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 Posted: Wed Jan 18, 2012 11:06 pm
He found the letters early on a weekday afternoon.
When he had awoken and discovered he had cleanup duty starting in the old dormitories, Gale had not anticipated having any sort of fun whatsoever. Regardless of the fact that he had lost his difficultly attained promotion due to Caelius being...well...Caelius, and would have to re-earn the privilege of being an Intermediate Trainee, Gale was not exactly looking forward to having to spend several hours of his day rummaging through old boxes that had not been touched in years.
He slouched into the room around midday with a rather disgruntled expression on his face, resigned to his fate. Fortunately, there was no one else around - all that had happened when Gale had asked one of the upper division hunters where he was to start was that he had gotten a grunted reply, a point in the right direction, and the vague instructions of "just pick one and start."
The room he had chosen - at random, as he had passed by it - was a small one, clearly out of use, and had not been lived in for several years. The dust was thick along the edges of the wall and over the top of the small, simple dresser. It should have been empty, but it looked as though the room had been pushed into being an impromptu storage space of sorts. There were various boxes stacked here and there, three or four high, heaps of old, torn coats tossed haphazardly over the bed, and there were crates of old files piled on the desk like someone had tossed them there carelessly one day and had forgotten about them.
Gale wrinkled his nose. He did not even want to know what the state of the closet looked like.
With a small sigh, he pushed his sleeves up and stood in the center of the room with his hands on his hips, surveying the situation. He had closed the door to allow for some much needed privacy - the last thing he wanted was for some other hunter to come barging in wanting to know what he was doing - or worse, someone who just wanted to talk.
And talking was the last thing Gale wanted to do right now.
Frowning resolutely, he decided to start with the heap of old, decrepit looking coats that were piled unceremoniously on the bed. It was still neatly made, the sheets only slightly wrinkled after all these years, but it looked stiff and uncomfortable, the pillow flat. Picking up one of the coats, Gale held back a sneeze - barely - as a thick cloud of dust erupted up into the air, wafting towards him. He hastily folded it and set it aside, already moving towards the next one.
Then he wished he hadn't, since this one was stained an ugly, blackish color that looked as though it might have once been blood.
Turning away for a brief moment, Gale inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for just a moment. When he had managed to keep himself from ralphing all over the dirty grey floor of the room, he carefully folded the coat and tucked it aside. Let the cleaning crew worry about throwing it out - he was not here to decide what to do with that sort of thing, and for now he would just keep the clothes all in one area and figure things out once he was done.
He worked steadily for a good three quarters of an hour on the coats, until they were all stacked up and placed into one of the empty, dilapidated cardboard boxes that Gale had found thrown carelessly around the room. After that he made his way clockwise through the things - a box of books with yellowed, cracked pages that were very nearly unreadable (Gale had flipped through a few of them, curious to see if they were anything like the ones he and the male hunters had found, but to no avail) - as well as a box of what might have been notebooks once upon a time, but were so faded that the words had bled into one another, making it difficult to discern what they said. Not only that, but something had clearly spilled on them - hopefully water - which made all of it rather useless.
It was in a small, wooden box, tucked subtly and inconspicuously beneath the creaking, dusty bed that Gale found something...different.
He discovered it quite by accident; a skitter of his foot when he'd accidentally stepped on a stray piece of paper that had fluttered out of a box and landed on the smooth, carpeted floor. Floundering rather idiotically, Gale had staggered and stumbled onto the floor, banging his knee rather painfully in the process. When this was followed by several rather uncouth swear words, Gale had turned his head and found himself staring at a small, neat little box pushed so far beneath the bed that it was against the opposite wall.
Grumbling, he reached in, straining to reach it, and finally pulled it out, coughing as it dispelled a rather impressive layer of dust into the air. Kneeling on the floor, Gale frowned. It did not look like anything impressive - in fact, it was a rather dull box, nothing ornate, with several dirt marks smeared across the top and a few scratches marring the wood, making it really a rather ugly little box.
It did not look important, but he opened it anyway, curious in spite of himself.
Dozens of envelopes spilled out - all of them ripped open, none of them stamped, and Gale had to scramble around to make sure they didn't disappear back into the mess of boxes, bags, and bins that surrounded him on all sides. Frowning a bit, he reached for the nearest one, pulling a sheet of lined, yellowed paper from it.
They were letters.
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Posted: Wed Jan 18, 2012 11:32 pm
The first one was dated September 30th, 1990.Quote: Dear K,
It's not so bad here. I thought it might be different, and I thought I would dislike it, but it's actually rather nice. I mean, the Division Heads are as crazy as ever, and there's the general lack of anything to do other than train or do missions, but for the most part it's relatively interesting. I've been able to keep up with the work, at least - we haven't done very much, difficulty wise. A few reconnaissance missions here and there, and the other day a hunter was attacked while on a routine mission in Boston, but he's all right. Nothing serious.
It's weird, though - it's hard to keep track of the days in here, since I almost feel as though we're on a different method of measuring time - which is ridiculous, but when you know you're spending the rest of your life in the same place, it becomes difficult to distinguish between what one day is versus the next. Sometimes I wake up and I wonder why I chose this path, wonder what it was that made me pick the direction I am going in.
Because there's no turning back from this - I will be here forever. That much is a given.
There is a lot of information here...and there's not. I know that sounds like a contradiction, but the leaders here have...issues...with giving out the proper information for completing our missions, and it depends on who's briefing us, but sometimes they don't tell us everything beforehand and we have to figure it out for ourselves while we're actually on the damn mission. Annoying, but what can you do about it?
I miss you, you know - and don't tell me that sounds gay, because I keep reminding you that there's nothing wrong with missing another guy. Besides, you've been my best friend since we were six, so don't you start on that bullshit again. Get over it already, man. It's not like anyone even cares, especially considering that you're pretty much like a brother to me more than anything.
...I can almost hear you telling me "that's girly and mushy, dude" in my head. Well, excuuuuse me, K, but I'm only telling the truth.
Anyway, I have to run now - I'm meeting with the head of my division in an hour to discuss my future here at Deus Ex Machina, and I still have to shower and get dressed before I actually go out - gotta make a good impression, you know?
Take care of Mom and Dad for me - and don't let Liza do anything stupid,
- Warden
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Posted: Wed Jan 18, 2012 11:50 pm
The second one was dated November 29th, 1990.Quote: Dear K,
I hate it here.
I haven't had time to write you because I've been so focused on training and the missions. They give them to us in rapidfire succession, like bullets being fired, and sometimes it's much to difficult to keep up with the pace. I'm constantly going from one thing to another, without hardly a week's break, and I feel as though I hardly have time to breathe, let alone have five minutes to myself.
It's dark here, K. So very dark. Not in terms of actual light, from the sun, but more like dark feeling. Sometimes I don't know if the choice I made was the right one. Sometimes I think I should have just stayed at home instead of seizing this opportunity, that I should have just let myself go through life hiding what I've seen and pretending that I'm normal.
Because that's what we're supposed to be, isn't it? Normal?
What a pathetic term. What a horribly, laughably, pathetic term.
What does "normal" even mean, anymore? Is it "normal" that I work as a Hunter on a secluded island in the middle of an ocean, surrounded on all sides by nothing but sea, helping to exterminate horrible creatures from a place known as Halloween Town? Is it "normal" that I spend my days training, keeping myself prepared for the chance that I might have one last mission that I won't return from?
I'm nineteen years old, and I won't ever get to see my parents, my siblings, my family, my friends, ever again.
How is this even fair? Oh, I know, don't remind me - I chose this path. I was the one who said yes, I was the one who was tired of the constant torture that was school, I was the one who, when given the chance, reached out a hand and opened a new door. "You could have said no," says everyone. "You could have walked away and gone on with your life as normal," they say.
The truth is - no I couldn't. Even if I said no, I still wouldn't have been able to live a damn normal life.
Because there's no such thing.
There is no such thing as being "normal."
Do you remember how we used to break into your dad's liquor cabinet and watch movies in his study and sit with our feet up on his desk and how he'd come home and yell at us for a few minutes and then would wind up joining us and asking us to pass the booze?
Yeah, I do too. And all those days I thought I hated life is nothing compared to what it's like here.
Here's to hoping you're having a better life than I am.
- Warden
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Posted: Sun Mar 25, 2012 9:07 am
A week or so after The Second Incident and Gale Gentry was back in the room with the letters.
He did not know why he was here. It was not as if these people - this Warden, whoever he was, could help him. Judging by the state of the room, by the thick layers of dust across the shelves and the floor, the way everything was piled haphazardly into dull cardboard boxes, this Warden was not someone who lived here anymore.
And there was only one way out of being a Hunter.
Standing in the front of the room, his hand still resting on the knob of the closed door, Gale let his eyes sweep across the achingly familiar bedroom once more. It looked remarkably similar to his own - the same four white walls, barren of any color; the same flat, square bed, simple and undecorated, the same small, hardly used closet that had only a few things still hanging in it, as though whoever was supposed to have cleaned it out years earlier had forgotten. The person who had lived here obviously had not kept very many personal items.
Gale did not even know Warden's last name.
On the very plain, brown wood desk, a small sheet of yellowed paper lay, half covered by a stack of dusty books. Gale stepped over a box that looked as though it might have had more clothes in it, and carefully inched the paper out, not wanting to rip it. He blew on it, expelling dust everywhere, and squinted at the blurry, slightly smeared letters written in a neat, block print across the top:Quote: NAME: Warden Victors
AGE: 29
DIVISION: Sun.
...
...
Well, that answers that question, thought Gale tiredly, and set the paper back down, moving through the maze of boxes to take a seat on the bed. It squeaked beneath him, the wood creaking as though it had not been touched for quite some time. His fingers smoothed across the stiff, wrinkled blankets, Gale closing his eyes and exhaling slowly.
"Oh hey! There's a Death Hunter and he's not busy!"
"...I'll throw in a good commendation for you too okay? Please?"
"We're already late for take-off, I promise I will do the necessary paperwork for this when we're back, we have a tight schedule to keep after all, as you mentioned sir."
"Small hint: don't stay for Caelius's full conversation, just take the basics and run for your life...okay, maybe not such a good idea for trainees, but as a full-fledged Hunter, you'll realize his bark is worse than his bite, especially as it takes a lot more paperwork to actually punish another Hunter."
"Anyway once you sit in, ask away, I never did catch your name. It's gonna be a long ride anyway, might as well get cozy."
"Kid - don't underestimate us Death Hunters. This is what we specialize in. We'll be in and out within the hour, tops."
Liar, thought Gale, and flinched slightly, sighing. Now, more than ever, he kept hearing those words in his head, kept seeing that flash of red hair, the look of resignation in those eyes. He still saw the horribly still body of a man, floating face down in the water of a horseman lair, a slightly rueful, understanding expression on a pale, pained face...
He didn't want to think about it. Thinking about it hurt, and thinking about that hurt just made Gale all the more angry at himself, all the more frustrated. It shouldn't have hurt this much, not with people he didn't even know, had not known for longer than a few hours - or a few weeks, in one case.
He hated this.
Maybe if I were older, I'd understand better, thought Gale, and leaned back against the wall. The pile of letters he had found on his last visit was sitting beside him on the bed, in the exact same place he had left them before. No one had been in here since he had, over a month, and Gale found himself reaching for them again, his fingers brushing over the aged and yellowed paper.
But this is what I chose, came the unwanted thoughts, barraging his mind with self-doubt and self-pity. They were always a constant, it seemed, always filling his every word with a sense of uncertainty and despondency that was unbecoming, even to himself. He disliked being so utterly useless - his fight with Rep had only served not only as yet another loss, but also as a constant reminder that he was still lacking in the most basic of skills - self defense and control.
He did not want to be defenseless. His entire life was on the defensive, putting up one wall after another, not daring to get close to anyone, not wanting to get close to anyone.
Because this is what happens when you do.
Tiredly, Gale turned his head, looking once more at the letters beside him. His fingers closed around one and quietly he pulled it towards him, gently pulled it out of the envelope, and began to read.
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Posted: Tue Oct 02, 2012 3:57 pm
Several months, a couple of dusty and debris strewn-rooms, and a few solid hours spent digging, and he had finally found what he was looking for.
In the wake of Deus Ex Machina being destroyed by the Insanity phoenix, Gale had not been so concerned with his own house and his own room being rebuilt that he had not even stopped to consider the room he had once found so long ago. It had been an empty room, hardly touched since its occupant had..."resigned" from it several years prior.
It was only after the whole incident with the weapons being humanified for several hours and his conversation with Mei and Bul that Gale remembered.
The room of Warden Victors was one of the few that had not been rebuilt, considering that no one lived there anymore and the resources were being put to better use elsewhere. It was buried beneath splintered and cracked wood, crumbles of drywall, torn fabric, and everything was covered in a layer of dust and drywall, giving everything a very white and old look.
Gale, dressed not in his uniform, but instead a pair of sweatpants and a teeshirt, pushed aside a few bars of wood, shoving them out of his way and stepping into the room. He wasn't sure whether or not he would be able to find the letters anymore, considering the state of everything here, but there was a part of him that nagged for it, wanted to understand what had happened to the man who had once been here.
For weeks Gale had been sinking into a deeper and deeper depression, it seemed. There were several reasons for this, none of which Gale had any intentions of bringing up for various purposes (the first and foremost of these being that he had a rather unhealthy habit of keeping everything built up inside of him). Jinhai, although still unable to talk much about his experience in the golem without getting frustrated, had tried bringing up this problem several times, only to have Gale shut him down immediately and move onto a different subject. Every conversation that started with Gale, I was thinking or Gale, I was wondering if you felt was pushed aside and dismissed. Not that Gale could do much to stop Jinhai from talking (after all, he did not have a body to push or a mouth for him to clamp a hand over), but out of a strange sort of respect for him, when asked, Jinhai would lapse into silence. Gale suspected it was because the dragon's own thoughts were as convoluted and twisted as his own.
What a pair they made.
Warden Victors' room took several hours to peruse. The letters, which Gale had last left on the desk, were no longer there when he arrived. He had expected they would not be, but it did not stop him from feeling slightly disgruntled about the fact that he would have to search for them now, after having spent quite a while cleaning up the room in general.
Damn fog phoenixes.
The letters, when he finally discovered them, were tucked beneath a large wooden dresser that had toppled over and lay on its side, its drawers askew, the contents of which were spilling out haphazardly over the floor. There were old, dusty clothes, a few mismatched socks, some yellowed paper with illegible writing on it (not unlike Gale's own), and finally the letters, bound by a thin rubber band which Gale had slipped on during his previous visit to keep them together. A sense of relief washed over him; they had not gotten destroyed with some of the other things, and he brushed some of the dust and splintered glass from the front of the top envelope, wincing a little as he got back to his feet.
<< Why are you so interested in this man? >>
Jinhai, who had been silent for the better part of two hours, was quiet inside of his head. Gale was still looking down at the letters in one of his hands.
"...I don't know," he said finally, and straightened, tucking the letters into one of his pockets and climbing over a toppled chair to reach the doorway. He stumbled over a stack of spilled clothing and grabbed the door frame to keep from falling entirely over.
"I just...I want to know what he was like...you know?"
Jinhai was silent for several long moments as Gale attempted to extricate his foot from the pile of clothing (the sleeve of a teeshirt had wrapped itself around his ankle). Then -
<< Yeah. I do know. >>
The expression on Gale's face softened. He yanked his leg free and staggered several steps, falling out of the door to the room and skittering to a stop. He stood there for a minute, gathering his breath, and then reached out a hand, his fingers closing over the doorknob.
"...let's go read them, Ginny."
<< Yeah. >>
Gale exhaled slowly, closed his eyes briefly, and shook his head. His fingers tugged the doorknob as he began to walk away, down the hall, and the door to Room 313, belonging to Warden Victors, clicked quietly shut behind him.
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