trouble a psychic charge brought on. The kid’s sixth sense had ultimately saved the town, but what could psychic powers do in the flourishing (and ghost free) Goldenrod? And Ivan had only been able to see and sense the supernatural. These kids could control objects as though it was a game.

He could only imagine what their older sister could do.

Like a child forced to go to school, Mark Antony grudgingly exited the room to search for his charge. His more-than-likely psychic charge.

After a while of wandering from room to room, however, no such girl was on the second floor. An odd sense of irritation nagged him. No doubt she was going to be trouble if she had psychic powers, so the least she could do was show up when she needed to be guarded. Mark Antony continued to frown as he walked towards the staircase.

The sound of a door swinging open caught his attention.

“I’m home,” came a voice. A jingle, a couple of steps, and the door closed again. “Mom, I’m home. Do you need anything?”

There she is, Mark Antony thought, much a like a parent now whose child had stayed out too late.

As though he was going to give her a piece of his mind, the Pokémon hoped down the steps with a scowl.

And stopped on the landing.

The young woman turned and gave a distracted smile. “Santtu, hey.”

Red eyes widened then lowered. She was beautiful.

“Santtu, what’s the matter? Come here, boy.”

Mark Antony looked up and slowly walked over to her, reminding himself that he had a job to do, that a pretty face was just that, a pretty face. When alive, he never had the time to fall for a girl, and he didn’t have the time for it now.

The daughter knelt down and held out a hand. Just like her sister, her eyes were blue but the sparkle in them was tamed and slightly withdrawn, as though she couldn’t afford to be as carefree as Natalie. Mark Antony let himself be petted and continued to watch her.

Her curly locks of blonde hair had been hastily pulled only half back. The brown pack that was still slung over her shoulder was half-opened, its clasps forgotten. As she let him go and adjusted the denim vest she wore over her blouse, he noticed her clothes were wrinkled.

“Oh, Mom,” the college student said with a sigh when she took one look at the woman’s unruly mop of hair. She deftly rolled up the sleeves of her pink, violet-accented blouse and grabbed the brush on the living room table. “You’re so stubborn. Why don’t you ask Natalie to help with your hair?”

“Cleo,” Lillian started, rolling her eyes with an air of immaturity. “You worry too much. I can brush my hair.”

“Sometimes, Mom,” Cleo corrected her. “Sometimes.”

With such loving grace, Cleo brushed her mother’s hair. Mark Antony waited for the unsettling psychic powers to pop up. But they never came. The brush never untangled the hair by itself. The hair band tied the hair into a small bun with the help of human hands. Cleo herself went to turn off the television instead of levitating the remote control to her from the deep recesses of the couch.

“Here, Mom, read this.” When Lillian looked at the offered book with a frown, Cleo took a motherly pose. With one on her hip and knitted eyebrows, she placed the book on her mother’s lap. “You have to keep your mind sharp, Mom, and reading will do that a lot better than watching television.”

“Honey, you know I read.”

“But not enough.” The college student gave her mom a small smile and leaned in for a hug. “Just humor your daughter and read more often, ‘kay?”

An unsteady arm wrapped around Cleo. “Okay, I’ll do it for you.”

They let go, and Cleo shouldered her school bag. “I’ll be in my room, Mom. Shout if you need anything. I’ll get Dad to it right away.”

The sick woman chuckled. “I will.”

Cleo made her way towards the stairs while Mark Antony had to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. He was usually very self-composed, but on the other hand, he was usually right about conclusions carefully constructed from information and observations. To not see the psychic powers he was expecting was like not seeing the sky when looking up. It left him shock and feeling slightly stupid. Was there more to this than he first realized?

Determinedly he climbed the stairs again. Mark Antony would figure this little puzzle out soon, he always did. He went straight for one of the rooms he had searched earlier. A bookcase full of books. A desk neatly arranged. A bed that was a mess and strewn with opened books. This was certainly the room of a college student bound to success (and sleepless nights).

Mark Antony nudged the ajar door to let himself in. Cleo had already taken a seat in front of her desk. She was taking out a textbook from her bag with one hand and wrestling a pen from a drawer of her desk with another. If the sight wasn’t enough for Mark Antony to raise an interested eyebrow, her low mutterings were.

“Mom is going to dig her own grave this way… She needs to keep her mind sharp, or the Huntington’s is going to get worse right under our noses…”

Huntington’s? As in Huntington’s Disease? Now the woman’s frail appearance made sense, if his very limited medical knowledge was anything to go by. Unfocused eyes, uncoordinated movements, slow deterioration of the mind. There was no cure, and the only thing that awaited the diseased was a life full of pain. It was a fate worse than death.

And Cleo clearly knew it. Those blue eyes darted to the door as though her mother was going to collapse at any moment. Only when they wandered over there for the third time did she notice Mark Antony’s presence. A taut smile appeared on her face.

“Hey, Santtu. What are you doing here?”

Mark Antony inclined his head, his version of a shrug, and came to rest at her feet. Cleo gave him a parting glance before diving into the textbook on her desk. The minutes stretched on like that. Mark Antony would occasionally snort or get up, half-expecting for Cleo to levitate something to her. The side that didn’t expect wished for this sort of distraction. None of his past charges had bored him as much as this girl. He lived (metaphorically speaking) on hidden danger and action. Unless Cleo was going to suddenly study abroad and become enemy of the state, she was going to stay as dull as every other college student in Johto was.

The door suddenly flew open. Mark Antony snapped his head up, wondering if Cleo had telepathically opened it. When he saw her, mouth agape, the thought was dashed, and he turned around to the person responsible. Or persons.

“Cleo, my loving sister!” Natalie crowed upon entering, saluting. Elijah snorted and followed her in.

“Yes?” the twenty-two-year-old drawled, one eyebrow raised expectantly.

“Just wanted to greet you and wish you the best luck in studying,” was her response.

“Uh huh,” Cleo deadpanned, putting her book aside.

Natalie let herself lie on Cleo’s bed, careful to avoid the books and pencils strewn all over. Elijah merely stayed beside the desk, arms crossed.

“Cleo, why don’t you practice your powers more?” Natalie began to play with one of her braids. A mischievous grin was spreading on her face.

Without even turning, Cleo knew her little sister was planning something. This was the “forbidden topic” among them, and the only topic that irritated her to no end. If Natalie had brought it up that only meant that she was plotting something. That, or she was looking for a cheap laugh.

Putting her pencil down a bit too delicately, the blonde turned her chair. “Really? Do you really need me to answer that?”

Natalie was unfazed by the narrowing of the eyes. She sat up, crossed her legs, and leaned forward like an eager child. “Why of course.”

Mark Antony saw an uncharacteristic frown mar Cleo’s face.

“I don’t want to waste my time perfecting something I will only use for self-amusement. I much rather spend my time becoming something useful, like a doctor. What do you think is better: getting a book from a bookshelf or helping others like Mom?”

Something akin to guilt flashed through Natalie’s eyes, but it was gone within seconds. The same teasing smirk played on her face as she spoke again.

“But our powers are our culture. It’s wrong to just ignore them!”

Natalie’s voice had climbed into an annoying whine. Cleo flinched and turned to her brother, always the voice of reason.

“Elijah, just tell her how childish this is.”

Elijah took one look at her. For a flitting moment, Mark Antony saw the same guilt in his eyes. When it was gone, he simply shrugged and said, “She has a point, you know.”

Cleo gaped, unable to believe her level-headed brother agreed with their ditzy sister. She then scowled and stood up from her chair, swiping the book into her arms with such ferocity that Mark Antony though she would take the desk along with her.

“If you guys are going to continue this stupid game, fine by me.” Her heated daggers landed on each of the accused. “But keep me out of it.”

Cleo stomped out, muttering why on Arceus’ green Earth Natalie (and now Elijah!) loved to drive her to the deep end of her sanity. Elijah wisely moved out her way and glanced as her retreating form seemed to be beating the stairs into submission. Mark Antony sighed at the prospect of descending those steps again and made to get up to follow. However, the door was slammed shut a mere inch from his nose.

Leaning against it, Elijah fixed Mark Antony with a gaze the guardian couldn’t quite comprehend. Behind him, he heard the groaning of bed springs as Natalie stood. Mark Antony backed up and eyed them distrustfully. The humans smirked at the action and closed in on him. As Elijah knelt down to his eyelevel, his ocher eyes began to dangerously harden.

“Listen, whoever you are, we’re onto you.”

Natalie now stood beside her brother. The playfulness in her own cerulean eyes was gone.

“We can sense you. Inside that body is a different being, a different soul.”

Elijah leaned in, his boyish features in shadow.

“So tell us who you are because I’ll be damned before I let you hurt Cleo.”

_____

A/N: (Yay for no school for the rest of the week!)

We're finally in the second book, guys! This is where the real plot comes in. (Which is why at first this was going to be the first chapter of the fan-fic.) Yes, there's a reason why I skipped three hundred years.

Sorry for the long wait and that the chapter was, for the most part, a bit boring. Okay, I only added Natalie (named after my awesome best friend who, without her encouragement, this fan-fic wouldn't be here) and Elijah around two or three months ago, and I'm glad I did. They're going to be fun to write later on in the story. Also, this chapter and one (or two) after that were completely different than I had originally planned because I began to flesh Cleo's character more after the whole story planned out. I'm honestly not sure how I'm going to write the chapter after this so the shift to the real plot isn't so abrupt, but I'll figure something out.

Yes, it's not a coincidence that the two main characters are named Mark Antony and Cleo. My sophomore English class was reading Julies Caesar at the times. And yes there's going to be some romantic hints here and there in the story. Hints, though. It's only going to involve into something more in the sequel.

"Santtu" means something along the lines of "guardian" and Finnish.

On an unrelated note, I'm planning two new fan-fic related things:

- A thread for Pokemon one-shots. Unfortunately, they're going to be written in Spanish. (I need to work on my written Spanish and vocabulary.) The first one-shot should be posted this weekend.

- I'm currently planning out a Harry Potter x Full Metal Alchemist (post-Brotherhood) idea. If anybody wants to bounce this plot-bunny with me, hit me with a PM. :)

I'll get right on working on how to write the next chapter. Trust me, things are just getting started! ^-^
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Old 04-17-2011, 02:16 AM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13) [Chapter 13 is up!]

Song for this chapter: none right now.

_____

Chapter 14

Good Intentions



Mark Antony narrowed his eyes, trying to look threatening, but there was no denying the dread that knotted his stomach. He opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again to find it dry. It was infuriating how his words had gotten stuck from the sheer disbelief that had settled over him.

Elijah darkened his glare and began to say, enunciating every word with a prod at the Ivysaur’s snout, “Tell us who you are.“ With a particularly annoying poke, the psychic said, “Our powers allow us to understand you, so don’t try to stay silent.”

Mark Antony growled and backed away, finding his voice again. <Why should I reveal anything to you? My business here is none of your concern.>

“Oh, it isn’t?” the blonde sarcastically ventured. “You are in my house and dangerously close to my family. You are in no position for telling me to stay out.”

“And did you forget?” Natalie now started, putting a hand to her chest. “We’re psychics. Do you really want to find out what we can do because I swear I’ll hurt you if you hurt Cleo.” She leaned in with a pointed finger, which Mark Antony just sniffed at. “You won’t get near her if I have anything to say about it. I’ll rip you out of that stolen body myself if you even think of —!”

“Natalie.” Elijah gripped her quaking wrist. He looked into her eyes and slightly shook his head. “Don’t.”

The girl glared, felt the grip tighten, and simply retracted from his touch. Natalie turned her back on the two, which made the silent Pokémon scoff. Elijah then looked back at him, expectantly.

<You kids wouldn’t do such a thing. Neither of you are capable of such cruelty.>

Mark Antony sighed, wishing he could rub his temples to stop the oncoming headache. Why had everything gone from boring to frustrating in a matter of minutes? Natalie turned, still scowling but taking great amusement in seeing the Pokémon mentally scramble for the right words. Sensing an explanation, Elijah sat down and rested his arms on his crossed legs.

The Grass-type glared at the teenagers. Damn them for looking so confident. Damn him for not foreseeing this, though he couldn’t think of a way he could have. Despite the bubbling anger just below the surface, Mark Antony knew he couldn’t get out of this one.

<Want to know? Fine. Your sister is in danger. She’s about to die, and I’ve been sent here by Death himself to stop it from happening. I can hardly do anything as a spirit, so I possessed your pet. Whether you believe me or not,> he added upon seeing the raising of an eyebrow, though not without an undercurrent of cynicism, <I honestly couldn’t care less. All I ask of you is to not say a word. If you can do me that much of a favor –>

“Do you a favor?” Natalie chimed in with a humorless laugh. Her blue eyes bored into his, her towering figure blanketing him in shadow. “You’re the one coming here without being invited.”

<Do you not understand why I’m here?> Mark Antony gritted out, his professional mask slipping. Why were the teenagers nowadays a lot less obedient than the ones he remembered? <Cleo is about to die, and I am the only that can do anything to save her!>

“What makes you think you can help her? You know nothing about her!”

<I’ve helped many others before.>

“So you think you’re capable of helping because –!”

“Enough!” Elijah snapped, his voice all but void of his past humor. He stood up and fixed the two with an unwavering glare. “You guys screaming at each other will resolve nothing.” Natalie deflated beneath his ‘I dare you to argue back to me’ gaze while Mark Antony was impressed. Maybe this kid had more sense to him than he thought.

Elijah surprised him again when he got on his knees and softened his glare, though his jaw line was still defined with tension. He held out his hand to a very skeptical Mark Antony.

“Look, we may not have the experience you claim to have, but Cleo is our sister, and we’re worried about her. We want to help as much as we can because honestly, we feel it too.” Elijah dropped his gaze as he thought back to recent memories of his older sister tossing in her sleep, of her looking over her shoulder but never knowing what she was so afraid of. “We can sense that something’s troubling her. It’s like she knows that something terrible is going to happen, but she doesn’t know what. Something within her –her soul, if I may take such a bold guess– is troubled.”

Mark Antony lowered his eyes, deep in thought. He wasn’t surprised that these psychics could sense what Death had, but how much help could they be? Unless they could travel through time and see the exact moment Cleo succumbed to the creeping, unknown assassin, what could they do?

<You still haven’t promised me that you will breathe a word of this to no one.>

Natalie set her jaw, as though afraid she was going to start yelling again. After a calming breath she managed to say, “We’re not going to tell anyone, for Cleo’s sake. She doesn’t need anything else to worry about on top of her studies.”

<And the paranoia she recently acquired,> Mark Antony added, frowning, not liking this new piece of information.

“Yeah,” Natalie quietly agreed, her anger completely gone. She gripped her arm, eyes downcast.

Elijah glanced at his sister with a sad smile before turning back to the guardian. “Now will you accept our help?”

A vine snaked into the air and shook the teen’s hand. <You have my trust, kid.>

“It’s Elijah. Elijah Sorensen,” the young man corrected, still gripping the green appendage.

“And Natalie,” his sister supplied, daring him with a scowl to call her anything but.

The creeping plant now wrapped around her hand, firm and unwavering. These humans were with him now, for better or worse, and he wasn’t going to let them forget it. <And I am Mark Antony.>

Natalie flexed her fingers once the vine retracted. With pleasantries exchanged, she regained that usual sparkle in her eyes. “Mark Antony?” she echoed with a teasing smirk. “Sounds a bit too fancy for an Ivysaur.”

So that’s what it is, the sergeant mused, casting a glance at his body.

<If you must know I lived in the early 1700s.> Mark Antony smirked upon seeing Natalie’s widened eyes. <Such names weren’t uncommon.>

Natalie watched him go towards the door, floundering for a response that didn’t show her shock. Instead, she blurted out, “Where are you going?”

Mark Antony turned his head as the vine from his bulb gripped the doorknob. <Downstairs. Cleo is my charge after all, not you.>

Elijah chuckled as Natalie was forced to follow the Pokémon out the room. She got too easily flustered, especially when she didn’t get all the answers she wanted. In front of him he saw her stomping behind their new ally, hands fisted at her sides. Mark Antony slowed down his pace, curious.

“You’re just going to watch her until something happens?” she demanded, motioning wildly with her hands despite the fact that his back was to her.

<Yes.>

Natalie drew her eyebrows together at the flippant answer.

“That’s it?”

Mark Antony snorted, somewhat amused by her ignorance. Natalie quickened her pace. <That’s all I can do. That’s all we can do as of now.>

He was forced to stop when Natalie bounded in front of him and planted herself firmly in his path. Mark Antony was about to plow right on through until he caught sight of her ashen face. She bit her lip and was shaking from everything but anger. Even Elijah abruptly stopped in surprise. “Could it be the Huntington’s?”

Her eyes were so bright with unshed tears that Mark Antony redirected his curt reply to the carpet. <Nonsense. Cleo is much too young. Besides, I only get sent to those who are going to die in a matter of days. This is something else.>

Natalie wasn’t sure whether she should feel elated or heartbroken. While her sister wasn’t going to die of Huntington’s she was going to die of something they couldn’t even guess at. And sooner, much sooner than she had first thought.

<Look,> the guardian told her, a notch less harsh. <Death wouldn’t have sent me if he thought there was no hope for your sister. Whatever is rearing its ugly head, we’ll find it.>

“We just have to keep an eye on her wherever she goes, right?” Elijah proposed. Before Natalie knew it he had walked up behind her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She offered him a distracted smile.

<Basically. The more eyes on her the better.>

“And,” Natalie started hesitantly, “have you ever lost someone…? Someone you were supposed to save?”

There was a beat of silence where only faint talking downstairs could be heard. Mark Antony’s face clouded with something the siblings couldn’t quite make it out. He turned his back to them and merely replied, <No, I haven’t, and Cleo will not be the first, not as long as I’m able to do something about it.>

Natalie and Elijah mutely watched Mark Antony turn the corner and descend the staircase. Natalie frowned, not exactly sure what she was supposed to feel. Angry that some stranger had barged into their home? Relieved that he was going to do whatever in his power to save Cleo? Frustrated that all they could was wait and watch?

“We’re going to keep an eye on him, you know,” Elijah assured her, misinterpreting her frown.

Natalie turned on her heel towards her room. She raised a hand in farewell. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me an excuse to throw him out the window when you see one.”

When she closed the door, the brunette leaned against it and put a hand to her forehead. Her scowl was gone, and her mind was a myriad of emotions.

What were they going to do?

_____

Later that night, while Cleo was studying and Mark Antony laid at her feet, it seemed some unnamed deity had heard the guardian’s complaints about Cleo being as dull as dull could be.

All was quiet. The rubbing of eraser against paper and the occasional annoyed grumble made themselves known. Mark Antony thought it couldn’t be better. Of course there was that nagging part of him that hated everything peaceful and quiet when a storm was on the horizon, but like he had told the Sorensen siblings, nothing else could be done. Plus, such a peaceful time was needed for him to better understand who exactly he was guarding.

(Well, for one, Cleo could be scary when she was studying. That poor eraser had seen better days. As for her, the girl was so concentrated on the written words of the textbook that she wouldn’t have noticed an incoming meteor. Mark Antony didn’t know whether to be amused or worried.)

Then Cleo gripped the pencil hard enough for her knuckles to turn white and let her forehead meet the desk. She was exhausted, and it was this that allowed the day’s worries to flood back into her mind. Natalie had brought up that stupid ‘why don’t you embrace your roots?’ thing again, and while she normally brushed it away, her mother’s slip of her name minutes later made it sting like a slap to the face. Jenna. Her mother had corrected herself a beat later, but it hadn’t helped.

How could she know if the mistake was the Alzheimer’s or a genuine slip of the tongue? It kept nagging and nagging at her until the question was like a never-ending mantra in her head.

Without a second thought Cleo sat up, turned in her chair, and threw the pencil to the wall. She turned back to her work and stared at her textbook without really understanding what she was reading. It wasn’t until her hand automatically turned the page that Cleo realized she never heard the thunk! of pencil hitting wall. Slowly, she turned back.

Cleo stared at the floating pencil, not wanting to believe– refusing to believe –what her frantic mind was telling her. Mark Antony, colored surprised, made to investigate it. He turned to the college student and curiously noted that her jaw was shut tight and one fisted hand was shaking at her side. Cleo caught his gaze and, frowning, batted the pencil to the floor.

“Stupid powers,” Cleo muttered, running a hand through her golden hair as though to dispel the image of the suspended pencil from her mind. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Then a disturbing thought came to her, and, hesitantly, Cleo grabbed her eraser and threw the poor thing to her bed. It never made it. The eraser floated a foot from her still-outstretched arm, taunting her, mocking her.

While Mark Antony looked from the eraser to the pencil, the gears of his mind churning, Cleo got to her feet and yanked open the door. In a flurry of hair she could be heard walking down the hall.

“Natalie!” Cleo’s footsteps stopped, presumably in front of her sister’s door. “Did you bewitch my things?”

As Mark Antony fished the eraser from the air with a vine, Natalie’s voice could be heard asking, “Bewitch…?”

It seemed Cleo missed the genuine confusion because her voice climbed in volume. “Yes, bewitched, as in make things float of their own accord.”

“Cleo, I didn’t ––”

“Natalie just stop fooling around, okay? I don’t have time for it.”

“Cleo, what are you talking about?” Elijah stepped into the conversation, his voice a bit more distant as he stepped out of his room.

“Just - just.” A deep intake of breath echoed in the hall, and Mark Antony could clearly imagine Cleo snaking a hand through her already-tousled hair. Then, pained, “Just stop messing with me, okay? Just… stop.”

They’re not toying with you, Mark Antony mused as he inspected the eraser — were those nail indentions in it? The energy I still feel is neither Natalie’s nor Elijah’s.

When Cleo returned and shut the door against the wave of questions her siblings were throwing in her wake, that anguished face said she knew it, too. With the weight of the world on her shoulders, she fell heavily on her chair. Her eyes found the abandoned pencil on the floor. A hand went to her mouth as nausea rolled in her stomach.

“This is not happening…” she mumbled into her shaking fingers. Tremors scaled up and down her spine. “You’re kidding me…”

Mark Antony abandoned the eraser. A vine was held aloft, unsure whether he wanted to wrap it around Cleo’s shoulder as comfort.

One small, tentative knock broke the silence. Cleo tensed and looked towards the door, a hand now clenching the chair’s arm for support. She wasn’t sure if the sudden dizziness that had washed over her was going to let up anytime soon.

“Cleo, I know you’re not alright, so open the damn door.” Natalie’s voice, despite the order, was subdued.

“I’m sorry, okay?!” Cleo shouted at the door. She shut her eyes, hating the slight break in her voice. After a beat, she quietly amended, “I’m sorry I lost my temper back there.”

There was a sound and a thump; Natalie had slid down to sit, back to the door. “Cleo, I didn’t come for an apology. I came for you.” A thunk! as the girl tilted her head back in thought. “Something happened with your powers. Right?”

“You think?” Cleo sarcastically snapped. “I’m suddenly levitating things. Without me doing so. Whatever powers I have are breaking out.”

“Cleo, me and Elijah will help you.” A nervous shifting. “You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

“I don’t want to control them.” The venom in the words shocked Mark Antony, but Natalie was silent, already expecting such a reaction. Cleo glared at the doorknob, eyes bright with held back emotions. “I want to ignore them.”

More shifting. The door shook slightly as Natalie hit her head on it, as though blaming herself for not expecting this. “You know you can’t do that, Cleo. Remember what happened when me and Elijah were kids, when we skipped out on Mom’s little sessions for more than a couple of days? Things flew off the shelves. The windows would rattle, Cleo. They would rattle. Dad thought they were going to kill someone.”

“And you were only eight,” Cleo whispered to herself, remembering the incident all too well. Louder, she said, “Don’t you think I know that, Natalie? If it doesn’t stop here at pencils and erasers it’s just going to escalate until someone gets hurt.”

“Then let me help you!” Natalie all but pleaded behind the closed door. “If we start now–”

“It’ll take me years to get this under control. It’s a distraction that I can’t afford right now.” Her gaze was to the textbook on her desk, and it suddenly seemed much heavier and foreboding, like a towering mountain peek after she had fallen back to the bottom. There was a noise behind the door as Natalie knew all too well what she was talking about.

“You can still study…” came the hesitant words. “I mean, you won’t have to give up school or anything…”

As Natalie struggled with her words, Cleo stood up and wrenched open the door. The girl on the other side uttered a yelp as she fell on her back.

“If I take you up on your offer,” she spoke slowly, cautiously, down at her stunned sister, “do you honestly think I’ll get the grades I need to enter medical school?”

Natalie looked away, the brimming tears in Cleo’s eyes much more frightening than the scathing tone of her words. “I wouldn’t know.”

Cleo lifted her head and saw Elijah leaning against the stair’s banister, arms crossed over his chest and face void of expression. But she knew her brother. Those eyes were full of concern and trepidation. His stance, though relax, would allow him to go over to her in a heartbeat if she broke down. The tears in her eyes burned even more at the sight.

“Elijah, you understand, don’t you?”

Her brother straightened. “I know your powers can cause harm. I know learning how to control them might cause your grades to drop. What do you think is more important?” Seeing Cleo’s mounting rebuttal, he hastily continued, “This is not our choice, Cleo. It’s yours. We can’t help you if you don’t want us to.”

Whatever words Cleo had died away. She looked to her feet, feeling sudden wetness on her cheek. “Look, don’t tell Mom and Dad, okay? They shouldn’t have anything more to worry about.”

From where she laid on the floor, Natalie was about to point out that it was Cleo that did all the worrying in the house, but Elijah, ever the knowing brother, cut her off with a glance. She pouted up at him, though she knew Cleo didn’t need any prodding. Those usually wise eyes were glittering with tears she stubbornly tried to her hide, and unless it was the waning afternoon light outside the window, her skin seemed pallid. Right now was not the time for snide remarks.

Natalie inclined her head to glance at Mark Antony. As was his habit in such missions, he was merely a watcher and a listener, taking everything in with that thoughtful shadow in his eyes. The Pokémon caught her gaze and discreetly nodded to show that yes, he would keep an eye on Cleo. With that small assurance the girl got on her feet and gave her sister one last hug. Cleo jumped, too lost in her troubling thoughts to understand what was going on.

“Tell us if something else happens, okay?” Natalie ignored the voice in her head that said Cleo was going to do no such thing. She was much too prideful to come crying to them, ready to spill every secret and worry.

Cleo almost laughed. Wasn’t she, as the older sister, supposed to be the one doing the comforting? She returned the embrace instead of thinking how the changing of roles signified the slow crumbling of her world. “Thanks, Nat.”

It wasn’t until Elijah gently tugged at her arm that Natalie let go. As he did so, his eyes found Mark Antony’s. Tell us what happened later. Keep an eye on her. Please, they said.
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Last edited by Phantom Kat; 04-17-2011 at 02:25 AM.
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Old 04-17-2011, 02:22 AM
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Default Re: My Guardian Angel (PG-13) [Chapter 13 is up!]

A moment later Elijah and Natalie were gone, more than likely to a room where they could discuss this new turn of events. Cleo sat in her chair, seeming to the world twice her age. The descending sun stretched her shadow over the once-floating objects on the floor. She glanced out the window, over her textbook and notes, towards the night sky above Goldenrod.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she breathed to Mark Antony, to the world. Cleo rested her head on a hand. Shame flooded her. Wasn’t she always the one to rise above all odds? Wasn’t she one who said that giving up was not an option? Why was she letting this small setback leave her in tears?

That was the thing, though. This was no small setback. After watching her siblings grow up with their abilities, she knew that psychic powers were not something that could easily be tamed. Her mother had preached that the older they got the harder they would be to control because just like them, powers grew in strength. If Cleo had known back then that her powers would eventually break out she would have never refused her mother’s training, no matter how much of a freak she would have seemed in front of her friends, the teachers that praised her for her intellect, the family members that saw her going places…

Then she had found out about the Huntington’s and its lack of a cure. Looking back on it, was her decision to turn her back on her potential powers to focus on her studies a wise one or just some excuse to stay normal? She didn’t even know anymore.

Save her mother.

Pretend that she was just a normal little girl.

The fear of someday succumbing to the disease.

It was mixed and blurred until she didn’t know what had been her first thought.

Whatever it had been Cleo didn’t care for normalcy anymore. Elijah and Natalie, while never shouting to the world what they were, were very obviously endowed with psychic powers. Her father was almost never home but off to some business conference.

(The past few days had just been leading into a month-long trip to Sinnoh. Cleo had known after the fourth day mark that his stay was too good to be true. That and he had been guiltily doing the home repairs he always neglected during his stays.)

Then there was the mother that, once a seamstress, never left home. Normalcy was just a fond childhood memory. What she cared about now was her potential future as a doctor and the outstanding grades she needed.

The back of her chair squeaked as Cleo leaned against it.

“I need a shower,” she told the ceiling before getting and grabbing a towel from on top of a laundry basket. Cleo took one last look at her textbook before leaving for the restroom.

Mark Antony waited for Cleo’s footsteps to fade, all the while shaking his head at the obvious. Cleo was not stupid, not by any stretch of the imagination. He could see it in her expression that she knew her powers were going to become as distracting as the actual lessons. It was all a matter of choosing the lesser of two evils.

A slow creak announced a visitor. Mark Antony turned and met Natalie’s expectant gaze. “Well?” she queried, still only halfway through the door. “Are you going to come and tell us what happened or not?”

She got a patronizing look for her trouble. Really, Mark Antony mentally sighed, who’s in charge in here?

When he still didn’t move, Natalie came into the room and picked him up. She carried him to her room despite the irritated growling that rumbled somewhere near her chest.

Kids these days were a far cry from the respectable children he was once knew.

_____

That night Mark Antony slept at the foot of Cleo’s bed. While the college student had knocked out the moment her head hit the pillow he had been up for a while after that. Even now, between dreams of flying pencils and rifles, the voices of Elijah and Natalie echoed back their recent conversation. Elijah, always the reasonable one, was not surprised that Cleo would end up agreeing to their lessons. He was, however, surprised at the retelling of the pencil and eraser. Even at her age he hadn’t expected for her to make things fly. At the most he had expected trembling and sliding objects.

Their voices drifted, and even the vivid images of Cleo juggling the same pencil from before faded to the back of his mind. Mark Antony, still deep in sleep, felt the semblance of a body. Now on two human legs the guardian turned in place to find the Pokémon responsible for the endless void he found himself in. Upon seeing Death, unease settled in the pit of his being. He tugged at the cuff of his forming coat.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with no preamble. Mark Antony walked towards him, a bit more anxious than he would have liked to be. His boots were silent on the color-changing floor/wall/ceiling.

“Nice to see you again,” Death quipped with a fleeting smile from his stomach. Before Mark Antony could even find comfort in the humor the Dusknoir’s demeanor changed. He was solemn and too distracted by his thoughts to notice Mark Antony’s dawning worry.

“Look, Death, why are you here?” Instinctively he began to pace. At first these dream meetings were nothing but telepathic conversations, but Mark Antony had demanded some other alternative. He was a man (soul) of action, and telepathy was like having his hands tied behind his back. He needed to gesticulate as he spoke, make facial expressions, look the speaker in the eye. As though to prove his point Mark Antony turned on his heel and connected gazes with his superior. “What’s going on?”

“Cleo’s powers,” he simply said, crossing his arms. “They’re breaking out from whatever unconscious hold she had over them because of the danger her soul senses.”

“It makes sense,” the assistant distractedly agreed, “but I could have come to that conclusion on my own.”

“True, which is why I came here for another reason.” Death looked upwards. The shifting colors around them settled for a cold gray-blue. “I never told you, but I wasn’t the one who picked up on Cleo’s case. That was Mew and Celebi.”

A sharp intake of breath. “What? Death, you can’t be serious.” Why? balanced precariously on his lips, but the power of speech had been replaced with shock, horror, and something else he couldn’t quite identify.

The phantom still had his eye to the sky. "During these past three centuries they have gotten involved in the affairs of the Legendaries and other deities, or so I’ve heard. Maybe they want to take over Purgatory and do away with us.”

“I doubt it,” Mark Antony said with a scowl. “I’ve only met them once, and they don’t seem the type to wander over to our dimension, what with it being so grim and all.”

Death straightened and turned his back to his assistant. The flaps around his head flared with a sigh. “I know it. However, they’re unpredictable, especially Mew. Ever since Arceus went off to quell the fights between Deoxys and Rayquaza and Dialga and Palkia Mew and Celebi are getting involved in too much for my liking.”

“But that’s none of their business.” Mark Antony crossed his arms and shifted his weight, feeling a faux scythe move on his back. “Our job deals with the dead and the dying.”

Death turned around, worry coloring his features. Even the face on his stomach averted Mark Antony’s eyes. “Don’t you see? They’ve already involved themselves in our affairs, even if it was with something as innocent as tipping me about Cleo.”

Mark Antony didn’t like the sound of that. The unasked question from earlier tumbled from his mouth. “Did they mention why?”

“Mew merely mentioned that with more eyes in the sky more people can be saved, which is true. Sometimes a soul in danger is not strong enough for its distress to reach me but it may reach them. But that couldn’t be farther from their intentions. I can feel their lust for power. Saving human lives is not what they want to get away from this.”

“And Cleo?” Mark Antony asked with gritted teeth. “What’s going to happen to her?” The soul stepped forward and jabbed a finger to his chest, the anger making his colorless eyes flash with the creeping red of the room. “I’m her guardian. I’m not going to let her get caught up in the middle of their rise to power.”

Death inwardly smirked. Mark Antony’s fierce loyalty surprised him at times. Really he couldn’t have picked a better assistant. The Grim Reaper raised a calming hand. “Don’t worry. You keep on guarding Cleo while I investigate this matter further.”

Mark Antony relaxed his stance. “Fine, but I suspect you’re going to have to be mighty discreet. I doubt Mew and Celebi would let you anywhere near them so you to find out what they’re planning.”

“True.” Here Death smiled and raised a finger. “But I have resources and friends that keep me informed about Heaven. Don’t underestimate my connections. You worry about Cleo.”

The color of their world eased into a calm fuchsia. Mark Antony regarded the hue as he thought back to the young woman asleep in her bed. Death noticed the softening of the jaw line and the released tension of the body. Then he chuckled knowingly, a sound that was lost in the vast dimension. Perhaps loyalty wasn’t all that fueled Mark Antony this time.

“Is that all?”

Death did away with his grin and solemnly nodded. “That’s all, unless you have something else of concern.”

Mark Antony had begun to shake his head when an earlier thought resurfaced. His face regained its frown. Before Death knew it Mark Antony was face-to-face with him, one finger out in accusation. The Dusknoir stared down into the narrowed silver eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me Natalie and Elijah were psychic?”

“Who––?”

“The brother and sister,” the sergeant growled exasperatedly. “They’re psychic. They have powers. They found out who I was with them. How could you not know they were psychic?”

Death moved the offending finger to the side. “Mark Antony I can’t know every little detail about the family. Cleo herself is enough of a puzzle. Besides,” he continued with a crossing of his arms, “I’m sure their help will be useful.”

“Maybe,” Mark Antony amended, stepping back. “Though I could do without Natalie’s exuberant energy.”

“But you’re calling them by name, so I’m sure it must mean you’re taking a liking to them.”

Mark Antony snapped his head back. “Now that doesn’t mean—!”

Sudden he began to lose his sight. Mark Antony stumbled backwards as an overwhelming sense of numbness crawled up his body, through his limbs, and into his mind. Death’s cocky image began to melt into the purple color of the world.

“No fair…” he managed to spit out before he was forcefully sent back to the real world.

_____

A/N: Two months for a chapter? Wow have I been slacking. It might have something to do with the fact that the whole chapter was done on the fly since I'm trying to flesh this out more than I originally planned. But a new chapter is here, even if I'm not perfectly satisfied with it. My favorite part to write was the last tone because I love Mark Antony and Death interactions.

Things are going to pick next chapter and hopefully more things will be explained and elaborated on. ^-^
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Last edited by Phantom Kat; 06-22-2011 at 06:34 AM.
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