Summary: Jack Vessalius had been described as someone with undeveloped individuality. Water. If he found himself earlier than meeting someone who was destined to die, how could everything have played out? OCs. NOT OC-centric.

Author's notes: Things have been a lot hectic lately—clearances, graduation and ugh, college— and I haven't really had time to write anything, but here it is! Oh and Oswald and Glen wouldn't be making any appearances soon. Two or three chapters later I suppose.

Pairings: Remember. This is Gen.

Rating: Teen, T

Warnings: Slavery. Cursing. OCs. OOCness. Abuse of creative liberties.

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Chapter Three

A Prelusive Ritornello

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The eventide had been cold but Jack couldn't stay in his admittedly straw-like bed and wrap himself in warm blankets. The search for The Baskerville lady had ended on a pleasant if not rushed note. He had attempted to go home to eat but finding his house in ruins wasn't something he would have expected. There was nowhere to go home to now. The house that his mother had so painstakingly saved up for was nothing more than a bunch of wood. Some burnt, some cracked, some broken, but—he thought with finality—plainly gone. Thankfully, he hadn't left anything of great value in it, most of his mother's jewelries had been placed in a duffle bag that looked worse for wear and the money in the same bag, but in a purse that had a little embroidery. If he sold the jewels, he could probably not starve for a month or two. He smartly went to a place where he only knew—and although a bit of paranoia told him that it could be found by somebody in coincidence, he knew that only scavenger dealt with those and even they went out of the way of that certain place, it was rumored cursed after all—and buried the jewels, leaving him with only a few coins that would last for a day or two. He was alone. Again. But it was nothing new.

He wondered what happened though. It wasn't rare for accidents to happen—he just didn't expect it to happen to him. He wasn't as vain as to believe that nothing bad can ever happen to him because ever since he was born tragedies upon tragedies piled up on his ever lengthening list of misfortune.

He strolled around the alleys aimlessly, sometimes looking through empty buildings—there were plenty of those here—but the windows were shattered and it was too cold to sleep without anything to wrap himself around in. The people of Sabrie said that the whole Southern District was previously a very bustling marketplace that heralded nobles from everywhere else. There was one problem though. The Duke in charge of the District was least to say, irresponsible. Crime rates skyrocketed due to the massive and uncalled for raises in tax and the nobles who stayed had found the place distasteful. It didn't take long for the district to be deserted and claimed by squatters.

Jack had heard about some sort of mass murder in L'Renouille that was big enough news that it managed to travel through Cities. He figured that that was the reason why Dia hadn't visited again after her second and he didn't begrudge her for it. She had her responsibilities and even if they were already friends, it didn't mean that he could monopolize another's time that selfishly. He had compiled a trunkful of books—which wasn't kept in the house, thankfully sine his mother didn't tolerate such literacy from her son (she hadn't studied herself and she didn't want to be surpassed by her son, Jack thought), but in an abandoned building instead—of which he had thoroughly read and studied. There were things about law, history, some science, arts, famous people, inventions, etiquette and some that weren't really his type of reading material.

Jack didn't know where to go exactly but the night was young and he still had time to look for places to sleep in. He didn't dare light a candle or any source of light for that matter. Using a light to pierce the darkness was something that the Southerners had long learned to avoid. Lamps made their holders a sitting duck for the Roamers—not necessarily human—since the holder's eyes would rely on the vision granted to him by the meagre luminescence it gave off rather than the more reliable darkness adjusted vision people had learned to develop and the Roamers would be able to pick them out painfully easily due to said light source.

The night was desolate, but with the occasional whishing of the winds and whistles through window panes, long and drawn out howls of dogs, it wasn't really that quiet. The moonlight had been slightly blocked off by the makeshift roofs that families weaved over their shacks, but some of the light managed to stream through and gave off a soft bluish glow that served its purpose of illuminating the land ever so dimly. Jack knew that he wasn't quite the only one who was awake at that time, but the amount of people who could navigate the South at night was even lesser than the ones who could do it in daylight. He didn't hinder his gait as he did in the morning, but his steps were as feather light as could be and his shoulders were no longer hunched. He shouldn't have done that though. Prancing around like a stuck up noble was bound to get attention.

There was a sound of shuffling from behind him and he instantly coiled his muscles, preparing for fight or flight. He turned and saw shadows. The creature-ish Chains? He wouldn't know. Thieves? He didn't know either. Jack grew curious though. He had never seen a chain before—he wasn't keen on making a contract and June had wisely warned him off the contracts preemptively, but a bit of curiosity wouldn't hurt would it?—but kept his senses on alert—one needed to have increased spatial awareness when dealing with sneaky little rats who aimed to steal everything you had in hand, including your trousers. Then came what he didn't expect, although he was expecting something much worse. There were three grown men—one was a little lanky, but a good two to three heads taller than Jack, the second was a little fatter and only a foot or so taller than him if he estimated correctly, the last looked average enough and it seemed they came in different sizes— cornering him from all sides, there was nowhere to run to. They had chains dangling from their shoulders. Fetters that were inarguably for slaves.

Slave Traders. Jack thought with a morbid fascination.

Slave trade wasn't something that he was actually scared of, since he frequented crowded areas where he was well known in, but this had been unprecedented. They never went this far in the district since none of them (usually) were natives but Jack knew by how they acted that at least one if not two of them were from the South. (Southerners were known for their extreme ethnocentrism.)

He made a move to swipe the feet of one of the weaker looking ones but failed, being caught by the collar of his neck.

He should have stayed to the shadows instead.

"Feisty little brat." The tone was more amused than anything and it made Jack's blood boil.

"You're coming with us."

"I'm not coming with scoundrels like you! I will not be anyone's slave!" Jack snarled through gritted teeth, letting his temper flare slightly. He normally wouldn't have batted an eye, just stared at them until they left (his eyes weren't that intimidating, were they?), but he wanted to see how they would react. He probably looked like a whiny brat to them. Ha.

He kicked and flailed, but his limbs were a tad too short and he didn't even graze the man holding him. A rough shove from the fat one made him lose balance and end up sprawled on his stomach, giving enough time for the lanky one to grab him by his neck—loose enough for him to breathe but tight enough to be uncomfortably suffocating—while the nondescript one deftly encased his wrists and ankles with the chains they brought with them. The sounds made a resounding 'click in the silent night.

"Oh? This one's pretty. A little fixing here and there should do the trick." He heard the fat one say as a stubby finger traced his jawline—Jack had to fight the urge to recoil and punch the guy. His voice had a disgusting gurgling sound that Jack found extremely despicable. He was tossed over the nondescript man's shoulders like a potato sack n

Panic rose up to his throat and his eyes were desperately darting everywhere looking for places to run to and hide, but he knew it was futile. He was already fettered and short of the traders releasing him willingly, or managing to find anything that could serve as a lockpick and managing to use said lockpick, there was nothing he could do. If he tried to struggle—and goodness knows how weak his physical body was—he would only receive ire from his captors and the last thing he needed was unbridled anger directed solely at him. He tried to calm himself down. Inhale. Exhale.

"Bring him with us to the hideout. We still don't have enough for the shipments. Two more brats. Oh, and don't damage the goods, he's one of the more good looking ones after all. We can't have him all injured. The sicker ones want them pure so that they could defile them."

He breathed, thankfully, since he hadn't made any noise after his capture, he hadn't been gagged–they were stupid to think that he would just bow to them like a homeless dog. He had been brought to said hideout, but he was treated a little more gently than before—if being manhandled by big burly men too physically strong for their and everyone else's own good was being gentle.

The hideout was small, and it was another one of the abandoned buildings in the district; he had been too disoriented and nauseous to trace and map out the path that they were going through. Once they entered the shack, Jack saw a campfire that had been lighted by the side of the room, there was no sign of the 'others' that this band of slave traders had kidnapped. The one carrying him hadn't sat down yet and another door at the far side of the first room. Then Jack saw them through the meagre amount of light that came from the fire in the middle of the abandoned building. There were kids and some teenagers that had been captured, numbering around twelve, including him. They were an assorted bunch, their hair colors ranging from all of the rainbow to black and silver. Their skin tones were too. These traders picked.

"Stay there, brat and keep quiet. I don't care how valuable you goods are, but I will kill you if you cause us any trouble."

Jack nodded, his heart hammering in his chest.

"Good. Stay there like an obedient dog, a'right? Or we'll break you." Then the door was slammed and by the sound of it, also locked and barred. Then darkness.

Jack stayed silent for a while, trying to breathe slowly. He started debating with himself on the best course of action, his eyes slowly adjusted to the lightless room and began to observe. The room was small, it smelled a bit of wine and something that was… putrid. Vomit? What happened in here? He also smelled decaying wood. He tapped the floor twice and it made a dull thud and figured that what they were sitting on was wood. Heavy duty wood. There was also slight shifts in the air that would suggest that there was a hole that wind could pass through. There were also several sobs from the smaller kids around him and he tried to calm himself again.

"You. Blondie." He was interrupted by an inquisitive low voice from his right.

"What?" He asked with an eyebrow raised, not that the person he was talking to would be able to see it.

"Your name?"

"Jack." He whispered in an equally low tone, he heard someone shuffle.

The other shifted, his clothes making small rustling sounds. He probably sat with his legs crossed. "Mine's Luke."

"What do you look like?" Jack asked slightly curiously, he could see moving silhouettes and nothing more, but it was probably enough to be able to not trip everywhere.

"Dark violet hair and yellow eyes. A bit on the pale side though."

"Hmm…"

"Why do you ask?"

"Nothing. Just curious."

"Do you have any idea how we could get out of here? None of us are particularly good at these kinds of situations."

"Neither am I."

"We'll I'll be damned." He heard someone curse from behind him and Jack's eyes widened when he recognized the familiar voice.

It was Aaron.

His silhouette's was making head-shaking gestures as if to tell Jack that he didn't want to talk to him or acknowledge that he was there. He probably got caught on purpose (he was much too agile to have gotten caught by those burly, but slow traders). Why though? Aaron loved his freedom.

Jack tipped his head in acknowledgement. Luke didn't seem to notice.

"But we need to be strong. There a lot of smaller and younger kids here and we can't let this happen!" Luke's voice increased in volume, as Jack's attention was once more on him.

"Quiet." Jack countered harshly. "They hear one word from us and we're dead, or worse, broken. That's what we're going to assume. I don't think they're above torture."

Luke nodded mutely, accepting the scolding. "You still don't know the other's names right?"

Jack shook his head. Everyone introduced themselves (most of them at least). There was a Fred, a Hantle, a Sieg—and of course, Aaron—but it was too dark to make out their features. There were some voices that were more timid than the others and other more brash. But they all had something in common. Fear. (Except him and Aaron.) Though with the darkness, placing the names was a little challenging. Some of the little kids were too afraid to even speak up. And some of the older girls had tried to comfort the younger ones. They talked about nothing in particular throughout the night and slept when they could. He could hear someone humming every now and then, and assumed it was from one of the more concerned females. Jack himself fell asleep a few times, but the smell had made it hard to actually fall asleep.

Jack heard the locks being opened and the bar that bolted the door closed being lifted. There was sunlight peeking through the planks of wood from the ceiling and he assumed that it was already morning. Had he really been asleep that long? The door swung open, and one of the kidnappers was there. He would've dashed out if he hadn't been tied up, they had been wise in that decision—to their misfortune.

They were lead—blindfolded, gagged and only two at a time—somewhere Jack assumed was a…merchant cart. At least on the outside. He heard noises from horses and the clicks of horseshoes against the ground. None of them even tried to fight, because none of them could —with the exception of Jack and Aaron (as far as he knew), but they were still severely outnumbered. They were all placed in a cart with one of the slave traders and there was a sound that resembled two knives or swords being used as grindstone for each other. That was not good. At all.

"Oookay, li'l brats! We're going to the black market in Western Sabrie. All've you are expected to be in their bestest conduct!" The voice said cheerfully.

Jack thought that they probably were in the highway since he doubted that they would risk them screaming for help if they were in a crowded place. Not that anyone would actually bother. Slave trade was illegal, but even nobles bought slaves.

"Names?" He announced painfully cheerily and proceeded to remove their gags. Jack was in half a mind to bite the man just to spite him. He decided against it though.

They introduced themselves one by one. None of the names were particularly known and Jack had an idea. His studies would prove to be an asset, if he wizened up enough to use them.

"—die. Blondie! I was talking to ya!"

"My name is Jack." He said with all the amount of confidence he could muster—of which was very impressive for a fifteen year old. His chin was held up, eyes ablaze and he looked as regal as he could while being tied up.

The bold statement and the sudden change in demeanor had the questioner doing a double take, but blinked and shook it off and proceeded to call the others. "Next, do—"

"Jack Vessalius." He felt Luke stiffen beside him. He fought off a smirk. The consequence of mistakenly selling a noble was one of the least pretty punishment that slave traders worked hard to avoid. If the traders would have done so, they were to be sold to the family that was 'wronged' and the payment was none. It was something that Jack had read of in his free time—a book on law—and he knew it would come in handy sometime. Dia's reading materials were very detailed, but also very concise and he had a hard time thinking about books written badly. Of course, if the noble had planned it all along and an investigation is able to conclude that the noble had planned it, the compensation was off. Of course, the nobles were never caught. They were too smart for that. There were any that rarely did it because no one wanted to stoop on that level. They had much too much pride and they would rather buy the slaves in the auctions themselves. It was a gamble though. The Vessalius family wasn't one of the better known noble families in Sabrie.

"Wh-What?" The man stuttered out. Bingo.

"As you've asked. My name. It's Jack Vessalius." Jack could hear the man cursing under his breath. But then the cursing stopped.

"You've any proof?" He scoffed, with a bravado that Jack should be able to crack easily as a walnut with a nutcracker. "You're lying. I don't like liars, brat."

"Then my family crest on my right ankle means nothing to you?" Jack countered swiftly, with a sardonically raised eyebrow that he's seen Felice use more than a dozen times, feeling the man's confidence faltering. Just a little bit more.

"A-ankle?" The man hesitantly looked at the fetters and somehow knew Jack wasn't bluffing. He lifted the end of the pants and a golden round object. With the Vessalius crest engraved on it.

"Do you believe me yet?" He asked haughtily with a condescending sneer upon lips.

"You could've stolen it!" The man accused. Jack rolled his eyes.

"Maybe. You wouldn't believe me even if I told you it really was mine. But are you willing to take the risk?" He dared. "I know the law concerning about selling nobles. I've studied it. I would gladly tell father—" He emphasized the word, but inwardly cursing the word. "—that he has new free servants."

"Why were you in that godawful place anyway?" The slaver countered weakly.

Jack pretended to hold back a scoff. "I lost something and was searching for it." He replied. "Some slum brat stole it and I heard that it'd be best if I blended in."

The man grumbled. "Troublesome little brat. I'm going to have to ask the others."

He left and Jack heard the flaps of the tent fall closed as his posture deflated. "I'm really not that good at bluffing." He sighed in relief.

"You—you were bluffing?" Luke asked lowly as his incredulosity tinted his words.

"Most of it. The law was true, though. I did also read about it. I'm really a noble's child. Illegitimate though." He said absently.

"So you're really a noble?"

"A noble's child." Jack corrected. "There's a difference. You have to be introduced to high society before becoming a distinguished noble."

"So it's true?" He nodded as his emerald eyes glistened in suspicion. "I've always wanted to be a noble." There was a slight lilt to his voice that implied that there was a story hidden behind those words. Jack didn't feel like digging, so he chastised him instead.

Jack snorted. "It's nothing like your childish fantasies picture it to be. Aristocrats are vipers. Vultures. Wolves. Whatever you want to call them."

Jack noticed a satisfied glint in Luke's eyes that disappeared after he blinked. Huh. That was curious. Luke was odd. In more ways than one. He acted like he was trained in combat with the way his eyes constantly darted to potential escape routes, and though it could be passed off as just being a smart street rat, the way he did it was reminiscent of something Jack was a bit hard-pressed to remember.

"But on the streets—"

"Is survival of the fittest." Jack continued unflappably, inwardly grinning. How long could he hold up this charade, the blonde wondered. This Luke person seemed exactly like one of the noble's children who aimed to gain slaves due to mistakenly selling a noble. "The same goes to the noble court. Yes, you have proper lodgings and a roof above your head and extravagant possessions. But if you're weak, you're cast off and remembered as nothing but a disgrace. The other nobles would continue to look down upon you and it would be very difficult to restore lost favor. You can't even become a beggar in the streets anymore without being recognized. You'll be the target of spite until you either die or run away from the country—which would be impossible if you have no money or connections."

Luke looked sufficiently cowed, but Jack didn't believe a grain of it. "But—"

"Of course, the way of living is different." Jack smiled slightly. "I wouldn't really know. I haven't even seen my family's estate nor do I know the luxuries of nobility."

"But you said—"

"I'm illegitimate." Jack stated factually.

"Oh."

They stopped talking as the cart come to a halt. Raised voice outside were very hard to ignore and Jack couldn't help eavesdropping.

"What do you mean we picked up a noble!?" There was the angry exclamation.

"But—"

"How could you not have noticed!? You've confirmed it yourself haven't you? The child is learned. Street rats aren't smart enough to read let alone be able to remember that damned law! Release the boy! We can't have the Vessalius marching at our doorstep for mistaken slavery!"

Jack smiled triumphantly.

"But—"

"I don't care if we're going to miss one! We can pick another one up in the west. I am not going to become a slave."

"I don't want to become a slave either, but what if he's lying? I mean, nobles are introduced to society when they turn fifteen, right? The child looks like he's past that age."

"Are you sure?"

"Ages are indistinguishable. I've seen fifty year old hags look like eighteen year old ladies! We can't pull this gamble!"

"Vote." Democracy? That was an odd concept. "Agree to release the boy?" There was a pause. "Carried. Motion passed."

Jack smirked slightly in triumph.

"Hot damn, you're good." Luke whispered. "But you do realize that you're the only one who's going to escape right? What about us?"

"I know." Jack sighed as his left hand went through his hair. "But I can't do much else. My actions are limited."

"Then you're going to leave us?" The tone sounded a little betrayed. Jack smiled guiltily.

"Yes." He stated not at all hesitantly. "They won't allow me to stay. I won't be able to help you. It's every man for himself in this world, Luke."

"You bastard."

"You don't have to rub it in my face." Jack said lightly.

Luke paused and realized what he just said. He gave a short laugh. He didn't really seem all that angry.

"I'm serious though. I can't leave with you guys."

"Ah, screw it. Leave. I won't bother you with guilt anymore. At least you aren't one of the more arrogant bas—uh—yeeah." Jack laughed.

"I'm really sorry. I'll remember you guys, okay?" Then he realized something. "Oh, and Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"You're a very good actor."

Luke started and gave an award winning grin. "Of course. I should've expected you'd realize."

That solidified his theory. The guy was a noble or a variation thereof.

Jack heard the flap open again and his blindfold was removed. He might as well take on the personality of a 'wronged noble'. He gazed at the man with dispassionate eyes. The man flinched. He idly noted that Luke's shoulder was shaking in laughter. As were the other children's.

"Your name?" He snarled out viciously.

"B-Briar, my Lord."

"I'll remember this." He said with a sweet smile, dusting himself off of any possible 'germs' he might have come in contact with. "And you don't have to escort me. I can take care of myself. Or… do you not think I am capable?"

"N-no, my Lord."

"Good, then." He uttered chillingly, his eyes arctic cold. "Carry on."

'Briar' bowed low, his back parallel to the ground, a sign of submissiveness and great respect, but Jack didn't see that; instead, he noticed that the tent flap moved a bit—although passable as the wind's doing—then he heard a muted clink. His eyes moved towards where he heard the sound and he saw something glimmer. He'd check that later. When the men were gone.

He walked for a bit, ensuring that he wouldn't be seen and stayed at his hiding place for a while until the cart was out of sight and approached the shiny object. It was a dagger as long as his forearm.

And it had a family crest engraved in it.

Eh.

At least he'd gained an ally out of the tiring experience.

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Jack was, quite bluntly, a little lost.

No not place-wise. He knew his way around the simple placing of streets in the West, thank you very much.

The thing was he had no goals, no aspirations. No past, no present and probably no future as well. He shifted in his comfy back alley where he had stolen a blanket from one of the clothesline by the last few streets. He hated nobles. Not to mention he was quite happen just doing nothing but laying down and observing people. Before all this excitement that was more fulfilling than the past few years of his life, he just needed to live on a day-to-day basis but after his house burnt down and his mother dying, it felt like he needed something to keep him going.

He had allies, but nothing to ask them for help for. What the hell was he supposed to do now? Before, he had this sort of goal to become better than he presently was, but he'd hit compliance and he didn't want to move again.

He groaned.

This was stupid.

"That blanket looks warm." A familiar voice amusedly hummed.

"Dia!" Jack blinked in slight surprise. He had been looking forward to her visit again.

"Tada!" She twirled on one toe then dropped to a curtsey, her orange cloak fluttering in the wind. "I told you we'd meet again."

"How did you find me?" Jack asked slowly.

Dia just smiled at him and sat beside him gracefully then rested her head on his shoulder. Jack didn't mind, she felt like she was cold. "Trade secret."

"I heard about—"

"Oh shush." Dia interrupted. "No talk about awful things right now."

"But—"

"Uh uh." She buzzed. "Nope. Not listening."

Jack rolled his eyes then stared at her determinedly. "I want to help."

Dia sighed. "Help in what?"

"I… don't know." He really didn't. What he heard from the rumor mill was just second-hand

Dia smiled amusedly. "Really, tiger. I thought you were going to help me?"

Jack avoided looking her eyes.

Dia laughed lightly. "Let's go get something to eat." Then she blinked as she stared at Jack who had shed his comfy white blanket. "You're wearing the clothes I sent you!"

Jack shifted awkwardly. "Um, yes. My house burnt down when we were at the funeral. I kept this stashed in another place so—"

"Then we can go somewhere a bit more sophisticated than just sandwiches." She concluded with a grin. What he was wearing couldn't be mistaken for a nobelman's clothing, but it was a vast improvement from his previous one which was torn in all the wrong places.

"Dia! You aren't—"

"We're in the West District, Jack." She reminded him. "There are so much more restaurants here than in the South, which practically only has small bars and inns."

Jack sighed.

He really needed to be more assertive.

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Dia sighed for the fourth time in an hour and Jack was getting more than slightly concerned. Dia wasn't herself. He may not know her much but this kind of ehaviour didn't seem like something she did most of the time. Her head was a bit in the clouds and she probably had problems in L'Renouille. He didn't know what to do though.

"What's wrong?"

Dia blinked and shook her head. "Nothing. There's nothing." She repeated.

"Dia." Jack stared at her.

Dia stares back for a while but Jack's gaze was still and demanding. Then she sighs defeatedly, looking away.

"Fine." She griped. "Let's finish our meal and go somewhere without ears."

Jack held back a triumphant grin.

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"Do you know what a story is?" Dia asked as they get to a small deserted corner of a park, her features were painfully somber.

Jack nods slightly.

"No, not that kind of story." Dia smiled slightly.

Jack frowned at her confusedly.

"A story is a world of dreams, hopes and adventure. It ends when it is to end. A trick among stories. How would we end it?"

Jcak stayed silent, not knowing what the point of this was.

"What if I tell you that this world we now live in is nothing more than a story?"

Emerald orbs widen. "That's…"

"It's the reason why L'Renouille fell. The Dawnwellers knew too much."

"…fell?" Jack whispered.

"Yes. Anarchy. At least for a little bit after the incident. It's currently under the Rainesworths' influence. I couldn't stand to stay. I'm the last of my clan now."

"What happened?"

"The Jury happened."

"Jury?"

"A panel of judges. Of which a story's end is decided. They decided we needed to end."

Jack let in a sharp intake of breath. "I can't accept that."

"I know. We don't have the power to stop them though."

"I love this world." Jack whispered. "This… story."

"It's so beautiful isn't it?" Dia said ruefully. "So beautifully flawed."

"What can we do?" Jack asked.

"I don't know." Dia pauses then pulls something out of her pocket. "We need to find information about this. My clan died knowing something so groundbreaking, we need to make sure nothing goes to waste."

She throws him a small signet ring.

"This is a Seal of Dawnweller. Take care of it. I'll be taking it back someday."

"You're leaving?" Jack asks in surprise. "You haven't even been a day."

"Yes." Dia huffs. "I don't quite belong here anymore."

Jack purses his lips. "Yes you do. June likes you. She can take you in."

"I'm not a stray, Jack." She chides. "I'm a fully functional human being that can take care of herself."

"But—"

Dia send him looks that silences him. "I'll be a while. Don't worry. I'll be keeping in touch but not by letters."

"What?"

"You'll know it when I send one." Dia grins mischievously, then double takes with a contemplative gaze. "Oh and Jack?"

Jack tilted his head.

"Red eyes are the only windows to the Abyss."

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After seeing Dia again, Jack already knew what he had to do. He was going to claim his place in the House of Vessalius. He couldn't do it immediately, though. He had to visit everyone and he needed to do know things. He wasn't going to dig up the things he buried yet. Someone might even find it. He didn't care though. They weren't strictly his possessions.

He needed connections in order to find the things he needed to find.

The first person he visited was Felice. She wasn't hard to find, as she always strutted around the Western district—which he really didn't have to walk too far to get to as the traders dropped him off somewhere near the area— as if she owned the place. She was the only person who could help him though. Felice knew people and their idiosyncrasies. She wasn't just good in it, she thrived in making people adore her. He didn't though. Adore her, he meant.

He was presently standing in front of her house's door, after walking for quite a distance. Felice's house wasn't big nor was it small. There were colorful orchids hung around the small patio—why did they have a patio?—the door was made of pristine white painted wood with a silver handle—though it was noticeably fake—there was a red brick chimney and Jack had a hard time believing that it belonged to a lower-middle class family. He rapped on the door softly. Thrice.

"Felice?" He called uncertainly. The door swung open. His hand flew to his nose as he tried to block the strong flowery smell that came from inside.

"Oh! Jack, dear! How long has it been? Four? Five months? Oh, how adorable you have become! Come in, come in!" Felice was wearing a plain pastel pink mid-leg length dress, white hearts decorated the hem and she was wearing a long-sleeved yellow blazer. Her blonde hair was put up in an elaborate bun with two locks framing her face. Her lips were cherry red and her lids a pastel blue. Ugh.

"Thank you." He replied with a small smile.

"What are you doing? Standing around like that? That won't do! I know what you've come here for so there's no need to explain. You've gotten yourself into a big mess here! I heard from June and I'm willing to help!" She chirped out.

Jack blinked. He had met parrots who were less talkative.

"O…kay?"

"Have you eaten?"

Come to think of it, he hadn't. Not since before he had seen Dia off the station at least and that was this morning, not even lunch.

Jack shook his head.

"Out loud." She said sternly.

"No. I haven't." Jack replied with an exasperated look.

"Wonderful! You should be more vocal. You won't be able to please everybody, but you have to look as honest as you can. You should speak your mind. Most people adore honesty. When you smile a lot, you're more approachable and with you being in your situation, your peers have a few years head-start regarding this, so you have to be able to have everyone around your pinky by merely being their friend." Felice lectured. Jack already knew all those things though, from sheer observation if not the books. Felice had most probably taken it upon herself to teach him how to be… a social butterfly.

They ate for a while, with Felice unnecessarily correcting his posture and manner of eating every now and then. He didn't think he had anyone to impress here. After eating, they had settled in the living room. Both of her parents were away working and he couldn't really talk to them.

"Okay! You're going to have to smile more to be able to attract attention. Smile, Jack!"

Jack did as he was told, if a bit reluctantly. He had gone here not wanting a lesson, but to borrow some clothes, but he might as well, erm, learn. Felice had learned a lot about how nobles thought while flirting with the good gentlemen in town.

"Perfect!" Felice said with a smile. "Now, remember to smile when in a tight situation—a tight diplomatic situation—"

"But wouldn't the smiles lose their effect when used excessively? Like any other thing?"

Felice blinked at him and proceeded to snicker lightly, but immediately composed herself afterwards. "L-lose their e-effect? They don't you idiot. Of course, unless you use the same smile all the time. It's no good to be predictable! You have to think in swirls, zigs, zags, then with no pattern at all!"

The lessons went on and Jack felt like he couldn't do most of the things Felice taught him. She said otherwise though. 'You have to radiate cheerfulness.' and 'You should be able to diffuse tense situations by acting cluelessly adorable.' and 'make sure you remember their names and all the seemingly useless information they tell you!'

Well… If the smiles don't lose their effect…

"Oh, and Jack? I told June you were here, since she heard about your—no she saw your house in ashes—and she's worried even if she doesn't admit it. Even if she's a Barma, she doesn't know everything… Wait…" Her eyes gained an evil glint the ordered: "You will put your lessons to use, okay?"

"On June?"

"Yep! It'll be the same as pranking her!"

Jack laughed and proceeded to smile brightly. Smile. Just smile. Shower people with praise. Be humble. Observe. Act cheerful…? "What lessons?" His smile brightened even more, sending her a wink. "I don't remember you teaching me anything. I know you're cute and all, but Felice, I'm not taking either sid—" Then the words got stuck in his throat as he realized what he was saying.

Jack buried his fire red face in his hands. "This is so embarrassing."

Felice grinned.

It was already working.

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"Felice?" June warily asked as she opened the door partially. There was no need to knock anymore.

"Ah! June!" Jack bounded towards with a lighthearted smile, his tones naturally casual. He'd just been going to the kitchen when he heard the door open. "Good evening. Felice is in the washroom, but she told me to welcome you in if you arrive before she finished. Nice dress, by the way. It brings out the color in your eyes."

Jack had to stop himself from laughing at June's dumbstruck expression and settled for a larger smile.

"What did she do to you? It's… only been a week."

"I don't think she did anything." He replied cheerfully, his smiles were unguarded. Well, if you looked a bit more closely, you can see something else, but—

"I told you before that if you pull another Felice on me, I swear—"

"You don't have to be so angry. You were the one who told me to approach her, so I did!"

"But... you're…" June said weakly.

"What?" He prompted, smile never leaving his face and his eyes were wide and innocent. It wasn't calculating like usual, rather, it was curious. Childishly curious. June felt like Jack had just gone from abyss and back, hit in the head and became amnesiac and brainwashed by Felice.

What happened to the cynical little kid she used to boss around?

"June! You came!" Felice exclaimed, gliding down the small staircase, her tone thoroughly pleased.

"Of course I did." She scoffed. "Did you think I was going to go back on my word? I'm not like you."

"Why I would never—!"

"Stop the dramatics."

"I'm hurt!"

"As if you would be by such a simple comment."

"Simple enough words can cause rifts you know!"

"I know that well enough." She bit out. Well, that escalated quickly.

"So why are you here? Don't you have responsibilities in your Noble House?" Felice asked, as if unbothered by the tense atmosphere.

"You know very well that my oh-so-noble House sent me here for diplomacy and immigration processes right? I care near nil for them."

"Arthur." Felice stated simply.

"Him. Only." June said dismissively.

Jack almost sighed. And caught himself. Think happy thoughts.

"Now, now. I know you have some differences but would it hurt to just sit down and be civil to each other?" He sent them both a pleading smile, halting the crackles in the atmosphere.

June blinked in shock. His smile only got more persuasive. "Please?"

The redhead's mouth opened as if to say something but no sound came out. Felice started snickering.

"There! Isn't that much better? Now, where did you put the tea again, Felice? Wait, no. I think I remember." Jack paused then added, "No fights, okay?"

Jack strolled to the kitchen and the two girls could hear the stove being opened.

"Okay." June breathed. "What did you do to him?"

"You've already asked me that question."

"You didn't answer." She replied flatly.

"I just talked to him. Don't you remember how he was the first time you met?" Felice replied smoothly.

June thought. Hard.

"You're pretty. Let's play!"

Then blinked. The boy was a flatterer. A natural flatterer.

"See." Felice said smugly. "He's naturally like that, just dampened by his easily disregarded shyness, cynicism and his calculative nature. He's been more look before you leap type of person. I talked to him. Made him recall everything pleasant and happy, convinced him that sometimes leaping before looking is good. Though it's going to take a while before he could go on like that without getting tired. He's been anti-social for too long."

June sighed. "At least that would help him claim his place in the House of Vessalius."

Both of Felice's eyebrows rose. "Claim? But he's already fifteen, June."

"Don't you think I know that?"

"So what do you plan to do?"

"This situation is unusual but not unheard of. He could be introduced quite a bit later."

"…well. He needs all the charm he can get then."

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"Shopping?" Jack asked as he tilted his head. His inner thoughts going through turmoil. He'd heard enough horror stories about shopping with enthusiastic girls.

"Yes. You can't just waltz in there like a waif. You need to be dressed appropriately. You are also in desperate need of a haircut." June said irritatedly.

"No." Jack refused.

"And you're—wait—What!? What do you mean no?"

"I'm not going to cut my hair." Jack laughed lightly. "It's more aristocratic if it's long, right?"

June sighed tiredly. "Fine. Make sure it gets long then."

"Although a little trim would be welcome."

This Jack was tiring to accompany.

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It was today.

He was going to the estate today.

And he was abyss damned nervous.

He didn't even know why he was nervous. He was just going to meet with his father who indirectly caused his mother's insanity and abusive behavior. The man he had spent a small amount of his waking hours cursing.

Of course, that all disappeared the moment he recalled having met the little slum brats the first time. Happy thoughts. Remember what June briefed you about. Think about the reason you're here.

Jack walked up to the door of the Vessalius estate and smiled cheerfully at the guards posted on the gate.

There were trees lining the roads to the mansion itself, with the unwrought iron gates standing immaculately imposing upon the visitors. The mansion itself wasn't visible from where he stood, and from what June said, it was probably a bit of a walk from the gateway.

"Good morning." He started softly—but not meekly—, amiably and with an underlying strength in his posture as he offered a courteous half-bow to the stunned guards. "May I please speak to Lord Vessalius?"

There was a moment of silence wherein the guards merely stared and Jack's smile was unrelenting. He knew he looked scarily like his father when he was younger so he had to admit that their shock was well-grounded. The guard to the left regained his bearings and addressed him formally.

"Not to be rude, but could you please identify yourself?" One of the guards, the younger one if he estimated correctly.

"It's Jack." He offered simply. The guards looked uneasy at the sheer—fake—confidence he radiated.

"You had not set a meeting beforehand, milord. I'm afraid t—"

"There's no need to be afraid." Jack teased lightly. "You are called Heron, correct?"

The guard nodded stiffly, obviously perturbed that a child like him knew names. Thank you June.

"Well then, can you not merely send a message that Jack Vessalius has come to claim his seating in the Vessalius household?"

That was something that the guard would have a bit of trouble believing in. Jack wasn't the first to claim that they were the child of a noble, after all. The guard looked exasperated. "He had explicitly ordered for no one to disturb—"

"He is in his quarters, I assume?" Jack inquired softly, his arms kept behind him as he mimicked the mannerisms of a long dead woman, his lips set upon a small amused smile. "Then a mere word will suffice. Tell him that Margaret's son has come to inquire for aid. Although…" Jack bit his bottom lip slightly, as if nervous. "…if you insist. I'll never bother you again."

Heron gasped almost inaudibly. The other guard seemed confused. "Lady Margaret…"

To be clear, Margaret wasn't really Jack's mother—or at least he was pretty sure she wasn't and if she was well… his mother hadn't been very clear on that. He knew, however, that he was the right age to be a son conceived from a tryst between Hal, the present viscount, and Margaret. She was the only woman that Hal ever loved. Everybody except a select few knew of the love that had blossomed between the commoner and their lord, which included June of course. Unfortunately, she had died from an incurable illness that had plagued her ever since she was young. She was a commoner and thus, the tryst stayed merely a tryst, if not in multiples. The Vessalius crest had been initially given to her as a token of protection and Jack's mother had… 'found' it after Margaret died and given it to Jack for safekeeping. He hadn't looked anything like his birth mother so it would be impossible to prove that he wasn't Margaret's son. It was an acceptable trickery for him, playing upon emotions that weren't really there. He had his goals after all.

"Who is Lady Margaret?" The other guard asked confusedly.

"Ask one of the maids later." Heron said sternly and then he turned to Jack. "I will give word."

He opened the gate and a maid guided him to the estate itself then to the sitting room of the household. The guard talked to a maid and the maid subserviently accepted the orders. The estate was grand. Grander than what he expected it to be. Vessalius was just a Viscount after all.

After a mere five minutes in relative silence, the door to the sitting room opened.

Hal looked like he sprinted from wherever he really had been to the sitting room. His breathing was slightly uneven. Huh. Did the Lady Margaret affect him this much?

Jack smiled softly at him, inwardly grimacing. He knew that if he hadn't introduced himself as Margaret's son, he would have been turned away before he could say 'olé!'. He was just another child borne out of wedlock after all.

"Are you really…?"

Jack nodded and continue with his fabricated, with a 45% chance of being true, story. "I never met my mother, but I know she had a kind soul."

June had drilled into him all the information he needed about Margaret and his history. Asking questions on the fly and him making up lies on the spot. It was good practice for the real thing.

Hal sat opposite of him and he looked very sad.

"Margaret… was one of a kind." Then a thought struck him. "How did she die?" He asked brokenly. "I never heard from her…"

"She died… shortly after I was born… or that what my foster mother told me." Jack's voice was just above a whisper. "Just enough to give me a name and give me to someone she trusted."

"Why didn't she tell me?"

"Mother didn't have time to. Ma told me that she didn't know who the father was. It was only recently that we saw the crest hidden somewhere at home."

Jack pulled on the string that had the crest hung on his neck. "I didn't actually know what it meant until recently." He fiddled with it for a while, trying to show that he was nervous. He didn't know how it happened, but he was suddenly pulled in a tight embrace by his father. It was odd, he mused. He never thought a warm body could feel this cold. He hugged back regardless. It meant very little to him.

Hal kept repeating 'I'm sorry' and 'I should have been there.' to him.

He tried to hold back a smile.

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There were so many things that he was supposed to do! He had to make connections and make friends with people as soon as possible. It had taken so little for him to be inducted into the household and it was apparent that he was being favored over his two siblings. His cheery and approachable demeanor had warded off the initial jealousy that the elder son—Rincelt—had felt. He had also been pegged as an airhead since he was copying Margaret, who was indubitably airy. That was good for the time being.

Jack had spent his first few days acquainting himself with the maids and butlers—most commoners liked humble down-to-earth people that didn't treat them as if they were trash—and the general layout of the estate.

"You are a liar." Lucilla, the firstborn daughter of the Vessalius household, stated as she crossed paths with him at the hallways at the estate.

Jack's eyes widened. "What gave you that impression, Elder Sister?"

"I know a liar when I see one."

"I don't remember lying about anything. What made you think that?"

Lucilla huffed. "It isn't a certainty, but I see how uncomfortable you are whenever people call you Margaret's son."

Right on the nail's head. Well, he would pull this off. Somehow.

"I never met her." Jack countered lightly then his eyes glistened in unshed tears. "I don't like talking about sad things."

Lucilla's left eyebrow quirks up. "Is that what you're telling everyone?" She laughed.

"Did it look convincing?" Jack blinks as his cheerful demeanor fell, a more cynical one surfaced in its stead. There was no need to hide from someone so obviously ensconced in her own masks. There was no way to hide an art from a master after all.

"It did." Lucilla replied.

"You won't tell on me?" Jack inquired.

Lucilla hid her mouth behind her fan, her eyes twinkling. "Why should I? I don't want the responsibility of being the Head of the Family. If you're ambitious enough to aim that high, then I would gladly give it up to you."

Jack's eyes light up in mirth. "That's very devious."

Lucilla smirks. "Why should I show them how competent I am? Although, the generally received truth does have truth in it. I'm not brilliant in anything but deception."

Jack grins. "Can I call an alliance?"

Lucilla huffs. "Truly how mischievous are we Vessalius? Even Rincelt is good at this game although much less than me and quite recently, you. He just doesn't deem it worthy enough of his attention. He adores his studies."

"Too much." Jack laughs. "Is that a yes?"

"You don't have to make me say it."

"You can go against your intentions."

"Fine. An alliance."

"An alliance." Jack repeats.

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"Do you know what a Jury of a Story is?" Jack asked as he looks up from a textbook about geography and history. He was sitting in front of his private study's desk while Lucilla was sitting in front of his window.

Lucilla frowned. "Is that a title of a book?"

Jack shook his head. "Nevermind then."

They fell into a small companionable silence when Jack spoke again.

"Do you know someone called Luke?"

"That I know. Luke?" Lucilla hummed. "Luke Laskreia?"

"He's a Laskreia?" Jack asked in surprise. The Laskreia were a family that valued servitude and chivalry above all else. They weren't really a family of nobles, but a lot of them were granted titles by their masters and they produced a significant amount of bodyguards, soldiers, and knights. They were like a family of combat specialists, although their numbers were dwindling recently, around a hundred or so compared to the previous nearly thousands. Jack had completely forgotten that a Laskreia could choose a master worthy of their title themselves without anyone dictating what they themselves could do.

"Does he have violet hair and yellow eyes?"

"Yes. I actually have something of his." Jack said as he tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear. It was getting too long. "A dagger."

Lucilla's eyebrows shot up in genuine fascination. "A Laskreia's Dagger?"

Jack drew the dagger from his belt and placed it softly on the table. The dagger's hilt was a sleek black with a spherical ruby red gemstone in the center of the cross-guard, but the blade was a grainy gray with complicated script embossed on the flat edge.

"It is." Lucilla said in awe. "How did you get Luke to give it to you?"

"What do you mean?" Jack asked confusedly. The dagger was just a sign of trust, wasn't it? Jack thought he would return it someday.

"The Laskreia are said to present a Dagger smithed at the time of their nameday to the Master they would devote their lives to. In high society, it is considered a great honor to be chosen by a fully trained Laskreia." Lucilla explained. "Meaning that Luke had somehow thought you to be worthy of a 'knight'."

"I'm… not entirely sure." Jack replied unsurely, slightly overwhelmed by the information. June hadn't told him anything about the Laskreia's servitude, which was a first. June told him everything. Well, mostly everything. "I didn't do anything to get his respect, and certainly not his servitude."

Lucilla gave him an odd gaze. "It seems I'm not the only one who sees how much change you can do."

Jack blinks. "Change?"

The elder Vessalius smirked. "You don't see how much things have changed ever since you arrived, do you?"

"You cannot see change if you cannot have something to compare the end result to." Jack quoted. "How do you expect me to know how things worked in this house when nobody had bothered to explain the 'before' to me?"

"I'm not only pertaining to the household, my dear younger brother." Lucilla twirled.

"Then what were you pertaining to?"

"It's a secret."

Jack sighed. Lucilla was much harder to deal with than June.

"Did anyone teach you..?"

"Nobody ever taught me." Lucilla admitted. "It was greatly the reason why I was pegged as socially acceptable but stupid. I thought that social butterflies were the most accepted people…"

"How much have things changed, then?" Jack prompted.

"Father is much more cheerful as of late." Lucilla started. "The guards are more enthusiastic as well, much more motivated. Lady Margaret had a very calming aura, which you also have."

"Calming?"

"Yes. You praise everyone when they do something you like, don't you? Although, that's bit of brainwashing, now that I think about it."

"Yes. I also tell them what they did that I didn't like. Loyalty is steadfast after all. I don't know who to trust. It's better that I have a household who adulates me than one that works in every effort to make me feel unwelcome." Jack admitted. Felice had told him to be—or at least appear to be—blatantly honest about everything that didn't have to stay a secret—though a lot of things need to stay secret, so that wasn't much. She said that it was a way to nurture trust in him which he desperately needed.

"I met Lady Margaret when I was younger and I have to admit, even when you aren't acting and copying her mannerisms—"

Jack winced. Was he that obvious?

"Don't worry, you aren't." Lucilla said amusedly. "You still act a lot like her."

"Do I?" Jack wondered. He wasn't really sure if his mother had truly been his birth mother.

"You do." Lucilla affirmed.

"Then I think my claim isn't as unfounded as I feared." Jack smiled. "When will Luke start serving as my knight or whatever they are?"

Lucilla hummed. "Where was the last you met him?"

"On a slave-trading cart whose destination was Western Sabrie." Jack replied offhandedly.

"He's probably on some sort of mission then." Lucilla mused aloud with pursed lips, not really surprised at the even they met. She's had worse. "You don't have to wait for him though. If he gave you the dagger and knows your name, then it probably won't be that long."

"When will I have my coming of age ceremony?"

"You have plenty of questions, don't you?"

"I apologize if it's much trouble." Jack acted guilty—which he wasn't, not really.

Lucilla waved him off. "I'm not quite sure when it will be, but father will make sure that all your papers will be in order and you need to learn etiquette, which you have no doubt been already learning as well as educating you about family history and I will most probably be in charge of letting you in on the gossip that happens in the local court."

Jack tilted his head and admits a little coyly, "I'm already quite acquainted with court gossip. Like Lady Nightray's apparent interest in young boys, the existence of Baskerville's real life demon minions, Sir Gretan's illegitimate noble status, Lord Barma's—" He was cut off by Lucilla's raised hand.

The lady looked greatly amused. "Stop. I get the point. Who's your source?"

"That's something he'd like to keep secret."

"So male, then?"

"Not necessarily." Jack countered lazily.

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Did you have fun? I did. Next chapter: Oswald and Revis's return! Leave a review, they make me happy. And A happy me is an inspired me! :) Haha. Lots of stuff happened, and if you (or I) got lost somewhere tell me, every bit of criticism is welcome.