By Blood Connected

By Blood Connected
A Fanfiction by Vir M.
Chapter 10:
“Gift Givers”
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I don’t remember how I got inside.

All I know was that at one moment I was staring, shocked, at that oh-so-familiar helmet, and the next I was indoors. I suppose I had somehow managed to murmur a goodbye or something, but I have no recollection of finding my key or getting the paper, which was now lying innocently at my feet. My best guess is that the shock had gotten to me and blurred my field of thought until then.

My heart was pounding as I stood in the front hallway’s dark interior, dress bag clutched tightly in my fists.

It was HIM!

I hung my dress up in the coat closet, then proceeded to slowly climb the stairs, glancing at my watch on the way up.

“Shit! It’s two-fifteen!” I swore. My mood mellowed as I thought: //At least I don’t have a session ‘til Sunday...\

When I finally trudged into my room, I stripped down to my under-clothes, and fell into bed.

But I couldn’t sleep.

"Shit... why me? Why does this always happen to ME?" I growled to myself. "Fucking insomnia on a night like THIS..."

I lay in bed for awhile, bored and twitching. I wanted to sleep, my eyes were burning from the lack of it, but I was wired.

VERY wired.

I sat up in bed impatiently, covers slipping away from my shoulders, exposing me to the cool air. The cold of the weather permeating the walls, and my room was decidedly chilly.

I was beyond caring though. I slung my feet over the edge of the bed, whipped the covers off myself, then stood, half-naked. I walked across the room to my bookshelf, grabbed a stool, stood on it, and selected the tall, thin, leather bound volume located on the highest shelf.

I hopped off the height-maximizing structure, and shuffled back to my bed, book clutched to my chest.

I opened “The Legend of Sparda,” propped it against my knees, and began to read.

The book was riveting no matter how many times I read it. It combined my love of fairy tales and occult with the magic of a historical text.

I wonder who the author was... I thought for the billionth time. I wish I could find another of his works... and I wish I could get this back to Aeneid somehow, despite how much I want to keep it... I wanted to return the thing, but was unsure if I could REALLY let go of it. It was now one of my favorite books.

I had gotten to the part where Sparda had to sacrifice the human priestess when my eyes could no longer be denied the prospect of rest. I set the book gently onto the floor, rolled onto my side, curled slightly, and was instantly asleep.
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Weeks passed. The new, ‘every-other-day’ arrangement I had with Aeneid was close to perfect; I had ample time for Ami, Karen, Ms. Saxen, and the library, and still got to go home in a car rather than having to walk so far like I usually did.

Aeneid stuck to our bargain. He wasn’t as confrontational or unfair as he had been, and didn’t make it a point to pick on me during class quite as often.

Sticking to MY half, however, was proving to be difficult. He continued to try to dominate me, which I couldn’t take. When he did, I would lash out, though not quite as violently as before. The end result of this was a tongue-lashing from Aeneid, though they, also, weren’t as severe as previously, they still stung.

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More months passed. Well, one and a half, actually. What did this mean to me, you ask?

Christmas was looming.

Every year, I inevitably forget about Christmas. Christmas for me has always been a severe reminder of my parents death, of their ever-present absence. Ami always left town to visit family, as did the other students, and I was left alone in the village. My aunts and uncles would occasionally send me, the forgotten one of the family, cards or something, but that was usually about it. I was used to the solitude.

This year however, it would be different.

I’d have company, however grudging they were. I wouldn’t be alone for the first time in my life since fourth grade, when I still lived with my mother’s mother.

I wouldn’t be alone.

Not that the prospect of spending the evening with Aeneid was setting my blood a-boil or anything. He would most likely be about as talkative as a rock, just like normal.

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Two weeks before Christmas, I got a call from Ami:

“Want to go Christmas shopping?”

I mentally smacked myself on the forehead. I had totally forgotten! I naturally said yes; we (‘we’ meaning Ami, Karen, and myself) were to meet at my house the next Saturday, then call a cab to take us to the only near-by shopping mall: “Canary Central Community Mall.”

The day dawned bright and clear, gray-blue sky cloudy and ugly-looking, air bitterly cold. When I answered the door for the girls, Karen’s greeting was:

“Think it’ll snow?”

“Probably later.” I said. “Looks like white Christmas’ll come early.” I grinned at them, ushering them indoors. They took off their thick black over-coats and hung them in the hallway, then followed me up to my room while Ami called a cab from my personal phone-line. The cab would arrive in about fifteen minutes, so we had some time.
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Karen, as this was her first time in my house, looked around as we entered my room, then headed over to my book-cases to check out my selection. After perusing through titles, she looked over my CD collection, commenting here and there on the assortment. Ami, familiar with the house, plopped down on my bed and began to leaf through a magazine she found lying on the floor. I sat in my swivel chair behind my desk, and made small talk with Karen about books and such, until the doorbell rang. We all got up as one and marched downstairs, shrugged into our jackets, and headed out to the cab.
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The mall wasn’t exactly packed, but it was rather crowded for a town like the size of Canary. The high-ceilinged, store-lined indoor avenues were filled with the bustle and murmur of holiday shoppers. The tiled interior was magnifying the clap of feet, jabber of voices, rustle of parcel-paper. Before entering any stores, however, Karen, Ami and I set up our plan of attack:

“Okay!” Ami began, taking charge. “Since we’re going to be getting presents for one another as well as others, we might as well split up so we won’t spoil our surprises.” Karen and I nodded in agreement.

“We’ll each take a wing of the mall: Karen gets the south wing, I get the north, and Jira the west. We’ll meet back here at noon (in an hour and a half, guys), then switch wings. We clear?”
I saluted Ami:

“Sir yes sir!” Ami delivered me her best glower while Karen mimicked my actions and barked an “Affirmative, Sarge!” She took our playful jibes with mock-anger, and then laughed. We all turned then and went our separate ways.

The mall’s west wing contained mostly specialty stores, ranging from shops that sold Dungeons&Dragons-esque games to shops that sold nothing but La-Z Boy chairs. I wandered aimlessly for awhile; there wasn’t much that peaked my interest in this wing.

I poked my head into a “Unique Gifts,” a promising looking boutique. It turned out to be a jewelry store specializing in uncommonly-styled accessories. I found Ami’s present: a lovely crystal pendant on a gold chain, with a small miniature rose embedded in the center, reflected over and over in the crystal’s diamond depths. Karen’s present I chose at the small bookshop next door: a book about the process used to make books. It seemed to be something she would enjoy– informative, educational, yet kind of fun.

//I’ll have to borrow it from her sometime.\ I thought. //It looks rather good, actually...\

I wandered out of the store, bored. I still needed a gift for Sarita... but that was all. I didn’t have any other friends... or at least close enough friends who merited gifts, anyway...

I passed the extra time in the bookstore, chatting with the owner about titles and authors. When the time came, I excused myself and headed back to the mall’s entrance. I was a bit early, but nonetheless...

Karen was already there, three large shopping bags clutched in her arms.

“I’m not going to be able to carry all this.” She said simply. “Got any ideas?” I looked appraisingly at her bags, then at the obvious lack of space mine occupied.

“I already got both you and Ami’s junk, I just lack Sarita. I could take a bag off your hands.” I offered. Karen breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re a lifesaver... I haven’t found Sarita’s yet as well...” She then handed me the second-largest of the bags. “That’s Ami’s in there. No peeking!” I assured her I wouldn’t.

“You’re here already?” I turned; Ami was striding towards us, blonde hair bouncing in shining waves down her back. Her eyes sparkled happily.

“You’re going to love your presents!” She practically glowed. “I only have Sarita left... She’s a hard one to shop for!”

Karen and I both agreed vehemently.

“Since none of us have Sarita’s,” I began. “How about we shop for something for her together? Y’know, help me out here, I’m a bad shopper...” I was, to call a spade a spade, horrible at it.

“That sounds good.” said Karen. Ami nodded in agreement. “To the east wing!” We began to amble in the direction of the east wing when Karen said it:

“Jira?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you going to get Aeneid something?”

I stopped dead in my tracks. Then I smacked myself on the forehead.

“SHIT!”

“Jira!” said a shocked Ami. “Language!”

“Sorry...” I grumbled. “But I had totally forgotten...” Ami sighed, hands on her hips.

“Are you sure you should even get him something in the first place?” she asked. “I mean, it might look a little weird, him being a teacher and all...” I though a moment, was about to agree, but then Karen spoke.

“He’ll get you something, Jira.” I looked at her quizzically. “He likes you too much not to.” I blushed at that, I couldn’t help it.

“He doesn’t like me at all...” I mumbled.. “Hates me, more’n anything...” It was Karen’s turn to sigh.

“He makes lame excuses to see you. Odds are, he probably sees you as a younger sister or something.” She smiled. “He’ll get you something good, of that I’m sure.”

I breathed a sigh of relief at the ‘younger sister’ bit. Any other kind of ‘like’... I couldn’t even BEGIN to think like that...

“Karen’s right, Jira; you need to find something for him!” Exclaimed Ami. “Got anything in mind?”

“Nothing.” I said miserably. “I know he likes books and history, but that’s about it... He likes swords, too, he’s got one mounted in his office, but...” My eyes widened as it hit me.

“I’ll meet you back here later, guys, okay?” I promptly wheeled around to face the east wing, and began to jog. I heard them shout for me to slow down, but I didn’t, just kept running.
~`~`~`~
Eventually, I got there. The mall was sprawling, so it had taken me some time to make it back.

The outside of the shop I hadn’t bothered to visit earlier had a simple wooden sign bearing the shop’s name: “The Best Little Sword Shop In Town.” Then in smaller letters, “Since 1955." It was, most likely, also the ONLY little sword shop in town I was amused to note; at least their confidence wasn’t totally conceited.... I pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The interior was almost the polar opposite of the mall proper. While the mall had been cold tile, the shop was filled with wood. Wood shelves, wood paneling, wood display cases. A bell above the door rang as I entered, and the shop keeper bustled out of the back room.

He was a balding, sixty-something man with tiny, frame-less glasses. He was holding a wickedly curved blade in one hand and was giving it a loving polish with the other.

Serial killer or mad scientist, anyone care to take a guess?

He stared at me for a moment as I entered, surprised. Then he chortled.

“Oh-HO!” He exclaimed. “A youngster!” He smiled, setting the scimitar down onto the counter with a loud clatter. “What can I do you for?” His easy manner was lovable, and I found myself at ease.

“I’m looking for a present.” I said, smiling. “A good one.”

“For whom?” He asked. I blanched, nonplused.

“Um...” I was debating between the word ‘friend,’ an aspect of me and Aeneid’s relationship I hadn’t yet contemplated, and ‘teacher,’ which seemed too formal, when the old man spoke.

“I have just the thing!”

I stared at him as he bustled into the back room again. Why had he even bothered to ask me a question if he wasn’t going to wait for my answer? My wonderings were cut short as he came back into the room, settling himself down on a tall stool behind the counter. He was holding a large box and some sheets of paper under his arms.

“Here we are!” His chipper attitude was beginning to get old. He set the box down onto the counter-top with a *PLUNK* “These!”

The box was square; shallow but wide. It was filled with a glittering assortment of small ornamental daggers, sharpened blades glittering in the light.

“You can get them engraved, too!” He chirped. “As long as it is less than twenty-four characters long, including spaces.” I took in his words, but didn’t process them.

“That one.” I said, pointing at one on the far right of the glass topped box.

“Oh,” he breathed. “The katana. Wise choice.”

The blade of the miniature was about seven inches long, all curved steel and sharp edge. The hilt was gold with blue cloth wrapped around it, and a gold dragon had been etched onto the blade itself. It was beautiful, and was, all except for the dragon worked onto the blade, a very nice, accurate replica of the sword mounted in Aeneid’s office. With a start, I realized the shop keeper was addressing me:

“Will you have it engraved?” he was asking.

“Uh...” I stammered. “Yeah, I guess....”

“Don’t know what to say?” The man supplied. I nodded.

“I suggest the recipient’s name, and then your own initials on another line.” His voice had turned shrewd. “The year, too, as a reminder.” His smile was friendly again. “Fill out this sheet, a letter a box, and I’ll do the work right now!”

I took the proffered sheet and pen, then began to fil it out.

Line one: V-E-R-G-I-L -space- R -period-space- A-E-N-E-I-D

Line two: J-period-space- L -period-

Line three: 2-0-0-6

I handed him the sheet as I finished. He glanced at it for a moment.

“I’ll put line one, “Vergil R. Aeneid,” on the base of the blade itself. Then I’ll put lines two and three on the end of the hilt, on the exposed metal”. He glanced up at me. “How does that sound to you?” I nodded.

“Sounds good.” I said. He grinned at me, the force of the smile squeezing his small eyes shut.

“Jolly good. It will take about thirty minutes.” He took the dagger from its case and turned away into the back room, then poked his head out again.


“There’s a lovely café next door, in case you’re interested. If not, wait right there, I won’t be TOO long...” then he was gone.

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When I left the café thirty minutes later, he was waiting for me behind the counter, still smiling, dagger boxed and secured with a pretty blue silk ribbon. He ushered me over to the register, where I exchanged my money for Aeneid’s gift. I left, waving, bombarded by his ‘come again’s,’ and headed back to me, Ami, and Karen’s rendevous point.

They were there when I arrived, peeved at my disappearance. They had went ahead and bought Sarita’s gifts, and were thoughtful enough to buy me one for Sarita as well: an iPOD accessory of some sort. I paid them back, then we called the cab.
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Christmas Eve was in four days, and just happened to fall on a session day. Naturally, I was nervous.

School had let out for holiday the day before, and I had delivered all the presents... save one.

Ami had adored her pendant, like I knew she would. Little baubles like that always seemed to brighten her day, don’t ask me why. Karen had enjoyed her book just the way I thought she would: educational yet amusing. Sarita was also enjoying the iPOD skin Ami and Karen had picked out for her, flashing the jeweled, pink thing everywhere she went, flaunting it like a status symbol.

My gifts were equally gratifying: a new watch from Ami, and the book ‘Cooking for Dummies’ from Karen (which I was badly in need of, given the abysmal state of my food preparation skills). Sarita hadn’t bothered getting presents for anyone. It was okay though; knowing her, she would’ve gotten me some useless gift-card I would never have used. I preferred practicality over useless baggage any day, thank you very much.

Aeneid’s gift sat on my bedside, packed into that white box and blue ribbon, untouched.

Untouched, that is, until the day I gave it to him.

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AUTHOR TIME
At this point in the chapter, I had taken up 15 pages in a word-document, so I decide to split the chapter in half. Aren’t I evil?


I love you guys!!!! Hit me with some more comments, I love hearing from you all!!!!!

JIRA belongs to VIR M.
VERGIL & DMC to CAPCOM