Welcome to Gaia! ::

At night, the moon rose in a particular shade of orange that always heralded a misdeed about to occur or a problematic force of nature. It was round and plump and full, like an orange just ripe and about to explode, unable to contain the juices inside it. Dribbling a little juice down his own chin as he bit into an apple, Mikhael watched this phenomenon with a curious tilt of his head. He hadn't seen anything like it
that he could remember. A half of a year of sunsets had not done any good in presenting such an occurance.

Nestled on the little porch bench, he thought, as best as he could, about his life so far. It was something big people did, right? And he was a big a boy as any. Why, with his legs down, and toes outstretched, he could almost touch the ground from the porch swing.

His memories of his painful past were mostly flashes of images and feelings. Nobody in the house talked about how he was rescued, and when he asked questions, sometimes they pretended like they couldn't understand him, even though he had a suspicion they really did. He knew it was bad. There was always that painful clutch in his stomach when he met someone new, particularly those both large and new, and his instincts
on whether someone was a friend or not were still a little bit dull. Thankfully, they edged towards the dramatic, and given his situation, one couldn't be too careful. This, of course, was beyond Mikhael's thinking, however, and all he could think of at the moment was how it easy it was to feel alone even when he was surrounded by people.

It was quiet for now though, and the porch was empty except for the musing muse. The seat swung a bit in the night air's breeze, and the halfling resettled his center of balance until he could enjoy the way the wind halfheartedly caught his fake wings and he lifted up a bit off the seat then back down. It was a beautiful night, despite the misgivings that fell heavy in the air. Despite the quiet, maybe even because of it, he began to hum. An old song that he didn't remember knowing, or even know was old. If he had bothered to concentrate hard enough, he may or may not have conjured up visions of a handsome, darkhaired gypsy man carrying the tune in words he'd heard but would not understand. He was hesitant, however, on concentrating at all lately, after Russia, and spent most of his time in toddler bliss, with the kind of ignorance only very young child could muster.

The air rustled with promise. Promise of cold and adventure, invitation. Things that warmed the young child's heart.

It was all so very deceiving.

Less than five hundred feet away, nestled into the woods that outlined the property was a man that loved the night. It suited his purposes almost exclusively, and on this night, it was especially flattering. Not that he needed to be flattered. Gray was a shapeshifter. A poor one at that, as he could only turn to one form. Yet, for a horrible shapeshifter, he was rather disturbingly efficient as a mercenary.

Gray could turn invisible.

It was a curious set of circumstances -far too intricate to discuss here- that gave Gray the power of invisibility. Most technically, his shape was of a solitary pixie that was ridiculously fast, even as far as pixies go. So technically again, Gray's power wasn't exactly turning invisible. He could run fast enough to appear as he'd blinked away, or, even in other circumstances, vibrate his molecules fast enough to slip through walls. He made an incredible ghost on Halloween.

It was almost a shame that his power was invisibilty. Lithe and long, Gray reached well over the six foot mark when he was standing, and seemed to be built to slip in and out of shadows and move unnoticed. His skin was deceptively rosy, despite his almost nocturnal behavior. His hair was ink black and kept cropped reasonably short. He was neither handsome enough nor ugly enough to be noticed during the day, yet, somehow, at night, he was beautiful. In the most flattering shadows, any woman or man so inclined would have to stop and stare. Perhaps part of it was his eyes. Yellow in the day time, at night they edged towards an unearthly orange.

He was wearing a black hoodie and jeans. He much preferred something more dramatic. A suit, or a trenchcoat, but he required something a bit sneakier for the task at hand. Comfortable, and easy to move in, and the pocket had already proven useful for stashing a set of tools. From the sight of things, however, it didn't look like he was going to need them. The child was there. On the porch. Gray scowled and shoved his hands in his pockets. He still didn't feel quite right about kidnapping a toddler. Alas, he didn't have the time to argue, or the money. He'd been in a job drought recently, and, for a mercenary, there was nothing worse than a lack of jobs. It showed incompetence. As a result, when he'd been contracted by one of the biggest underground operations to kidnap a child for a hefty sum, he'd jumped on the chance.

Unfortunately, even four hundred thousand dollars hadn't quite eased his conscience. That was killing money, not kidnapping, kid or not. There had to be more to it than it seemed. And knowing his contact like he did, he likely was handing this kid off to a death sentence. Once he handed the kid over to him...well, Gray didn't like to think about it. Even he was a little scared of the being they called The Scientist.

But he didn't have time to be scared. He had a job to do. It was easy enough. Slip up to the porch. Grab the child. Disappear into the night. It was obvious why he'd been picked. He was perfect for the job.

He stretched his legs out lightly, first one, and then the other, while watching the child sit peacefully on the porch. If his presence was detected, no sign was shown.

Suddenly, he was there.

Mikhael gasped suddenly as the man materialized next to him on the porch. Startled into shock, he didn't scream, he didn't yell. He didn't fight back. And then suddenly, just as suddenly as Gray appeared, everything went black for the museling, and they were gone.

"Alright, get up then. It's time to move." Gray approached the muse on the couch. He'd finally fallen asleep around one or two a.m., sleepy eyes drooping in their determined pursuit of wakefulness. He was hardly even a child, after all. Taking a minute to survey him a bit closer, Gray noticed that the child was tiny. He'd already noticed that he was as light as a feather -no pun intended- when he'd carried him home, but the child fit neatly into the corner of the couch as well. He'd looked like such a normal toddler when he'd first seen him on the porch, bundled up in that too-big jacket, watching snowflakes fall, but laid out from his jacket on the couch, curled with those mangled wings sticking out like a child's popsicle stick and feather construction from his back, he seemed tiny. Like a baby bird that'd lost his mother.

Gray felt a hot stone settle in his stomach. He'd never been so unnerved by a particular assignment before. He usually thought of himself -or tried to at least- as relatively heartless. Unmovable, unshakable in his goals, whatever they might have been. But this child...even without saying a word, Gray was unnerved. Maybe it was that he was almost certainly bringing this child to the hands of a man who would ensure him a long and painful death.

Even Gray thought a child shouldn't have to go through that. But it was too late now, wasn't it? If he didn't hand the kid over, it'd be his own skin on the line. And Gray's rule number one, was always, always protect his own skin. What good was he if he wasn't alive?

Well, at least he could do himself a favor and leave the kid sleeping like this. It'd be easier on the both of them if he went quietly. Scooping Mikhael up carefully from the couch, he weaved smoothly between the furniture, with a dancer's grace, to snatch the small, crumpled yellow note with Spencer's current address on it. He'd only be there for the next two hours. It was risky otherwise.

Gray wasn't even entirely sure if he'd see Spencer himself, he mused, as he tucked a blanket over Mikhael -as much or more to hide the toddler's identity than to keep him warm in the bitter winter- it would likely be some underling. Few people had ever seen Spencer in person. Photographs, surely. Even those were rare, but reproductions circled around the underground. Everyone wanted to know what The Scientist looked like. Gray had seen a picture once or twice, and it was shocking. A cobbled together chimera of a man-creature, somehow retaining somewhat of a human-like grace and dignity, instead of resembling a slobbering monster. It was really quite fascinating -and chilling, really- to behold. He could only imagine what it would be like in person.

Living on the twenty-sixth floor a highrise had its advantages. Privacy, for one. Certainly, nobody'd be spying on him through his window. Also, it was very easy to know when someone was coming. Winding, narrow hallways, thin doors and good ears made listening one of his hobbies when he was feeling particularly paranoid. Even now, as he walked down the hall, stretching his legs out on his way to the elevator, he was nervous, eyes darting in every direction, ears perked. It was only when he was finally in the tiny steel cage of the elevator that he relaxed a bit.

Mikhael stirred a bit, quietly. Panicking, wanting to keep him asleep -he was infinitely easier to handle this way- Gray tried to remember how to put babies to sleep. Patting their backs, making soothing noises..it was only after he started pacing the elevator that Mikhael seemed to be lulled and settled.

He was quiet when they left the building. Quiet when Gray started his run through the woods. Quiet when they emerged into the city on the other side. Quiet as they ambled and steered through the back alleys of Gaia. Quiet, and blissfully asleep. Gray swallowed again as he squinted at the piece of paper crumpled in his fist, then at the graying number on the door to a back-alley warehouse. They were one and the same. He was there. Knocking softly, Gray bit his lip a bit. The boy in his arms began to stir again. This time, he let him. Was his right, he supposed, for him to get a little upset about the precedings that were about to take place. As Mikhael started to awaken, he gripped tighter onto Gray's sleeve, making it harder for Gray to knock again. But he didn't need to, as the door opened silently, a young, blond man, wearing a bloodstained apron peering around the wooden frame. The man looked innocent until he spotted Mikhael. The mere sight of the musechild turned his eyes beady, and a bit greedy, and he no longer looked like anything less than one of Spencer's underlings.

"Give the boy to me." The man reached out with one hand. Gray nearly startled, at the claw like apperatus on the end of the man's arm. It could barely be called a hand at all, except that it seemed to have the appropriate number of fingers, more or less. Gray drew back a little, and shook his head.

"Spencer there?" He intoned, hoping he sounded more casual than he felt.

"Yes, but...I will be sufficient for you. Give me the boy." The man's words were almost snakelike, the way he hissed them. It did nothing to put Gray's mind at ease. He shook his head again.

"No, thanks. This is a special parcel. I want to make sure he gets where he's going." He aimed hard, unmoveable eyes at the man. After a moment's pause, the man stepped aside.

"Very well. I suppose you may see him. He did say you might if you arrived successfully with the child." Gray pushed past him, making his way into the warehouse. It was dark except for a light seeping out from under a crack in a door in the back. He followed the light, assuming Spencer would be there. His footsteps grew heavier with each step towards the room, and the baby stirred and whimpered more, adding only to his discomfort. Did the child remember even in his dreams?

Opening the door quietly, he filled the whole warehouse with the bright flourescent light beaming from the small room and a horrible piercing shrieking sound. Gray had to cover his ears before he could open his eyes and see into the room. A large, huddled figure hunched over an operating table, working carefully with a scalpel on a small live bird, dissecting a wing with the utmost precision. The bird struggled against the bonds that held it to the table, and Gray shuddered with the juxtaposition. Suddenly, only adding to the confusion, the boy in his arms woke up. Tossing the blanket from his head, he looked around wildly, and started thrashing in Gray's arms, piercing cries only matching the bird's in volume. He knew where he was and what would happen. Gray struggled to hold him in his arms for a moment, but promptly forgot, when Spencer turned. The boy slid to the floor, but went unnoticed.

Hovering at ten-foot tall, Spencer filled the space in front of Gray, and made him weak to his knees. He was a terrifyingly cobbled together sort of being, made with neat but visible stitching, in all sorts of colors. Clad in a labcoat, Gray could only wonder what was under it to accompany the two horns and mane of tentacles protruding from half of his head. The left side of his face was stern, but oddly, humanoid, unlike the man's mechanical arm, or satyr's legs. He tried to concentrate there, although he'd already forgotten why he'd come, and could only think about leaving as fast as possible.

Spencer seemed to notice his internal dilemma without a word, and smiled, in a sickening way that only happened on half his face. The other side, the non-human side, stayed carefully passive, but not blank. It was as if he had two expressions a once. Gray watched with a sick fascination as his mechanical arm extended, grabbing Mikhael from his wingstraps easily from five foot away, where he was attempting to get his bearings and run away. The boy struggled like a baited fish in his grasp, but the man was unmovable.

"Thank you." Spencer's voice was surprisingly competent seeming. Like the scientist he was. Gray was surprised. It didn't however, do a thing to settle the spreading unease inside him. "You will be compensated well, as promised." Gray knew better than to ask if he was getting paid now or later. Spencer didn't seem the kind of man you asked questions from. Or had over for dinner. Unless you were dinner. Gray nodded, and tried to back up, back out, back...something out of the room. But he couldn't seem to move from the spot. He just stood, staring at Spencer, fixated on the man, even after he turned, seemingly wellused to the reaction.

Gray was ignored as Spencer moved the struggling toddler to the operating table. Still thrashing, Mikhael mewled and screamed with terror, oddly reaching out to Gray. The lesser of two evils, Gray thought in the back of his mind as he tried to will his feet to move. It was an odd sensation for one who was used to moving so quickly. Being in this kind of temporary stop. He could only watch, no longer do. He watched as Spencer tried to strap down the boy's arms. Having a fit of a trouble with his assistant out of the office, and, despite his strange appearance, only two arms, one of which slightly odd, if extendable.

Suddenly, there was a flash of blue light, and a struggle on the table. Spencer staggered back from the table, and Gray felt something thud against his leg and cling. He managed to look down, and he blinked. The child was clinging onto him, desperately, staring up at him with all of the hope in the world in his eyes, along with that strange blue glow he'd seen only moments before. Too bewildered to do anything else, Gray did what, at that moment, he seemed to know he had to do.

He scooped up that toddler and ran.

"I can't help with this."

Raife's eyes widened in shock as the five most unlikely words tripped from Alexi's lips.

"What? No, no, you're the best damn muse doctor there is! What do you mean you can't help? This is just like last time, and it's obvious that..." Raife's tone was unnaturally harsh. She didn't usually address anyone that way, let alone Alexi, whom she cared about deeply. She was stressed, and her baby hadn't slept a good night in weeks. It'd taken a couple weeks for Raife to get the plane to Russia, and both toddler and woman were cranky and stressed. All Mik wanted to do was sleep. When spoken to, he whined the word like a neverending mantra, word scrambled with his broken voice. But Raife knew what he wanted. All she wanted to do was sleep too. And it seemed, from Alexi's tone, that neither of them would be getting what they wanted today.

"Milaya." Alexi's tone was firm to catch Raife's attention. "I did not say that I did not know what was wrong. Or that there was no help. I just said that I can't help with this."

"What the damn hell's the difference??!" Raife spat, fighting to keep from grinding her teeth. She paced back and forth while Mikhael stared listlessly at a point just off Alexi's shoulder, his hands curled around his stomach fitfully. He had that same dreaded pit in his stomach as before, and his eyes really hurt. And he couldn't sleep, no, he didn't want to sleep, because the dreams and the pain would come back, and...

"Seep...pes..." Mikhael's attempts at voicing his want for sleep were getting more and more mumbled and incomprehensible. But Raife understood anyway. It was all he ever said anymore. 'Sleep, please.' Alexi's eyes were pained but patient, as Raife glared at him and gathered Mikhael up.

"There's a big difference, Milaya. Zeno or I will take him to the Muse Society. They will solve the problem. They deal with this sort of problem every day." His eyes furrowed a bit. "Well, they aren't usually accompanied by bad dreams. I think we have two separate problems here, but a trip to the muse society...either way...is good. Will be good, yes?" Alexi smiled a little. "Your little boy is growing as a muse." He tapped the top of Mikhael's head until the boy looked up and reached up with arms outstretched towards the large Russian man. He was rewarded with a great scoop in one arm. "I never had these problems, yes? Alexi is...a lost muse, like your Cray, yes?" Raife's stern expression softened a bit.

"Oh, Alexi....no wonder...I'd always wondered why a fine man like you didn't have an artist. You didn't seem to be the type that'd tempermentally opt out of it." She brushed Mikhael's hair out of his face, and the toddler buried his head in Alexi's chest.

"Yes...I think I would have made good muse." Alexi smiled wistfully, then shrugged. "What is, is. I am good at this. I enjoy it."

Raife nodded. "You are. So...muse society...how do I get there?" She craned her neck, relieved that there might actually be a solution after all.

"You don't. Humans are generally unwelcome." Alexi shrugged. "I do not mean to be rude, but that is how it is. I would not be allowed in if I was not respected as a muse doctor. Entrance is specified by power. The little one has it." He tilted his head. "It is tricky though. Perhaps we will not tell them that he is...himself. I think a number of people would like their hands on this little one. He will finely disguise himself as a Misplaced. I will arrange for the papers before hand."

"Misplaced?" Raife frowned. "What does that mean, misplaced? I mean, I can speculate, obviously, why the muses might want a closer look at him, but is that bad?"

Alexi had already turned away, his large bulk hunched over a tiny laptop near his couch. "It could be." The sound of slow and patient clicking filled what would have been an awkward silence. "The less people know he is who he is, better. Misplaced...means...loved." He tickled under Mikhael's chin, and smiled a bit, wryly. "Some muse couples arrange to keep their children when born. It is rare. Highly complicated. Very pricy."

"Money's no object." Raife interjected quickly. "I have...money. Plenty."

Alexi nodded. "So do I. Money is not the problem. Papers though...since we are not a muse couple...illegal. But, I am Alexi." The man beamed over at Raife, who couldn't help but smile back.

"Yes, you are. And I've come to learn that you can do just about anything."

Alexi chuckled at Raife's confidence in him. "I will make up wife..." As he continued to type competently, he peered into Mik's sleepy eyes with a fond smile. "We are both slavic. Good bone structure. It will pass."

"Couldn't I pretend to be your wife?" Raife tilted her head curiously, even though she probably already knew the answer.

"You do not have power. Not this kind. But you know that. Stubborn, milaya." Alexi chuckled a bit, dismissing Raife's question with a wave of his hand. A few papers spit out of the printer, and Alexi cradled them carefully in his hands, tucking them into a folder with Mikhael's name printed neatly on a white lable on the front.

"Next week. Mikhael and I will go." Raife frowned, about to object to another week without sleep, without Mikhael sleeping, but Alexi held a finger to her lips. "You will stay with me. I will help ease." He smiled confidently, and juggled Mikhael lightly in his arms. The boy's eyes were drooping again, but he refused to let them close.

---

Mikhael didn't know what to do. He was in Russia again. That part he didn't mind. The snow had thawed and he loved spending time with the large Russian man. But from the bits and pieces he'd understood from the conversation that Raife and Alexi had had, it sounded like this wasn't the end of the journey. And that the next part might be scary. What was Muse Society? He fluffed the blankets up around him, and tried to settle into a comfortable position. His head was still aching. The throbbing pounding distracted him from anything except the need for sleep, the one thing he wanted to be distracted from. He didn't want those dreams anymore. He was scared of the jumbled images of the man they called Spencer, and the people like himself, and everyone, everyone trying to get closer to him. They didn't feel warm, like how when Raife came closer, or Alexi or Trance came closer. They felt cold. Like they wanted something from him he didn't yet understand. In his dreams, their hands would turn into sharp talons, ready to rip him apart....he shuddered. He'd never sleep again, if that was what it took to keep those dreams away.

But where was he going next? Would it help? And what was Muse Society?

Mikhael stood at the precipice of the Regent's Park Tube Station in London, looking down. First there were stairs, and then there was dark, which, presumably, held more stairs. He was starting to understand that that was how the London Underground worked. They'd been taking it all afternoon. Sometimes Mikhael started to get suspicious that Alexi was taking him around in circles. Stalling him for something even. They'd gotten off their plane and gone straight to the Underground. Alexi had explained every stop they'd taken, and continued to patiently narrate their navigations. Mikhael remebered with perfect accuracy. There was nothing else to do but talk to Alexi and remember.

They'd taken the Piccadilly line from Heathrow to Glouchester Road. They'd gotten off and ridden the Circle line for what seemed like forever, finally changing lines...he'd fallen asleep there, he didn't know, but as he was waking, Alexi had patiently interjected that now they were on the Northern Line, which would take them to Piccadilly Circus. They'd stopped at the Circus for some time. It was dark and the lights were out and it was beautiful. Mikhael had never lived in a big city, and certainly not one of the biggest. He wasn't used to the grandeur.

They ate dinner. They went shopping. Alexi bought him a London t-shirt and they stopped to look at sights. Then the tube again. The Bakerloo line to Regent's Park. And there they were. Standing at the top of the station entrance, looking in.

Mikhael tilted his head up at Alexi. The man was hesitating a bit, as if preparing himself for something. Mikhael took a look up at him, then shrugged and started down the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time. The stairs were just a little steep, and as he passed into the first tunnel, he could see the beginnings of the tube gates, which looked just like any other gates. It was late now though. The man in the orange vest was pulling iron gates shut, and closing the tube. Mikhael looked up at Alexi and shrugged. What were they going to do now? The Underground was closing. Certainly Alexi didn't expect them to sleep there tonight. Alexi pressed on past him, signalling the man with the orange vest with a whistle. Mik frowned. The man looked like any other of any dozens of workers he'd seen that day.

Until he came closer.

The man in the orange vest stared Alexi down. He shook his head, and held up his hand, but Alexi raised his to match, holding up a small ID and looking exhausted.

"Come on, Delaney. You know me." The man in the orange vest, Delaney, chuckled at Alexi, who'd snapped at him.

"Awrigh', Lex. S'alright. Who'sa wee one then? Does 'e 'aveh cert-i-fi-cation?" Mikhael had never heard anyone speak English like that. At first, he wasn't sure it was English. He'd turned the words over in his head before he'd understood each one. Yep, definitely English.

"His name is Mikhael. No cert. You can check his eyes." Alexi smiled, while Delaney blinked curiously.

"'is eyes?" The man paused for a moment, scrutinizing Alexi. Alexi just smiled and shrugged and Delaney blinked in surprise. "'E's yourssen? Lookseh bit loik yeh. 'Cepteh eyes. Mus' be 'is mum's. Y'eh gettem Misplaced? Where's yer lady friend then? Sure loik tah takeeh lookit th'lass that can pin down our Lexi." Alexi shrugged.

"Working." That was a safe answer for any muse. All muses knew what that meant. And for Alexi in particular, it meant his 'wife' wasn't a Lost muse, and that explained Mikhael's Inspiration.

"Ah, well, tha's th'life. So wassi' abou'? Oh...wait, gottit..." Delaney took another look at Mikhael and smiled. "Hur's upper, donnit, lad?" Delaney tapped his head. "Anner." His tummy. Mikhael's eyes widened and he nodded vigorously. How did this man know? Delaney winked.

"Awrr...awright then, boy. Yap, I can practic'ly see it frommere, y'ar eyes 're so strainin'. Never seenit so strong inneh little one." Alexi smiled and thwapped Mikhael on the back. Thankfully, there weren't any stairs in front of him, or he would have gone tumbling down. Delaney grinned. "Proudeh th' boy, areya? Don't blameya. Well, common then, boys. Ya' knoweh drill. Th' firs' train out from the station. I'll seeya when you're done."

"Thank you, Del." Alexi smiled and lead Mikhael down into the station. It was much like the other ones, except the lights were almost all off, only a few dim railings of emergency lights on the side keeping the place lit.

The platform was like any other, but the train the rode up was not. It was newer, sleeker than the tube trains. It hardly made a sound as it slid into place along the tracks. Alexi urged Mikhael in. A bit skeptical, but trusting his friend, Mikhael quietly climbed into the train, as the doors slid shut with a click.

"It will be some time." Alexi spoke up softly, ruffling Mikhael's hair, and pointing to a long, plush seat. Certainly the seats were better in this train.

"You should rest."

Lying down on the seat, and curling up, Mikhael did just that.

"Look at the new kid."

"He's so tiny!"

"He looks like a girl."

"Maybe he is. Curtis just said his name was Misha."

"Hey new boy, are you a boy or a girl?"

Mikhael cringed away from the questions, and curled into himself a bit on his regulatory bunk bed. He ran his fingers over the comforter. It was soft and familiar feeling underneath his fingertips. It felt like home, even if it wasn't. There were little blue space ships all over it, and he didn't have a quilt like that at home.

The kids were all bigger than him. Nearly twice his size, some of them. And he'd figured out that his earlier statements were wrong. It wasn't better, fitting in.

In the human world, he was strange. People looked at him strangely because of his wings. Here, since everyone had wings...everyone was the same as him, they picked on his real faults. He sighed. He wanted to go home. Why had Alexi left him here?

"Hey, new boy, are you mute? Don't you talk, Misha?" Mikhael frowned. The other boys were older than he was, but they also talked so much more. In the hour he'd been there, alone, tucked on the bed, he'd already felt so different. He ran small fingers over the little scar on his neck, and looked down at his feet.

"Shut it, Darius. Have you ever considered maybe he CAN'T talk? You're making him feel bad! ...are you okay?"

Mikhael looked up into the smiling, sanguine scrubbed face of a cherubim blond boy, the edges of his hair curling up into a halo. There was something reassuring in the boy's face, and Mikhael found himself nodding. Maybe it was because the other boy seemed about the same age as Levi. Or maybe it was just the unconditional warmth on the boy's face. The muse's smile only grew wider.

"Good. My name is Nathaniel, but they all call me Sunshine around here. You're Misha, right?"

Mikhael nodded. Nathaniel nodded right back, with that same smile.

"Looks like Sunshine's got himself a new boyfriend..." At a lazy drawl from the doorway of the crowded hostel-like bedroom, both Mikhael and Nathaniel looked up. A dark haired waif of a boy, made of all sharp angles and an insolent stare was smirking over at the two of them. He was immaculately dressed, and everything about him radiated the exact opposite of Sunshine -in both respects. The new boy made his way around to Mikhael's bed, taking the young muse's face in his hand scrutinizing him. "Throw him back, Sunshine. He's far too tiny. He'll get eaten alive."

-SMACK-

Mikhael watched in awe as the boy's head went flying back as Sunshine connected his fist with his jaw.

"Learn to keep your mouth shut, Alan. Just because you've never been lonely or needed a friend doesn't mean that he doesn't."

The boy called Alan straightened himself, and dabbed at his lip. He wasn't bleeding. He looked mildly relieved.

-SMACK-

Then he hit Sunshine right back.

"Don't you ever put your filthy hands on me again, Nathaniel! I'll lay you out!"

As the two boys started arguing, Mikhael slid quietly from his bed and padded out of the bedroom. He followed the path out that they'd taken in, past the receptionist's desk, and into the library. Ducking behind a wall of books, he curled up and sighed in relief and pain. He wanted to go home.

"Hey kid, what are you doing here? What's wrong?" Mikhael looked up into another face. This one looked worried. Brown shaggy hair fell into a friendly enough looking face, but Mikhael shook his head, tucking it in between his legs. There was silence, then a moment later, Mikhael felt a hand on his back. "I know you. You must be the new boy. It'll be alright. It's scary for the Misplaced at first. But it'll be over before you know it. I promise." Mikhael looked up, and the man smiled.

"You should go back to the room." He winked. "I'll see you later, buddy."

As the sun rose crisply over the sky, Mikhael sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes. A small, shy smile spread over his face. His first nightmareless night in ages! He sat up and watched the dawning sky over his bed, as he pulled on the small pair of black slacks of his regulation uniform. Jumping on one leg to pull up the pantleg, he looked over at his sleeping roommates. There were about a dozen of them in the room, all curled up in various stages of wakefulness on their beds. Within an hour, the room would likely be abuzz with voices. A new day of school.

Because of his unique circumstances, Mikhael had been asked to get up a little earlier than the others. He'd have to work harder, and needed more time in the mornings. Buttoning up his crisp, white collared shirt, he realized he didn't know where he should go for class. He'd forgotten to ask anyone the day before. As he slipped on the sleek black loafers, he hazarded a glance towards the door he hadn't been through yet, a heavy oak door with a wing engraved on it. He supposed that was his choice. He looked at the tie laid neatly over the edge of his bed. He had absolutely no clue how to affix it to him, but snatching it up, he brought it with him as he left the room through the oaken door.

The door opened up into an empty room full of books and desks. A scaled down version of the library he'd been in earlier. The desks were still elegant and chestnut colored, and immaculately kept. Mikhael ran his hand across the top of one, and leant against it, looking around the room. Raife had told him he wasn't old enough for school yet, but...here he was. This is exactly what it looked like in his picture books. He settled down onto one the stools behind a desk, and lifted the cover to peek in the compartment underneath. Unlike the desk top, inside there was evidence of a young boy. A half chewed pencil, a comic book rolled up haphazardly. He smiled.

Mikhael was so entranced in the nuances of a school desk that he didn't notice the quiet footsteps entering the room.

"Mikhael Spivak, I've heard a lot about you." Mikhael jerked up at the voice and the use of his real name. A pit of dread boiled in his stomach, as he looked into the face of the shaggy haired man that'd found him in the library the day before. The man was dressed in a similar outfit to Mikhael's own, and he had a ready smile. He drew the tie from Mikhael's fingers and gently started to loop it around Mikhael's neck. "Don't worry." He smiled. "I won't hurt you. I'm a good friend of Alexi's and my name is Ashburn. I'm also a teacher here, and I'm here to help you pull this off. To be Misha for three weeks instead of Mikhael. And to fix what's going on up here." He tapped Mikhael's forehead with a free hand. "What do you know about Inspiration, young Mikhael?"

Mikhael frowned, as the man called Ashburn pulled a chair up next to him. He'd certainly heard the word Inspiration before. He knew it had something to do with what was inside him. He tapped his eyes to demonstrate. "Here."

Ashburn's eyebrow lifted fractionally, surprised to hear Mikhael talk. "Yes, you're feeling it there. Inspiration is the gift of the Gods to all muses. It ties the world of humans together with the world of Muses. It lets them create. Become something beautiful. It's a balancing scale between the two races. Otherwise, we would be far superior beings."

Mikhael frowned. He wasn't really getting this. What he did understand was that there was something inside him that needed to get out. "Help?"

Ashburn smiled. "Yes. I'm here to help with that. Close your eyes, then open them again." Mikhael did as the man asked, and was surprised to find the man's hand only an inch from his face, ready to flick between his eyes. Mikhael flinched and he felt the pressure behind his eyes darken for a second. Ashburn nodded, taking in the exchange. "Ah, so you felt that. Good. For you, it's still what we call the Flight or Fight response. Your body summons inspiration when you're threatened. For most muses, it's merely a cosmetic gesture. Their eyes glow, and they look impressive. Like peacocks. But for you, it seems to be a little stronger. Incapacitating, even. You'll have to learn a bit of refinement in dealing with such matters." He smiled wider. "Nothin' wrong with being a little boy. Don't mean to mature you. But this is something else entirely. It's like learning the piano at a young age. Or ballet. It's best to learn when you're young and impressionable. Especially since the headaches start when you can't get it out properly."

Mikhael rubbed his forehead reflexively. Talking about the pain brought it forward in his mind.

"A little help and a few morning exercises should keep the Inspiration safe. First, the help. This is why Alexi had to bring you here." Ashburn brought his hands down to Mikhael's eye level, and closed them into fists, then opened them again, revealing a softly glowing purple swirl of mist around them. "That's my Inspiration. We'll use it to tap out yours." He pressed his fingers to Mikhael's temple, and with a familiar woosh, and an unfamiliar taste of purple, the feeling was gone. It was replaced by a pleasant flowy feeling. Calming, a contrast to the throbbing that'd been there before. Mikhael breathed a sigh of relief.

"That's a might better, isn't it, boy?" Ashburn smiled as Mikhael nodded, pressing his fingers to his head as if to reassure himself that it was still there. "Now let's get started on those exercises."

The next three weeks passed by in a blur for Mikhael. Ashburn taught him both mental exercises and physical exercises to help harness the power. Slow Tai Chi movements taught him control and relaxation. Logic puzzles taught him to think through his anger. The older boys taught him tricks and gave him friendships that were so rare at home.

The night before he left, Mikhael sat crosslegged on the bed with Sunshine. The two of them had become fast friends over the time he was there. The boy was different from anything at home. So sunny and so optimistic and so pure. Mikhael felt safe with him. He'd be sad to leave, but Sunshine promised he'd write.

"I can't believe you're going home tomorrow. Usually we all grow up together and stuff..and..I would have liked to grow up together. We'd have been good friends." Sunshine looked sad. "Hey. Can I ask you something?"

Mikhael nodded without hesitation at the boy.

"What..." Sunshine looked uncharacteristically nervous. Hesitant. But he continued. "What happened to your wings? Those aren't your wings." He pointed shakily at Mikhael's back. "I know what real wings look like."

Mikhael shut his eyes, with a pained look. Sunshine recoiled nervously.

"God, I'm sorry, no, if it's bad, you don't have to..." Mikhael reached out and put a hand on Sunshine's shoulder. He unsnapped the straps across his chest, and let the fake wings fall. The crooked, damaged wings sprung limply free. Sunshine gasped and bit his lip. "Misha..." He curled his own wings back behind him in consolation.

"A bad man....hurt me." Mikhael frowned. He wanted to explain more, but even the sparse words were hard on his throat. Sunshine wrapped him in a hug. Mikhael stiffened then relaxed.

"Well, it's all over now, isn't it?" He smiled, and Mikhael nodded, but he wasn't really certain. His past tended to catch up with him at the oddest times. Sunshine smiled. "Good. You deserve a bit of happiness. Now I got to get some shut eye. Unlike some people, I've got school tomorrow." He grinned and climbed into the upper bunk above Mikhael's.

"G'night, Misha."
"Nigh' Sunshine."