FATE'S CONTRACT

     Into the folds of a crowd, I weave my way through chaos. People run from the main commotion a block down, rumbles and shouts come from every direction. Bodies move away from the outrage, the same messy dance of survival a million times over. It always goes this way until—

     "Mononoke!" The shouts start, hopeful and excited. Relieved and thrilled. Yay! I gag.

     She flies overhead on a broom, her hollowed green eyes staring stoically into the distance. Her hair flutters behind her, cast with a ghoulish glow from the phantasmic antlers sticking out of her head. Wherever the Pro-Heroes go, so does the mob. I can never prepare fast enough for the shift that happens; elbows and arms and legs are hard to avoid. I find myself entangled on the ground, feet kicking me away as the stranger I'd bumped into picks themselves up.

     "Watch it." The voice is gauged instantly. This voice is not a welcome one. This voice is not in my head. The thick-furred tail flicks and twitches with irritation behind the short teenager; it makes her appear twice her size. Her hazy gaze narrows with evil familiarity. "I knew I smelt shit, I thought I ruined my shoes!"

     Her gray eyes are only ever alive with violent delight.

     Momonga has never let go of that fateful day, reliving it as much as I have. I had turned her into a pig after all and I've come to learn that transmuting one living creature into another isn't painless. Her anger has been on me long before then. We've been at this for quite some time now.

     My arms move to cover my head as the hard bottom of her shoes comes down on me. A shocking ache shoots through my forearm, threatening to break if she stomps a few more times with just as much strength. The pain doesn't have time to register before the wind is sucked from my lungs by a swift kick to my ribs, one I can't catch. I wheeze.

     If there is anything about Fujioka Momonga it's that she is deceptive. At school, she is beloved by teachers and staff— blending into her expected role with a heart full of rage. It's an odd feeling to notice in someone; an imbalance of the self. A tormenting storm within their being. She knows how to hurt feelings and give a black eye all the while appearing innocent. Most of the student body is submissive to her either out of fear or respect— or depending on who you are, both. Somehow she attracts attention. Call it social acrobatics.

     Good thing this isn't my first rodeo. I find my opening, my hands snapping out faster than lightning, snatching her ankle. My teeth grit at the movement. Unbalanced, it isn't hard to roll out of the way and yank her leg out from underneath her. She gives a surprised wail, her tail cushioning her fall. Wasting no time, I stumble to my feet– hoping and praying she will stay in shock for a little longer. My eyes graze the throng of discord. I am an ant searching for a crack to fall into, for some sort of safety.

     The crowd has thinned and the police will be here any minute to look for anyone who may have gotten injured or lost. Through the ache and pain, I hurry in a limping jog— full on running would be exasperating. Damn. My rib hurts. At least, she didn't get my face.

     Inhale air. Exhale pain.

     The fifteen minute walk did nothing to ease my anxiety. Only when I'm far from the commotion do I realize the buzzing in my pocket. My phone didn't get lost or broken, which is a miracle.

     Kimbibobimbi.

     I answer, masking that I'm out of breath as best as possible. There is the sound of a car door shutting. "Helloooo!" I sing-song. I cough.

     "OH! Vivi! Thank gawd you're okay! Girl, you had me worried."

     "Lo siento... I got all scrambled como un huevito. Anyways! I made it out alive and I'm almost home. No worries." We chat a little more, ensuring we're fine and promise to hang out another time. My thoughts truly are scrambled. The commotion had gotten me excited, too eager to press my nose right against the danger, but I can never help it. The thought of someone needing me set me ablaze.

     In the apartment lobby, I finally relax. I could probably write a book of lies. In the elevator, I try to pick as much dirt and debris out of my hair as I can. At the front door, I dust off my clothes, in a pitiful attempt to look untouched. Who knew opening a door can induce so many nerves?

     "You're late." Imelda, my foster mother, states, leaning back for a better view of me from her spot in front of the stove. Eyebrows raised, she peers over her glasses in a librarian fashion. Vegetables sizzle in the pan at her hands and the aroma of seared steak wafts through the three bedroom unit. The statement is a question in disguise: Where have you been?

     With a nonchalant shrug, I squat to the ground to take my shoes off. They're covered in a thin layer of dirt. My phone vibrates again and I am thankful for the distraction. "I went downtown with Kimbi."

     I text back a swift reply, before looking at the adjacent living room where my foster siblings sat absorbed in their activities. Except my foster sister— Ariel, Angel, Angie, Angle?? I forget her name— who is looking for any excuse to call me out, her watchful eye is hard to escape. Tombo, her biological eight-year-old brother, never notices a thing. The kid is without a thought not pertaining to heroes behind his all-absorbing chocolate eyes.

     I'm almost in the clear with one foot set in the shadows of the unlit hallway.

     "Vivi... you're covered in shit." Ariel pipes up. Fuck you. I whirl around to quietly scoff, raising both arms into an exasperated shrug. I'm not really sure what she has against me, generally speaking, I stay out of her way. Attachment isn't something I'm gifted in— none of us really are.

     "Laaanguage!" Imelda called from the kitchen.

     "I'm going to take a shower." I say grinning as un-sheepishly as I can, before I stick my tongue out at her. "There was a villain attack downtown."

     "No way!" Just like that, the youngest of the three of us, shoots towards the television to change the channel. He fumbles with the remote, flipping through the guide. "Who showed up?"

     "Mononoke." I reply with feigned interest, the cheers still fresh in my mind. Frustrating. With that I slip back into the bedroom I share with - uh... Obstacle? and gather a fresh pair of clothes before locking myself into the bathroom. This is the one place I can find any sense of peace in this damned apartment.

     In the shower, I deflate and lower to the grimy floor of the low-walled tub. My head tilts back and my eyes screw shut to drown out all the sounds of the universe— they demand to be heard, always, they do not care about my troubles, my thoughts, my dreams, my feelings. I'm a conduit for their chaos and that is that. The more time spent honing my Quirk, the more I can block out the clutter. The more I can organize it. I assess my body, careful with every movement. Bruises and scrapes trail my arms and legs, more than usual.

     A hiss passes my lips when water hits its tender, raw flesh. Water rains down on my face, leaves trails through the dirt on my skin. The grit is mesmerizing, swirling down the drain in a swift spiral. Memories from the day keep refreshing themselves. Particularly the alluring stranger on the roof. Zir face had been covered by a mask and a long coat had hidden zir figure. The soft, melancholic voice sung in my ears. I replay zir striking the spear of crackling electricity with expert athleticism over and over again. People don't really move like that, right? So fluid, so in tune with every part of themselves.

     That's probably whom I had seen up on the rooftops right before the attack... The attack. I wondered about the villain— or villains— that had appeared. Something was off about them, their vibe. Evil came in all sorts of different packages and states of being. Their heads thrashed in an invisible internal struggle. And anytime someone tried to get close they had gotten more agitated, aggressive, trying to edge away. Their body language was the same as that of an animal in fear and pain.

     I play it over in my head. And over. I try not to think about Momonga, either. I haven't seen her in years, but time didn't heal whatever wound ails her.

     Knock. Knock, Knock. I pondered too long. "Dinner's ready! Tombo put on U.A. 's Sports Festival."

     "One sec." I call back, tussling wet uneven locks in a towel. Refreshed, I attempt my best to hide my aches and pains. I look half human!

     Imelda made fajitas— sizzling and smoking in the pan. If I breathe in the smoke too much, I choke at the carried spiciness from the jalapenos. I pile my plate with juicy, seasoned meat and seared-to-perfection vegetables, and pull a few flour tortillas from underneath the checkered terry cloth that keeps them warm. Steam rises to kiss my cheeks and nose; warm and familiar.

     In the living room, Tombo occupies one side of the couch and Angel the other. I opt for the space between them on the floor, scooting in close to the coffee table to avoid getting bits and spits in my hair from their clumsy aim. Their eyes glued to the television, trusting their hands to somewhat find their mouths. Raphael slaps the arm of the couch, leaning forward. Her knee nearly knocks into the side of my head. "Look! Look! These first years are insane!"

     The screen is a bird's eye view of a stadium half covered in a spout of sparkling ice. The sun is shining so bright in its reflection it's blinding even to us. And a hundred or so feet below, at the center of a stadium is a green-haired boy; determined and tired. With a flick of his finger, the ice shatters into billions of shimmering shards.

     "That's Izuku Midoriya!" Tombo enthuses, although we already know since U.A. is pumping out well-trained Heroes left and right. People travel across the world just to apply, but the entry rate is very low. It's rare that someone who hasn't spent their entire lives training fails. And then there are the rich and talented; who tend to get in on recommendations alone. What a heavy burden to bear.

     "And that's Shoto Todoroki! His Quirk is Half-Hot, Half-Cold!" Not for a moment does he stop, but when you're constantly hearing the mumbo-jumbo whispers of everything, everywhere all the time... A little boy jabbering away about your most disliked subject makes you wish the voices were louder.

     "I think he's aaallllllll hot!" Jeep Wrangler giggles— a little too girlishly.

     "Ew! Gross!" Her younger brother gags with a twitch of his nose, before tossing a cushion in her direction. Her knee jostles into my shoulder again, causing a bite of my food to drop from my fork and onto the floor. I could turn them into hamsters. Little pests to squash. Of course it never touches her, without so much as a blink of an eye the hefty pillow redirects itself towards a wall. The hanging picture frames shake. Her Quirk— Redirect, the ONE thing I can remember about her— allows her to change the direction of any moving object with just her thoughts. She can't move stationary objects, they have to already be in motion for the power to work.

     "Calmate, niños." Imelda loudly states from the kitchen at the commotion. "It's bath time and then bedtime, Tombo."

     "Awwww! No way! It's not even done yet!" He whines, crossing his arms, a pout at his lips. "Why do they get to stay up?"

     "Because they don't waste all their energy arguing. Besides, they'll be replaying it for the next week. You can watch the rest tomorrow."

     With another whine, he begins to help clear the plates. His angry little stomps would have been loud on anything other than the carpeted floor. It was always comical, but weirdly sad to watch him throw his silent tantrums. I feel his frustration on different levels; he wanted to watch the Sports Festival as it happens, he wanted to throw more of a tantrum but there is a fear of being too undesirable that nestled in his chest. A fear we don't speak of.

     Crawling onto his still-warm spot on the couch, I focus on my phone, uninterested in whatever is happening on screen. They're all the same. We watch the rest of the televised event, an explosive boy with a murderous gleam in his eye wins. Chained and shackled.

     "I heard they're opening an associated school... like... a sister school?" Ariel stretches from the couch, reaching for the remote. "I bet everyone in the country is going to apply!"

     There are hundreds of hero schools across the world. In comparison to Japan's U.A. they can be described best as lukewarm. Their standards are nowhere near as high, the crime rates within their cities: a tad higher. I can't disagree with her. It's an undeniable feeling for desire, for want. A need that we don't quite need. Something we aspire for and feels as if it's right there and the weight of the world is chained to our extended arms.

     "Whatever you say, Angel," I say, trying to put certainty in my voice.

     "It's Rachel."

     Oops. We go to bed after that. Awkwardly and silently. Sometimes I can hear her cry to bed, her sadness radiating into the world around her. Leaking from her eyes and soul.

     "What are you always up to, Vivi?" Rachel asks from below me. "I've noticed you sneak out in the middle of the night sometimes. Is it to meet boys?"

     "Raves." I state with a hint of sarcasm she seems quick to pick up on. If anyone besides Cher knew the prohibited use of my Quirk I'd be toast. And branded as a criminal.

     "I'm not going to say anything to Imelda. Or Cher."

     "I already told you. But... next time, you can come with me." I peek my head over the side. I've never been to a rave.

  ☽    ҉    ☾

     "Tell me why?" the woman questioned in a soft, venomed voice. She sat on the edge of his desk, her legs folded over and her eyes casting a cruel glare down the bridge of her nose. My eyes were lit like honey from the lamp casting light into the dim corridor. Through the cracked mahogany doors, I watched and wondered if Papa wanted to play, but that lady was there again.

    "An old friend," the man had reassured me prior. She didn't feel like a friend. Whatever she was made of was sickening... and sad. She made me want to nap for days. The very air around her screamed with a pain I couldn't explain. Agony?

     "I.. I can't. My-my wife... It's so sudden..." His voice cracked. "It's not fair."

     Although the woman's face was hidden, her shadow shifted stiffly.

     "Y O U want to talk to ME about what's fair and just?!" I wasn't ready for the sound of her hollow laughter rising from her chest and ripping through her throat. Their words became garbled and jumbled as smoke consumed my being. It stung my eyes and burned my lungs, crumpling me to the ground. I shut my eyes. If I sleep, I'll be okay? Right?

     The snapping of the house's frame was deafening, collapsing in on itself and floating into the night sky in flames. Over and over. The air was scalding and sickening. Not a thing I could do. I didn't even have a Quirk.

     A pounding at the door sends me shooting up from sleep.

     Cher.

     Her presence is one that I can pinpoint from the other side of the planet. Maybe even from the moon, if I really wanted to. I ruminate in my dream a little longer. How scary of a thought it was, to be so young and be so weak.

     Our eyes lock the instant the door swings open. Cher is a tall lady, fit and thin, but not willowy. Her mismatched gaze, unsettling— like she knows something I don't know.

     "We gotta talk, miss ma'am." Cher says. "Word down the vine is you got into another fight. Get dressed, let's sit."

     With a swipe of my hand and shake of my head, I tame my hair. My shirt is wrinkled and holey from years of use. I don't change.

     "Coffee?" Imelda asks when we enter the breakfast nook in the kitchen.

     "Please and thank you," Cher politely chirps, taking a seat near the window. I sit across from her, naturally. From the adjacent living room, I hear cartoons.

     If there is anything considered constant in my life it's Cher. She has been there since day one, it seems like. She didn't change. Not her hair, not her expressions, traditions, morals. Not even the shifts of her energy.

     I know she's mad. I know she's disappointed. She doesn't have to say it. I feel it in every cell of my body mixed in with my own disappointment. Why do I do this to myself?

     "You don't have to say it." I sigh as we sit, Imelda placing a cup of coffee in front of her and orange juice in front of me. Cher sets her bag next to her. At first, she says nothing, inhaling the steam that slowly rose from the orange cup reading 'Don't Talk to Me Before I've Had My Coffee' with a slew of emojis after. Corny.

     She sips. Her eyelids flutter shut, holding the cup steady to her lips. I wish I could read minds as well, but I've tried and failed again and again to the demands of the universe. Elegant fingers reach for the vintage leather briefcase in her lap. This had to be it. I'm for real going to juvie. Or worse.

     There's another family. My throat tightens.

     "Vivi, we've been through this."

     I nod. The tears are welling, I can feel them threatening the corners of my eyes. She slips out a piece of paper, following the invisible wind that leads it to the table before sliding it across to me. Its nearly comical.

    "Here is your application for U.A. X."

     Oh dear god, no.

     "Bring it by the office by the end of the week." She stands from the childishly small chair, throwing a sadistic grin over her shoulder at the door as she leaves without another word. I want to let out a scream that sends resting birds flying. Instead, I only stare at the piece of paper that now determines my fate.

author's note:

LAST TIME UPDATING THE FIRST TWO CHAPTER'S I SWEAR!! 

I've a lot of time to further this story and ... UGH writing hard but I MISS writing dumb little whimsical lines so we're just going to fly with it from now on. I hope you enjoy <3

Character Spotlight:

Kimbi Okonma

Quirk: Diamond Shield

"a sturdy diamond shield ejects from the gem placed on her forehead. It's quite malleable to her will."

Likes: Flirting

I totally did a bad edit of the diamond on her forehead for a visual LOL I will probably not do that again. Dorothy from the Great Pretender anime is the closest representation for Kimbi I could find. :^)