Valentine Emerges
A Fresh Face

(The Card's True Colors)


As Apathetic proceeded up the stairs to his apartment, a gloved hand running over the railing as he wound his way up the outdoor stairwell, he gave a small shake of his head; he might have been musing to himself, but he was in actuality reacting to the young girl next to him, who had just been asking a question as to the viability of a fish out of water. The mistaken impression was perfectly understandable, though, given that the aforementioned girl wasn't visible, audible, or otherwise detectable to anyone else, and even those who could see her would have noted her as different-- Her vivid coloration, for one, marked her as unique, as did the fact that she was floating along a good three inches off the ground.

Yes, Apathy had just come back from a day at the aquarium, where he'd ventured at the behest of the "invisible" girl at his side, so he wasn't exactly new to strange happenings. Inexplicable things, he'd found, cropped up around him with an odd sort of regularity, and so it was that Apathy wasn't too nonplused at these bizarre events that had begun to typify his life. While trying to explain to Stigma, which was what he called the girl at his side, that the phrase 'fish out of water' did not refer to a literal fish, he fished (pun unintended) his keys out of his pants-pocket, unlocking and opening the door to his apartment. It was a hot day out, and he'd foregone his usual jacket-including outfit; it, along with a certain oddly-colored playing-card in its pocket, had remained at home.

Things had been quiet, at least for this week, and Apathy was pretty relaxed as he closed the door behind him, Stigma preceding him into the apartment as he slung his backpack onto the short bookshelf in the crowded entryway, sidling into the kitchen. A single syringe, filled with an odd black-and-orange concoction, lay resting on the counter, and it was as he picked it up that he happened to glance into the rest of the room.

Apathetic, as mentioned, was pretty used to odd things happening around him, and he'd wound up with Stigma after being given some pretty dodgy medication, so it was natural that, when he spotted the ten-year-old boy sitting cross-legged on his sofa, he suspected that the latest round of meds were having another set of "side-effects." The boy, who'd apparently been sitting there and watching Apathy since he'd walked through the door, was wearing a deep-blue sweater and pinstriped pants; as Apathetic blinked, the boy gave a little wave and an accompanying smile, apparently not the least confused.

Apathy, unfortunately, couldn't say the same, and after another moment of thought looked accusingly down at the syringe, still lying innocuously in his hand.


Well, there was a bit of a muddle after that, as Apathy tried to determine a) who this boy was, b) what this boy was, and c) what exactly he was going to do about it. Contrary to expectations, it was a little tricky to figure even one of those questions successfully; between the boy's lassaiz-faire demeanor and Apathy's skepticism, it was a good hour before it was established that the former had, somehow, emerged from the card which the latter had held on to. Neither was really sure why or how, but apparently the card - aside from definitely not being a standard-issue Casino card - was somehow magic-- Enchanted, or ensorcelled, or something. Apathy had never paid too much attention to the mechanics of magic, but something had placed that card in that deck, at the right time and place to cause a ruckus, and something had enabled that card to turn into... Well, into a kid.

"Kinda weird, isn't it?" smiled the boy, who despite his words didn't seem - at least to Apathy's eyes - to think the day's events all that unusual. In fact, the course of the conversation had demonstrated the extent of the boy's at-home-ness-- He'd apparently gone looking around the apartment earlier, and cheerfully informed Apathetic that the slice of dobash cake in the refrigerator was now no more. Also, Apathy apparently needed to buy a new carton of milk, as well.

"All right," sighed Apathetic, feeling the beginnings of a migraine starting to kick in, "let's say I believe this... Because honestly, I'm not seeing another explanation. Let's say you're not just some kid who randomly decided to break into my apartment and raid my fridge-- That you are, in fact, a magical card-originating being of some kind."

"Sure thing," agreed the boy, amiably kicking his feet back and forth, his highly-polished wingtips making rhythmic impacts against the couch's base.

"And for some reason, you decided to... appear. You're definitely real, in the sense that I'm fairly sure I'm not hallucinating, and you're substantial, seeing as there's no way you could have eaten my cake without the ability to at least pick up a fork."

"Agreed," he nodded, looking curiously at Stigma as the multicolored girl sat across from him on the coffee-table, mimicking his movement by swinging her own legs.

"Is it safe to say that the 'magic thing' is responsible for you being able to see Stigma?"

"I don't see why it shouldn't be," smiled the boy, who had established his ability to see Stigma when he'd first asked who the girl was that was staring him in the face. "I didn't know that I wasn't supposed to see her."

"Most people don't," explained Stigma, sinking slightly through the coffee-table as her attention wavered. "Well, except some people... But only a few. And they've all been like A-pa-pa," she added. "You know... They have to take medicine to see me."

"I see," nodded the boy, and Apathy had the vague idea that the child was drawing a line between hallucinatory drugs and the people who tend to take them. Though tempted to clear up the misunderstanding, Apathetic decided to leave it for later, seeing as there were much more important things at hand; for example, there was the tiny matter of...

"Somewhere to sleep?" The boy blinked, his features assuming a thoughtful expression as he glanced around the 'living room.' "Well, I guessed that the room in back was yours, so I figured on just sleeping here on the sofa... Unless that's where you sleep?" he asked Stigma, who shrugged lightly.

"I don't really sleep," she said in reply, "and sometimes if I try, I get bored and start falling through the floor... So I don't know why you can't sleep on the couch, unless maybe it's too small or something? It's kinda lumpy..."

"No, no, it's okay," assured the boy, patting the sofa-cushion upon which he sat. "I took a nap on it earlier today, while I was waiting for someone to come home; it's cool, although it could maybe use a few more pillows..."


Apathetic, who had been observing the exchange with an arched brow, rolled his eyes briefly ceilingward as he gave his head a small shake. Apparently, it had been decided that the boy would be staying; if he thought about it, though, Apathy really couldn't think of another option. Since the boy had apparently come from the card, Apathetic had taken resonsibility for it since it left the Casino, and while he certainly hadn't expected this, it's not like he could just kick the kid out. Besides, it would probably be good for Stigma to have someone to talk to, besides him...

"Oh!" Stigma's exclamation drew the attention of the two males in the room, Apathetic still standing by the couch and the boy now examining the knickknacks on the bookshelves. "Do you have a name? Or, you know, something we can call you? I mean, he's Apathy (but I can call him A-pa-pa), and I'm Stigma (like I said), but..."

The boy fell silent for a few moments, then finally shook his head and exhaled his latest breath in a sigh. "Nothing," he said, giving a shrug; "I don't think I have a name, and I guess if anyone I should know. I guess you could just call me Seven or something, but..." He shrugged again, a dispirited look falling over his formerly-sunny face, and - almost in synch - both he and Stigma looked over to Apathetic, who was still leaning against the armrest of the sofa. They seemed to be expecting him to 'fix this,' but he wasn't all that sure he could name a kid; heck, 'Stigma' was just a shortening of the meds he'd been on when she'd first appeared...

At last, though, as he cast his mind about for ideas, his eyes happened on the left sleeve of the boy's sweater, which featured a vertical line of peach-colored hearts running from the shoulder to just above the wrist. 'Well, he DID come from the Seven of Hearts...' thought Apathy, before finally suggesting, "What about Valentine? You know, association with hearts and all..." Apathetic was a bit unsure about the name, but his doubts were quickly relieved when the boy was at once all smiles again, bright-violet eyes oddly relieved, as he gave a jaunty nod and ran a hand through his short, mussed-strawberry hair.

"I like the sound of that," he proclaimed, back to his former sunny attitude, as Stigma beamed and gave a quick burst of applause in appreciation. "'Valentine'... Sounds a bit distinguished, doesn't it?" He affected a pose of refinement, then gave a lopsided, roguish grin, somehow managing to retain the poise while regaining his boyish appearance. "Doesn't match me too well, though, right?"

Unable to help a grin himself, Apathy shook his head, this time with a mock-exasperation; "Join the club, kid," he said, and grinned as Stigma giggled behind her hands. Well, what the heck-- At least things seemed off to a good start.