Blu: Ello!

Hustino: WOO!

Blu: welcome to the prologue to our fic! Tis our first joint fic between Hustino-kun and I and we're really excited!

Hustino: ...WOO!

Blu: ...sooooo, without ferther adu or w/e, we bring you...the fic...yeah

Hustino: You may recognize us as El Hustino and Luna-Kitsue-Blu, and for good reason. We're them!

Blu: Woo!

Hustino: Yeah, very boring author's note. Let's get to the story before people think this is a script-fic.

Blu: Wait! We still need to warn you, since this is a completely co-authored fic, the chapters are going to be short because tis really hard to keep a story going in something as constristing as an IM box. ...okay, NOW you can go read

Hustino: talk, talk, talk

Blu: -kicks-

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Are You Running, Child?

Prologue

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This night was somber in Termina; rain pouring from the heavens, as if tears from the eyes of the moon that loomed over the world. Tonight, the clouds blocked the view of the ever-watching celestial body, depriving the deranged mound of rock and ore of the spectacle that had began to play out under its watch. It had been watching him, he who was now running--well, stumbling--aimlessly through the downpour, blind from both the lack of light and the abundance of fear.

He slowly made his way into the entrance of Northern Clocktown, stumbling over his own feet as he did so, as if he had yet in his life to walk with his legs. Groaning, he stood in the shelter of the archway of the Clocktown wall, leaning against the side of the archway. The rainfall was too great and the wind too strong, for even underneath the shelter he was pelted by the water and the occasional crystal of hail. Attempting to grasp the memory of who and where he was and more importantly, what he had been doing that lead him into his present situation.

He remembered two tufts of light circling another shadowed, masked figure, the entire trio laughing down at him. Deciding that they were long gone and that he had much more to worry about in his present situation, he decided to revaluate the importance of each question. Getting home was also a priority, he decided.

Looking around in the dark, he attempted to discern where exactly he lead himself to. Between the flashes of lightning he could make out the objects that made up the scene of North Clocktown. At least no one was liable to see him here; he could only imagine how garish he looked in his clothes, stained, muddied, and...oversized? The sleeves of his shirt dangled far past his hands, which was fairly unusual.

Another tidbit he found interesting: the archway of the wall seemed much larger than he remembered it. Shrugging it off, he decided it had more to do with the fact that he rarely came to North Clocktown and chalked it up to the fact that the archway was, for some reason, larger than the other three in town. Having caught his breath, he took a step out from underneath the archway and immediately found himself intimate with the ground. The step down from the archway was much higher than he thought, which was why he had lost his footing.

Laying there for a few moments--or minutes? he couldn't tell, much less care--he dragged himself up, panting and exhausted, attempting to restart his quest. After a few steps onto the grassy lawn surrounding the tree and children's' slide, the mud out from beneath his foot gave out, sending him, once again, into an intimate snog with the ground. Letting out a roar, he pounded his fists into the earth with what little energy he could muster.

"Tehehe, how typical of a child, throwing a tantrum. One would believe that some part of the spirit from before had been carried over, but I suppose this must have been more of an impressive curse than I originally thought. Or...hehe, was this how the child acted before the incident? Tehe! Very amusing indeed, Child."

"Child?" Spitting the soil and water that had managed to get into his mouth out, he said, "Who are you, you nut-job?" He might be afraid, he might have been exhausted, he might be stressed and confused beyond all belief, but he was positive that he was definitely not some kid.

"Oho! Hehe, after carrying my mask around for so long, the child has gained a bit from it. Seeing me without my icon, it takes quite a special someone, I must say. Hehe! Oh, I do believe I like you, Child."

"Quit," he wiped his mouth another time in a futile attempt to get rid of the taste of soil, "calling me a child, you old fool!" He pushed himself up with his elbows to see whatever that was addressing him. His jaw fell open.

The grinning face of a Keaton, in all its three tailed glory, stared back down at him, its head cocked inquisitively to the side. "Oho! Hehe," it laughed merrily, somehow finding his whole dilemma quite amusing, "that is what you are, aren't you? A child?"

He felt his face become red at that comment. "I most certainly am not!" he barked, forgetting the awe he had been a moment ago. Mystical creature or no, no one got away with calling him a child anymore. That was over years ago. "I'll have you know I'm going to be married!"

"Oho," it chucked. "Are you now? Not even tall enough to kiss your bride? Hehe!"

"I'm taller than she is!"

"Hehe," it laughed. "Oho!"

He let out another frustrated groan and pushed himself back up to his feet, his feet digging deeper into the muck. Although he knew he had brought himself to full height, the tip of his head barely met the creature's chest. He ignored this and instead raised his fist to shake in the fox's face.

"And what do you find so funny about this?" he asked, his teeth gritted and bared. He attempted to take a step closer to the Keaton, but his shoe had become lodged into the muck. His foot flew effortlessly out of his usually snug shoe and once again he stumbled. The mystical Keaton threw back its head and let out a roar of laughter, still quite amused.

He did not get back up, half of his face buried in the soft, wet soil. In his hands he gripped a clump of grass as the rain continued to pelt down around him. His head had begun to pound again. He closed his eyes, wishing silently to the goddess of time that he could just wake up in his room as he had earlier that morning to find this living nightmare to be a dream.

The laughter from the Keaton slowly died away into inward chuckles around him. Suddenly, he felt something grab the back of his shirt and pull him out of the muck he had surrounded himself with. It was the Keaton. It set him down gently back onto his own two feet before giving him a playful smile.

"Tehehe, I do quite like you, Child." It laughed again when he began to frown as he had before at being referred to as such. "Yes, yes, I know how old you are, Child, but you forget how old I am, hehe! Silly Child, fun Child!" The creature giggled as it wiped his dirty and slightly torn clothes with its long, flowing tails.

"My kind are far older than humans, oh yes, tehe," it went on, raising a golden paw to motion around its point with. "Far older than any human alive. You are all children. Oh yes, tehe." It looked down at him again, smiling as it had. "But you are a special case, child. Oh yes, quite special indeed, oho, hehe!"

"Right. Anyways, I'm going to go wander aimlessly in a uncoordinated stupor until I awaken from this obviously alcohol-induced dream," he replied to the grinning fox as he collected his shoe and attempted to fit it back onto his foot, which, for whatever reason, was far too small for the shoe. Asleep or awake, he knew that alcohol--most likely large amounts of it--must have come into play at some point in the night to lead to this. Hallucinating talking Keatons and wandering around North Clocktown for no reason--that just wasn't normal.

"Oho, has the child grown tired of our game?" he continued plodding through the mud and grass as the spirit fox gleefully called out to him, "Perhaps I did, in fact, underestimate him--that Imp did quite a number on you, did he not, Child? Hehehe, yes, quite a problem."

He froze at the mention of the Imp. The shadowed figure, the one with the mask that sent chills down his spine, the one with the...fairies. It had been the Imp, the Skull Kid. The memories he had of the night hit him and he realized that the creepy little monster, the normally mischievous, but hardly dangerous Imp, had threatened him, but something about it seem out of character for the tiny trouble maker; the thing did not make threats and never was the Imp ever that...frightening. As if it was something else entirely--a monster in the Skull Kid's body. He remembered...

"Ha, what do you know about love, freak?" he had said, "You're alone, no friends, nothing. Don't come to me spouting nonsense about me not knowing what love is. I'm getting married, for Goddesses' sakes!"

He had felt that Imp glare at him through that tainted, horrible mask that he wore, swearing, "If you know so much of love and have so much of it, then you wouldn't mind losing some of it, would you? You think, because you're some 'adult', you believe that love is second nature to you? What if you lose it?"

Now he wished that he was drunk. Anything to forget that incident, the glare upon the face that he could only see in his imagination. The threat made by that troublesome Imp dripped with sincerity of the vilest intent and, despite how the Skull Kid normally whined and played simple, annoying tricks, he couldn't ignore the danger implied by the threat, along with the fact that he somehow had been hurt afterwards, causing him to be somewhat...well, rather, very disoriented.

"Hehe, will you run, Child? The damage has been done!" The fox called out as he ran away, rushing through the entrance connecting North Clocktown with the eastern section. "You cannot run from yourself, Child! Hehehe! We shall meet again, I am sure. This was fun, hoho."

He would go home, he decided; he would go lay down in his bed and awake the next day to find this all--the Keaton, the Imp and his fairies--to all be a horrid, horrid dream. His shoes pounded on the wet pavement as he rushed towards his home, water shooting up in his steps. His shoes were suddenly so large and clunky, making it far too difficult to run in. For the third time that night, he slipped.

The stone street rushed up to greet him as he took his unexpected fall. His left knee scraped along as he continued to slide, blood mixing with the rain as it feel mercilessly down upon him. He cried out in pain as he ducked into a roll. Clutching his knee, he skid to a stop, unwilling to move any further. He bit his lip, trying to keep the foreign tears which had suddenly come to his eyes at bay. He would not cry; he refused to cry.

Sucking in a pained breath, he rolled onto his stomach and slowly pushed himself up with his arms, both of which had also been slightly skinned. As he sat there, breathing heavily out of fear and confusion, exhaustion and pain, his eyes caught his reflection in the puddle he was leaning over. Although it was distorted and murky from the dirt and blood that slowly dripped from his body, it was clear enough to make its point across. He let out a scream.

The Keaton had been right about one thing. He was quite a child now.