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chlorhexidine“Quiorra-chan?” Ulquiorra heard his mother call him and quietly put down his pencils to go and see what she wanted.
He'd started school recently, and had been a big boy unlike a lot of the other children, and hadn't cried, or clung to his mother as she left him in the classroom. The teacher was nice, and a couple of the other children had been nice to him, too, but then there had been the ones who weren't so nice, and had called him and his friends names. He hadn't told his mother; he didn't see the point. He'd told the teacher, and she had told the other children to be nice and not use words like that, and they had completely ignored her, so Ulquiorra's mother wouldn't be able to do much more.
When he got to the living room, his mother greeted him, with an older boy with messy black hair like Ulquiorra's own, and like his father's, standing just behind her. Ulquiorra stared, the older boy stood with his hands in his pockets, hunched over like he was shy, in bare feet and slightly messy clothes. He looked as though Ulquiorra's mother, or possibly his own, had tried to tidy his hair up, and it hadn't worked. He also looked as though he'd recently been subjected to a motherly spitwash, and was still cringing from the embarrassment.
“Ulquiorra,” his mother said, her voice gentle, “this is your Uncle Lawliet. Come and say hello.”
Ulquiorra stared for a few seconds longer before he said, “He's too young to be my uncle.”
“Ulquiorra,” his mother scolded. “That's very rude.”
Ulquiorra frowned, and replied, “Sorry, mother.”
“Now introduce yourself.”
Ulquiorra nodded, and approached 'Uncle Lawliet', bowing slightly to him, “Pleased to meet you, uncle Lawliet, I am Ulquiorra.”
The older boy scratched his calf with his foot before awkwardly returning the bow. “Lawliet will do,” he said. He sounded young; his voice was still a child's. “I'm your father's younger brother,” he added, after a brief moment of silence, “so you're right, I am young for an uncle, but I am still your uncle.”
Ulquiorra looked up at him with big green eyes, his pupils slitted like a cat's, and narrow in the light. “How old are you?” He asked.
“Ten.”
“Lawliet will be living with us for a while,” Ulquiorra's mother said. “He's going to Wammy's House, so at weekends and during the holidays he'll be staying here.”
Ulquiorra looked at Lawliet again. Lawliet scratched the back of his head, prompting Ulquiorra's mother to tut quietly and force his hand down. “Stop doing that.” More quietly she said, “I'm going to get a nit comb before you start at Wammy's.”
“Why are you going to Wammy's House?”
Lawliet looked at Ulquiorra with faint interest before he answered, “Because I'm a genius. Why do you ask?”
Ulquiorra considered that question for a little while before he answered, explaining, “I've never seen you before, so you're a long way from your home, so Wammy's House must be special.”
Lawliet didn't blink, but he nodded slightly. “How old are you?”
“Four.”
“You have very good reasoning skills for a four year old.”
“You don't talk like the other ten year olds,” Ulquiorra replied. That seemed to earn him a tiny little smile.
“I'm a little odd,” Lawliet admitted.
“You're strange,” Ulquiorra told him, rather bluntly, and earning himself another scolding call of his name from his mother.
“So are you, Quiorra-chan,” Lawliet replied.
Ulquiorra fell quiet then, eyes cast downwards before he answered, “I know.”
Lawliet watched the reaction, and then crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet. “Strange only means different, Quiorra-chan, it doesn't mean wrong.”
Ulquiorra looked at Lawliet, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for what felt like a long time before he nodded.
“Go and finish your drawing, Quiorra-chan,” his mother said, gently, “it'll be tea time, soon.” Ulquiorra nodded, and turned to go and finish his drawing.
“He's very intelligent for his age,” Lawliet commented, once Ulquiorra was out of earshot.
“I hope you'll make the effort to be nice to him, Lawliet,” Ulquiorra's mother said. “He started school a couple of weeks ago, and he needs a friend.”
“He's being bullied,” Lawliet said, calmly. Delcine Schiffer frowned, and Lawliet told her, “So was I, at his age. Children quickly establish a pecking order, and to do that they pick on differences; he is not bullied because he is a mist mutant, but rather, regardless of it.”
Delcine kept her frown; it didn't make her feel any better knowing that her son was bullied at all. The teacher had told her, of course, there was some name calling, she said. Ulquiorra had seemed to ignore it, apparently, but had banded together with a couple of other children who also had visible mutations. They had to be careful of him distancing himself from anyone who wasn't a mist mutant, as it would only make things worse. “He's right,” she said, “you don't sound like a ten year old.”
“I'm not a normal ten year old, Mrs Schiffer,” Lawliet answered, “if I was, I wouldn't be here.”
“I suppose so,” she answered. “You should unpack. Elden will be home soon, too.”
“I appreciate your hospitality,” Lawliet said, quietly.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Delcine told him, with a soft smile, “you're family.”
Lawliet bowed, much like Ulquiorra, and then left to unpack into his room. The bed was already made up, with plain white linens, and his suitcases contained clothes packed for him. He ignored the clothes, and instead unpacked the books, or got part way through unpacking the books before he was distracted, and then after a few minutes, and a sound that was most likely his brother Elden returning home, he retrieved a bag of sweets he'd stashed before leaving from one of the side pockets in his shoulder bag.
“You're not supposed to eat sweets before tea,” a quiet, young voice interrupted.
Lawliet looked to the source before offering the bag towards Ulquiorra. “One sweet constitutes such a small percentage of stomach capacity that it's practically impossible for it to spoil your appetite.”
Ulquiorra blinked at him, staring in that blank, unreadable way Lawliet was growing accustomed to. When Lawliet shook the bag towards him again Ulquiorra stepped forwards and quietly took one, murmuring a nearly shy, “Thank you,” before putting it in his mouth.
“Arigatou,” Lawliet told him, “in old Rozarrian.” He was met with another stare from Ulquiorra, and put a sweet in his own mouth before he explained, around the toffee, “I'm studying the language.” He indicated the book he'd become engrossed in, since it was more interesting than unpacking clothes.
Ulquiorra wandered over, saying nothing because he'd been raised not to talk with his mouth full, and peered down at the book. It was full of funny looking squiggles that bore no real relation to what Ulquiorra had been learning to read at school. Although it was the other children that were really learning to read; Ulquiorra had been taught by his mother before starting school.
“Can you write your name yet?” Lawliet asked. Ulquiorra nodded, silently, and Lawliet retrieved a pen and piece of paper, scribbling some of the more stylised squiggles onto the paper after a moment's thought. “That would be your name in Rozarrian,” he said, when he'd finished, and handed the paper to Ulquiorra.
Ulquiorra took it in both hands, staring at the strange symbols. Lawliet handed him the pen. “You try,” he said, and stood up, slipping his hand in his pockets as he followed Ulquiorra over to the study desk and watched him try and copy the lettering.
“Not bad,” he said, when Ulquiorra finished, and took the pen back off him, “but try this way,” he wrote Ulquiorra's name again, more slowly.
Ulquiorra copied the pen-strokes again, and when he'd finished, Lawliet nodded. “You should practice until you can do it without copying,” he said.
“Quiorra-chan, Lawliet, go and wash your hands, please.” Ulquiorra's mother called from downstairs.
“Yes, mother,” Ulquiorra answered, and took hold of Lawliet's sleeve to walk with him to the bathroom. Lawliet looked briefly surprised, but went with his young nephew regardless.
Ulquiorra took his seat at the table, demure and polite, and his father mussed his hair up affectionately as he walked past. Ulquiorra looked up at him with a faint smile, and his father sat next to him. “Did you have a good day at school?”
Ulquiorra nodded, faintly, murmuring a wordless answer before elaborating, “Everyone was learning to write their name, but I can already do that.”
His father smiled, chuckling softly as Lawliet came in and added, “You can also write it in Rozarrian, now.” He clambered onto the chair opposite, balancing on his toes and sitting on his heels.
“Lawliet, sit down properly,” Elden said, with a frown.
“I'm afraid I can't do that,” Lawliet answered, hunching in on himself and holding the edge of the table with his fingers.
“Lawliet.” Ulquiorra's father spoke in a tone Ulquiorra hadn't heard much before; he rarely got cross, but he sounded it now.
“If I sit normally my intelligence will drop,” Lawliet explained.
Elden blinked at him, his expression blank and yet not surprised. “I'd appreciate if you showed some manners in front of Ulquiorra, Lawliet.”
“I have been nothing but polite,” Lawliet replied. “My posture is not a mark of impoliteness, it is simply how I am. If I were to sit normally, I would become normal.”
“There is nothing wrong with normal,” Elden said, firmly.
“Nor is there anything wrong with different,” Lawliet answered, calmly, “unless you would like to explain otherwise to Ulquiorra.”
A muscle twitched in Elden's jaw, and he flashed Lawliet a disapproving glare before turning his attention to Delcine when she came in. “Lawliet,” she began, with obvious disapproval, but Elden raised a hand, and shook his head, and she fell silent with a frown.
“Don't argue with a genius, dear,” he said, wryly, “you won't win.”
Ulquiorra looked from Lawliet, to his father, and then to his mother, eyes wide. He'd never seen someone talk back to his father before, and he'd never seen his father back down, either. He hadn't known that was possible; his father was an immovable object.
Apparently Lawliet was an unstoppable force.
“When do you start at Wammy's House?” Elden asked, when they'd started eating.
“A week on Monday,” Lawliet answered, placidly, holding his fork delicately between finger and thumb as he ate. It didn't seem to be causing him any difficulty, at least. “Then you'll only have to put up with me on weekends, until Warsend.”
“You're not a burden, Lawliet,” Delcine said, her voice soothing.
“I like you,” Ulquiorra said, quietly, his head down. He wasn't sure what was wrong, exactly; Lawliet was weird, certainly, but the atmosphere was making him uncomfortable.
Lawliet stopped for a moment, and cocked his head at Ulquiorra, before smiling. “Thank you, Ulquiorra.”
Elden sighed, quietly, and put his hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing it for a moment. “I'm glad the two of you are getting on,” he said, giving his son a soft smile.
Lawliet nodded, still wearing that smile. “Ulquiorra is an interesting child,” he said. “I enjoy his company.” Ulquiorra was perceptive, he thought, especially so for his age, and he didn't yet have the social conditioning that told him to keep his observations quiet, which also made him entertaining. He spoke his mind. A lot of the time, so did Lawliet.
“Lawliet taught me to write my name in Rozarrian,” Ulquiorra said, and his mother smiled.
“I will teach you more than that, when I'm here.”
“Home,” Ulquiorra's mother said, softly. “When you're home, since that's where you are now.”
Lawliet seemed to consider this for a moment before he gave a muted nod.
After tea, Ulquiorra sat at the table, practising writing his name the way Lawliet had shown him. Lawliet, for his part, was perched on the chair next to him, carefully reading a book at a leisurely pace.
“Well done,” he said, when Ulquiorra was able to write his name fluidly. He pulled the paper over, and took Ulquiorra's pen from him, scribbling something rather longer than Ulquiorra's name in Rozarrian underneath his own practice. He pushed it back to Ulquiorra when he'd finished.
Ulquiorra looked up at him, expression blank and eyes large and penetratingly green. The light was dimming, and his pupils had expanded very slightly from their tiny slits. “What does it say?” He asked.
Lawliet pushed the book over towards him, too, shifting his perch on the chair over so he was nearer to Ulquiorra, and explaining, referring to the book and pointing out the individual words. “My name is Ulquiorra, but my mother calls me Quiorra-chan,” he said, “which would be said like this,” and he wrote the Rozarrian words in Spiran script underneath, before guiding Ulquiorra through the phonetics.
He stumbled over it, at first, and once he was done, he asked, “Lawliet, what is your name in Rozarrian?”
“My name?” Lawliet repeated, faintly surprised, but he recovered, and wrote his own name underneath. “That,” he said.
Ulquiorra smiled before taking his pen back and copying the name.
“They're getting along well,” Delcine said, as she made her way back from watching the two of them through the doorway. Elden only murmured. “He's your brother, Elden.”
“He was Ulquiorra's age when I married you; I barely know him,” Elden replied.
“He's still your brother, you should make an effort,” she told him. “He needs a little normality, especially if he's going to Wammy's House. You know that place's reputation.” Wammy's House was a school for the gifted, but the students that filed out through its doors were either brilliant but socially inept, or brilliant and frighteningly maladjusted. If they could keep a little normality in Lawliet's life, then perhaps he'd stand a chance.
“Do you know what he said to me earlier?” Elden said, his tone measured. “He said that if I wanted him to sit like a normal person in his chair, then I'd have to explain to Ulquiorra how different is wrong.” He scowled. “He's ten, and already that manipulative. I don't like him getting close to our son.”
Delcine frowned, and then sighed softly. “All right, perhaps he isn't the best of possible influences, but he's actually taking the time to listen to Ulquiorra, and talk to him properly. At least give him credit for that. He's the only member of your family that hasn't done a double take and then given you a pitying look.”
“No,” Elden said, “instead he's using him to make a point.”
“Give him time,” she said, softly. “He's in a new place, with new people, being shipped off to a school for,” she hesitated before ploughing ahead regardless, “weirdos. He's smart, but he's still ten. If you can't treat him like a brother, at least think of him like one of Ulquiorra's friends?”
Elden huffed, and opened the evening paper, signifying an end to the discussion.
At school later that week, Ulquiorra occupied the reading corner with his friends. It was supposed to be outside play, but a heavy rain had been falling since mid morning, and the teacher had instead let the students stay in the classroom. The others had scrambled for the building blocks, and playing bricks, but Ulquiorra and his two friends didn't play much with the other children unless they were put in designated playgroups, a concept all three of them hated.
Neron had completely black eyes, sclera and iris, as well as pupil, and an extra finger on each hand. He was the more boisterous of the three, but had a quiet side to him, and he was stronger than Ulquiorra. Bonita was the girl of the trio; a pink haired Selkie with a pink furred tail she usually tried to hide under her skirt, and cat's ears. She was shy, and didn't talk much, unless she was with Ulquiorra and Neron; around them she had a playful streak, and she was the fastest runner of the three. The three of them were the only mist mutants in their year, or at least, the only ones with visible mutations. Ulquiorra's mother had explained that not all mist mutations were visible, and Ulquiorra had shared this information with his two friends, but it hadn't stopped one or two from the class from picking on them anyway.
Ryuuzaki was a Selkie boy with dark blue hair, and orange eyes. In their first week at school, he'd pulled Bonita's tail and called her a freak, which had made her cry. Neron had punched him, resulting in a fight between the two boys that had been split up by the teacher, who had marched both children off to see the headmaster.
Ulquiorra had been the only one of the entire class to go over to Bonita while the fight was going on, serious faced and quiet. He hadn't known what to say, at the time, and still wouldn't know now, so he did the only thing he could think of, which was to introduce himself, and offer her his bottle of milk.
She'd looked at him, for a moment as if she was angry, and then her bottom lip had wobbled and she took the bottle from him with a quiet thank you.
They'd both spoken to Neron, when he finally emerged from the headteacher's office, and had been friends ever since. The teacher liked to split them up in class, to work with other people, although never, Ulquiorra had noticed, with Ryuuzaki, but they were left to group together at play times.
“Your uncle sounds weird,” Bonita said, when Ulquiorra had finished telling them about Lawliet. He'd learned how to write all their names in Rozarrian now, and had shown Bonita and Neron, too, and now it had become their secret sign in their little group.
Ulquiorra nodded his agreement. “He is,” he said, “he's not really like an uncle.” Ulquiorra had uncles; his mother's brothers, whom he'd met, and who were always these tall, distant people who didn't talk to him very much, and certainly didn't sit with him before bedtime teaching him how to write in another language, and certainly never helping him read.
“He sounds more like a brother,” Neron said, his upper lip curled. Neron had a brother, and a sister; they were mist mutants too, he said, although Ulquiorra had never met them. Neron considered brothers a pain because his own was, so he said. Ulquiorra thought it would be nice to have a brother, and considered Neron's verdict carefully.
“I think I'd like him to be my brother. Maybe then he wouldn't have to go to Wammy's House.” Ulquiorra frowned, faintly. “Mother says it's a place for very intelligent people, but she always frowns when she says it.”
“Maybe if you're intelligent you have to go there,” Bonita suggested, “and you don't get a choice?”
Ulquiorra shook his head. “I don't think that's it.”
Neron leaned back against the bookcase in their little nook. They were hidden from the view of the rest of the class back here, and they liked it that way. “It can't be that bad if you have to be smart to go,” he said, reasonably.
Silence descended on them for a long moment, until Bonita broke it. “Maybe your uncle's intelligence is one of those mist mutations you can't see?” She looked at Ulquiorra, her tail peeking out from under her skirt as it coiled in the air like a cat's. “Maybe that's why he has to go to a special school?”
“I don't think they separate mist mutants into their own schools,” Neron said, with a hint of bitterness, “or we'd be in one.”
“Just the super intelligent ones,” Bonita said, defiantly.
“Mother did say that everyone from Wammy's House is a little bit strange,” Ulquiorra admitted, quietly.
“See!” Bonita said, and stuck her tongue out. She had little fangs, too, but she didn't show them often. “Your uncle might be a mist mutant,” she said, turning to Ulquiorra.
“Being strange doesn't make you a mist mutant, and being a mist mutant doesn't make you strange,” Neron said, firmly, his mouth set in a line. “My family always says that.”
“Yeah, but all of you are mist mutants,” Bonita said in response.
“I'll ask him,” Ulquiorra said, bringing the argument to a halt.
“Ask if we'll go to Wammy's House when we get older too,” Bonita said. “It has to be better than here.”
“You have to be super intelligent,” Neron said.
“Then we can study.”
“I don't think my mother would let me go,” Ulquiorra said, quietly. “I don't think she likes that place.”
“Well,” Bonita said, disappointment in her voice, “maybe we can go somewhere else instead, where there's no Ryuuzaki.”
Ulquiorra cracked a tiny smile at that. “Neron and I can deal with Ryuuzaki,” he said, “you don't have to worry about him.”
The rain was still falling when school ended, and Ulquiorra and the rest of the children waited in the classroom for their parents to collect them. He stood with Bonita and Neron, out of the way, while children filed out, accompanied by their parents.
“Schiffer,” Ulquiorra heard his surname called, and nodded his farewells to his two friends before going forward. He was surprised, then, to see not his mother, but Lawliet.
“Your mother asked me to pick you up,” he said, as Ulquiorra stared at him. “She had an errand to run.”
Ulquiorra looked him over, taking in his slouch, and the way he had his hands firmly in his pockets. He was, at least, wearing shoes, although they were ratty old ones with the backs stamped down in the same way some of the older kids in the school wore theirs. “What's wrong?” He asked.
“Nothing,” Lawliet answered, “but it's the last weekend before I leave for my school and your mother is organising a special meal.”
Ulquiorra regarded Lawliet carefully before he took his sleeve and tugged him towards the back of the classroom where Bonita and Neron were. “My friends want to meet you,” he said, simply, as he tugged Lawliet over.
“Is this your uncle?” Neron asked, as Ulquiorra approached. Lawliet was walking without guidance now, hunched over, and put his hand back in his pocket. Bonita, Ulquiorra noticed, had stepped behind Neron when she saw Lawliet.
“I am,” Lawliet answered.
“You don't look old enough to be an uncle,” Neron said.
“I don't feel old enough,” Lawliet told him, mildly.
“You look old enough to be a brother, though.”
Lawliet tilted his head slightly, considering this. “Perhaps I am, but then Quiorra-chan would have to call me 'aniki' instead of 'uncle'.”
Ulquiorra looked at Lawliet, blinking once. “What does 'aniki' mean?”
“Older brother,” Lawliet answered, “but it can also be used with people who are only similar to an older brother.”
Neron looked at Ulquiorra as if some matter had been settled. Uncles weren't only six years older than you, but brothers could be, and if Ulquiorra's uncle was okay with being called a word for older brother, then he was as good as one.
“Is it true you're going to Wammy's House?” Bonita asked, her voice barely above a whisper, changing the subject.
“Yes,” Lawliet answered, simply.
“Could we go there when we're older?”
“Why would you want to?” Lawliet asked, with genuine sounding curiosity.
Bonita hid further behind Neron again. “Because people might be nicer there,” she whispered.
“They're not,” Lawliet answered, flatly. “Wammy's House is a competition to be the best.”
“Then why are you going?” Neron asked, folding his arms.
“Because I'm going to win,” Lawliet answered, simply.
“Will Ulquiorra go when he's older?” Bonita asked, quietly.
“Do you want him to?” Lawliet asked. Bonita shook her head violently, and Ulquiorra looked at the floor and away, feeling awkward. “I don't think you have to worry,” Lawliet said. “Ulquiorra is very smart, but I don't think he'll go to my school.”
“Why not?” Ulquiorra asked, giving Lawliet a piercing look.
Lawliet considered this, looking to the ceiling and putting his thumb to his mouth as he thought. After a few, long moments he finally answered, “Your parents wouldn't let you. They don't want you to end up like me.”
“What would be so bad about that?” Ulquiorra asked, keeping that same piercing look on Lawliet.
“I'm ten,” Lawliet answered, “and my only friend is four.” He smiled to himself before he changed the subject, saying, “We should be going, or your mother will think we were kidnapped.” He didn't bow, or say anything else to Bonita and Neron as he turned away. Ulquiorra waved to them both before running to keep up. As he walked alongside Lawliet, he watched him, and then put his hands in his own pockets as he walked.
Lawliet gave a tiny smile to the air.
“Are you all packed?” Ulquiorra's mother asked Lawliet.
Lawliet nodded; in truth he'd never really unpacked. He'd only unpacked what clothes he'd worn, and the books he'd required or been interested in. Now, most of them had been repacked, haphazardly, because they were only going to be unpacked again over the course of the next week. He was leaving some clothes behind; enough that he wouldn't have to drag clothes back and forth between here and school, and he hadn't packed away a couple of his books, either. “Yes, I am.”
Delcine nodded; she wasn't going to inspect the state of Lawliet's packing because she knew what she'd find and didn't want to waste her time. Some things wouldn't be tackled in an evening. “Quiorra-chan will be going to bed shortly, you should say goodbye while you can,” she said. “We'll miss you tomorrow, so there won't be chance.”
Lawliet picked up the books he was leaving behind in a small stack and headed for Ulquiorra's room. Ulquiorra was already in his pyjamas, green flannel with white stripes, sitting on his bed with one of his schoolbooks open in front of him. Neat rows of basic mathematics in Ulquiorra's hand lined the page.
“Quiorra-chan?” Ulquiorra looked up at him at the use of the nickname, but didn't give a verbal reply, instead fixing Lawliet with his green eyes. Lawliet approached, and put the books on Ulquiorra's bed, clambering up to crouch on the end of it, opposite Ulquiorra. “I'm going to leave these with you. I expect your grasp of Rozarrian to have improved further by next week.”
Ulquiorra blinked at him, just the once, “Don't you need them?”
“I've finished with these,” Lawliet answered.
Ulquiorra pushed the maths book away and shuffled closer, picking up the book off the top of Lawliet's pile. “Thank you, aniki.” he said, in Rozarrian.
“You learn quickly, Quiorra-chan,” Lawliet answered, and watched as Ulquiorra worked out the translation in his head. He smiled to himself; it had been two weeks, but Ulquiorra was already attempting to speak the language, at times. He was still shaky, and struggled with grammar structures, and his vocabulary was limited, but he'd picked up a couple of hundred words already, and Lawliet expected more from him in the following weeks.
“Can I show them to Bonita and Neron?” Ulquiorra asked. He'd taught them how to write their names, and say a few words, which they all thought was cool, but it would be even better if they could speak to each other in it.
“Of course,” Lawliet answered. He pulled Ulquiorra's maths book nearer by one corner, scanning the neat lines of numbers and pluses or minuses. He'd got them all right; Lawliet wasn't surprised.
“Do you have to go to Wammy's?” Ulquiorra asked, after a moment, as he stared at the writing in the book he held.
“I want to go there,” Lawliet told him, quietly. “It was my request.”
That drew Ulquiorra's attention, and he looked up, with surprise. “Why?”
Lawliet put one hand on his knees, and worried at his thumb with his teeth while he explained, “I was an accident. My parents are elderly and don't have the energy or capability to deal with me, or my intelligence. I have no peers, and few boundaries. Adults struggle to cope with me. The first friend I have made was you, the first person to have shown understanding and tolerance, is my brother's wife.” Lawliet looked at Ulquiorra, his black eyes wide, and he looked too old, and too tired, all of a sudden. “Wammy's House will be better for me. Even here, I'm mainly tolerated.”
Ulquiorra stared at him, his pupils expanding slightly, and Lawliet smiled at him, and reached out to muss his already messy hair. “But here, I have someone I shall be glad to return to. I shall see you next week,” he said.
Warsend came and went, and Ulquiorra spent the holiday with Lawliet. Ulquiorra's father disapproved, but he bore it with some grace until he overheard Ulquiorra and Lawliet talking to each other in another language.
“It is rude to talk in a language your mother and I don't understand, Ulquiorra,” he explained to his son.
Ulquiorra had seemed to accept the explanation, and hadn't been caught doing it since, but Elden was sure he'd overheard Lawliet and Ulquiorra talking in private since then, but they made a switch to standard Spiran as soon as either of them sensed him there.
Lawliet's bad habits had grown worse, too. Wammy's House wasn't like an ordinary school; the students were taught academic subjects, but that was where the similarities ended. He was assured that Lawliet was flourishing, that he had a unique talent, but Elden still wished they could teach him to sit on a chair like a normal person. He'd chastised him for walking hunched over, with his hands in his pockets, when he'd witnessed Lawliet and Ulquiorra side by side and noted the similarity in their stances, only to have Delcine traitorously point out that Lawliet and Ulquiorra were not the only Schiffers present to habitually put their hands in their pockets.
He'd made a conscious effort to refrain, since, and when Lawliet was away, made sure to spend time with Ulquiorra to undo some of the damage.
Then there were Ulquiorra's friends, who looked at Lawliet in a similar way to Ulquiorra. It was depressing, it really was.
Then, a few scant weeks before the summer holiday, Ulquiorra returned him from school with a torn shirt and his eye puffed and red.
“Quiorra-chan?” His mother asked, rushing to him. “What happened?”
Ulquiorra was taciturn, but Elden, who had taken a half day from work because he'd agreed to help Ulquiorra and his friends build a tree-house ready for the summer months and longer days, spotted the tensing in his son's jaw. “Answer your mother, Ulquiorra.”
His heart jumped painfully when he saw his son sniffle as he gathered himself, and finally answered, “He was throwing stones at Bonita, so I hit him.”
“Who was?” Delcine asked, crouching down and examining her son's eye with a frown.
“Ryuuzaki,” Ulquiorra answered, after a moment. “He's always making her cry,” he said, in explanation, “and Neron usually stops him, but Neron was kept behind at school for hitting him earlier. So I did it.”
“Where's Bonita now?” Delcine asked.
“I walked her home first,” Ulquiorra answered, quietly. He looked, for a moment, miserable. “Why won't he leave us alone?”
Delcine frowned, and gathered her son up in her arms, shaking her head. “Some people just aren't very nice, Quiorra-chan. It's not your fault.”
Elden watched Ulquiorra grip his mother's clothes in tight little fists, but he was clearly refusing to cry. “Ulquiorra,” he said, kneeling down to be on eye level with the boy, “You did the right thing.”
Delcine let Ulquiorra go as he shifted to leave his mother's arms, and instead planted himself in his father's. Elden hugged him tightly. “I'm proud of you,” he said.
They applied a cold compress to Ulquiorra's eye until some of the swelling had gone down, and then, as promised, and to take his mind off things, Elden and Ulquiorra went out, meeting up with Bonita and Neron to build their tree-house When they got there, Bonita was already up the tree, standing gracefully on a branch in bare feet, tying a rope up so that Ulquiorra and Neron, who lacked her balance, would be able to work safely. She waved at them as they approached, smiling brightly.
It was dusk before they'd finished, and Elden carried Ulquiorra on his shoulders while Ulquiorra double checked the solidity of the supporting strut. Neron gave the whole thing a test jump, making Elden wince, but it held, and then their parents came for them. Elden lifted Ulquiorra back to the ground while he spoke to them, and Ulquiorra clambered up the tree, and into their new hideaway. It was above the heads of the adults, and they'd put a rope ladder in at the entrance so Bonita, who was a natural climber, could throw it down to let Ulquiorra and Neron up with them.
“What do you think?” Neron asked.
“They're talking about Ryuuzaki,” Bonita said, quietly. “You didn't get in trouble, did you, Ulquiorra?”
“No,” he answered, “but mother says I will have a black eye.”
“Wish I'd been there,” Neron muttered, balling a fist and punching the air. “I'd have given him something to cry about.”
“You're already in trouble for doing just that,” Bonita pointed out, her hands on her hips, and her tail swaying with annoyance. “Daddy says he's going to talk to the headteacher again,” she added, after a moment.
“That won't make any difference,” Neron said, with a sneer.
Ulquiorra murmured wordless agreement before elaborating, “Mother mentioned speaking to his parents, but they both agreed that it won't make any difference.”
“Yeah,” Neron grumbled, “his mom and dad are as bad as he is.” Neron lived down the street from Ryuuzaki and his family, and the two households didn't speak to each other. It was also why neither Ulquiorra nor Bonita went to Neron's house; he always came to them.
Bonita crouched down, her tail coiling around her as it often did when she was upset. “He's never going to stop, is he?” She said, quietly.
Neron frowned, sharing a look with Ulquiorra before he said, full of bravado, “One day, we'll hit him so hard he'll have to get the message.”
“Violence isn't always the answer,” Ulquiorra said. His parents had told him that today, and after altercations with Ryuuzaki before. It had never been scolding; it had never been to tell him it hadn't been the answer this time, simply that it did not always have to be the answer, and Ulquiorra thought he was beginning to understand. “If it doesn't work, we'll find another.”
“You're going to talk to your aniki, aren't you?” Bonita said, looking at Ulquiorra.
Ulquiorra nodded, his hands in his pockets as he watched the adults through their viewpoint; it let them watch for anyone coming up to the new tree-house, just in case anyone tried to come and bother them. The tree itself was on land owned by Ulquiorra's father; it had, once, been home to a chocobo stable and paddocks, but the chocobos were all gone before Ulquiorra was born, and this tree at the end of an old paddock had been perfect for building in. The fact that it was on Schiffer land meant that no one else should come near it, but they'd wanted to prepare for the possibilities.
Neron looked grumpy. “He's not here very much, though. We can't rely on him.”
“He may have an idea,” Ulquiorra answered, quietly.
“Bonnie!” A voice called from below.
“Neron! Time to go home.” Another voice interrupted.
Bonita stood, her tail waving in the air as she made her way to the exit. “See you tomorrow,” she said to her friends, before she swung out of the door, using her tail for balance. Neron only gave Ulquiorra a brief wave before he followed.
Ulquiorra waited a moment before he followed them, sitting himself on the edge of the exit before dropping, to be caught by his father. “Were you talking about Ryuuzaki?” He asked, when his father picked him up and held him close instead of putting him back down. Ulquiorra gripped his father's shirt in his hands, looking at him with his bright green eyes.
His father nodded. “He picks on all of you, doesn't he?”
“Bonita's the only one who cries,” Ulquiorra said, with a tiny note of defiance.
“Well,” Ulquiorra's father said, “we're going to speak to your school, and not just the headmaster, but until something is done, we're going to make sure someone is there to pick all of you up from school every day. No more walking home alone.” Ulquiorra frowned at that, as he'd enjoyed the responsibility of walking home on his own, and his father adjusted his hold on him before he mussed up Ulquiorra's hair. “It's only until something is worked out, Ulquiorra,” he said, “it won't be for long.”
Ulquiorra maintained his frown, but he nodded, and his father sighed, and then lifted him up to ride home on his shoulders. That finally earned him a smile.
“What happened?” Lawliet asked, when he saw Ulquiorra after arriving back from school for the weekend.
“I got into a fight,” Ulquiorra answered, “with Ryuuzaki. He was picking on Bonita again.” By now his black eye was in full bloom; the bruise was black, and extended from his eye socket and down over his cheek. The lid was swollen at the bottom, although the upper lid had escaped the worst of it.
Lawliet frowned, crawling into his customary crouch on a nearby chair. “I see. You struck first?” Ulquiorra nodded, silently, his expression grim. “Show me your fist.”
Ulquiorra looked at him blankly for a moment and then extended a fist, unsure of where exactly Lawliet was going with this line of conversation, although he could hazard a guess. “Mother says that violence is not always the answer,” he said, quietly.
Lawliet nodded his head just the once, examining Ulquiorra's fist critically before adjusting the position of his thumb and commenting, “She's right, but 'not always' is not the same as 'never'. Some problems can only be solved with violence, and only a bad parent would demand their child react passively when physically attacked.”
Ulquiorra stared at Lawliet a while longer while Lawliet tucked the tip of his own thumb against his teeth and worried at the nail. “Father mentioned speaking to Ryuuzaki's parents.”
“A child like that, at that age, is merely copying the attitude of his parents; speaking to them will make no headway.”
Ulquiorra scowled at Lawliet's response, muttering, sullenly, “That's what we thought.”
Lawliet canted his head, looking at Ulquiorra. After a moment's thought he said, “You're young; let your parents fight this one for you, for now.”
Ulquiorra's scowl remained. He looked distinctly unhappy, his frown accentuated by the darkness of his upper lip. He always looked unhappy when he was being serious, which Lawliet had grown used to; it was down to his colouring, the pale skin and dark lip, dark rimmed eyes, and that vivid, piercing green of his eyes. When he was flushed from exertion, his cheeks darkened, but they didn't go pink like those of most people. This, however, was a genuine unhappiness. “So when what they are doing doesn't work, aniki, what then?”
“Try to punch me.”
Ulquiorra's eyes went wide. “What?”
“Try to punch me,” Lawliet said, “and I will evade, and then you will learn to evade, and then I will teach you how to fight back.”
“Aniki,” Ulquiorra trailed off.
“Don't expect to be a competent fighter after learning only a couple of moves. They must be practised, like language, until they become second nature. Do you understand?”
Ulquiorra nodded, and then said, quietly, “Thank you, aniki.”
“Don't thank me yet.”
Part Two
He'd started school recently, and had been a big boy unlike a lot of the other children, and hadn't cried, or clung to his mother as she left him in the classroom. The teacher was nice, and a couple of the other children had been nice to him, too, but then there had been the ones who weren't so nice, and had called him and his friends names. He hadn't told his mother; he didn't see the point. He'd told the teacher, and she had told the other children to be nice and not use words like that, and they had completely ignored her, so Ulquiorra's mother wouldn't be able to do much more.
When he got to the living room, his mother greeted him, with an older boy with messy black hair like Ulquiorra's own, and like his father's, standing just behind her. Ulquiorra stared, the older boy stood with his hands in his pockets, hunched over like he was shy, in bare feet and slightly messy clothes. He looked as though Ulquiorra's mother, or possibly his own, had tried to tidy his hair up, and it hadn't worked. He also looked as though he'd recently been subjected to a motherly spitwash, and was still cringing from the embarrassment.
“Ulquiorra,” his mother said, her voice gentle, “this is your Uncle Lawliet. Come and say hello.”
Ulquiorra stared for a few seconds longer before he said, “He's too young to be my uncle.”
“Ulquiorra,” his mother scolded. “That's very rude.”
Ulquiorra frowned, and replied, “Sorry, mother.”
“Now introduce yourself.”
Ulquiorra nodded, and approached 'Uncle Lawliet', bowing slightly to him, “Pleased to meet you, uncle Lawliet, I am Ulquiorra.”
The older boy scratched his calf with his foot before awkwardly returning the bow. “Lawliet will do,” he said. He sounded young; his voice was still a child's. “I'm your father's younger brother,” he added, after a brief moment of silence, “so you're right, I am young for an uncle, but I am still your uncle.”
Ulquiorra looked up at him with big green eyes, his pupils slitted like a cat's, and narrow in the light. “How old are you?” He asked.
“Ten.”
“Lawliet will be living with us for a while,” Ulquiorra's mother said. “He's going to Wammy's House, so at weekends and during the holidays he'll be staying here.”
Ulquiorra looked at Lawliet again. Lawliet scratched the back of his head, prompting Ulquiorra's mother to tut quietly and force his hand down. “Stop doing that.” More quietly she said, “I'm going to get a nit comb before you start at Wammy's.”
“Why are you going to Wammy's House?”
Lawliet looked at Ulquiorra with faint interest before he answered, “Because I'm a genius. Why do you ask?”
Ulquiorra considered that question for a little while before he answered, explaining, “I've never seen you before, so you're a long way from your home, so Wammy's House must be special.”
Lawliet didn't blink, but he nodded slightly. “How old are you?”
“Four.”
“You have very good reasoning skills for a four year old.”
“You don't talk like the other ten year olds,” Ulquiorra replied. That seemed to earn him a tiny little smile.
“I'm a little odd,” Lawliet admitted.
“You're strange,” Ulquiorra told him, rather bluntly, and earning himself another scolding call of his name from his mother.
“So are you, Quiorra-chan,” Lawliet replied.
Ulquiorra fell quiet then, eyes cast downwards before he answered, “I know.”
Lawliet watched the reaction, and then crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet. “Strange only means different, Quiorra-chan, it doesn't mean wrong.”
Ulquiorra looked at Lawliet, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for what felt like a long time before he nodded.
“Go and finish your drawing, Quiorra-chan,” his mother said, gently, “it'll be tea time, soon.” Ulquiorra nodded, and turned to go and finish his drawing.
“He's very intelligent for his age,” Lawliet commented, once Ulquiorra was out of earshot.
“I hope you'll make the effort to be nice to him, Lawliet,” Ulquiorra's mother said. “He started school a couple of weeks ago, and he needs a friend.”
“He's being bullied,” Lawliet said, calmly. Delcine Schiffer frowned, and Lawliet told her, “So was I, at his age. Children quickly establish a pecking order, and to do that they pick on differences; he is not bullied because he is a mist mutant, but rather, regardless of it.”
Delcine kept her frown; it didn't make her feel any better knowing that her son was bullied at all. The teacher had told her, of course, there was some name calling, she said. Ulquiorra had seemed to ignore it, apparently, but had banded together with a couple of other children who also had visible mutations. They had to be careful of him distancing himself from anyone who wasn't a mist mutant, as it would only make things worse. “He's right,” she said, “you don't sound like a ten year old.”
“I'm not a normal ten year old, Mrs Schiffer,” Lawliet answered, “if I was, I wouldn't be here.”
“I suppose so,” she answered. “You should unpack. Elden will be home soon, too.”
“I appreciate your hospitality,” Lawliet said, quietly.
“Don't be ridiculous,” Delcine told him, with a soft smile, “you're family.”
Lawliet bowed, much like Ulquiorra, and then left to unpack into his room. The bed was already made up, with plain white linens, and his suitcases contained clothes packed for him. He ignored the clothes, and instead unpacked the books, or got part way through unpacking the books before he was distracted, and then after a few minutes, and a sound that was most likely his brother Elden returning home, he retrieved a bag of sweets he'd stashed before leaving from one of the side pockets in his shoulder bag.
“You're not supposed to eat sweets before tea,” a quiet, young voice interrupted.
Lawliet looked to the source before offering the bag towards Ulquiorra. “One sweet constitutes such a small percentage of stomach capacity that it's practically impossible for it to spoil your appetite.”
Ulquiorra blinked at him, staring in that blank, unreadable way Lawliet was growing accustomed to. When Lawliet shook the bag towards him again Ulquiorra stepped forwards and quietly took one, murmuring a nearly shy, “Thank you,” before putting it in his mouth.
“Arigatou,” Lawliet told him, “in old Rozarrian.” He was met with another stare from Ulquiorra, and put a sweet in his own mouth before he explained, around the toffee, “I'm studying the language.” He indicated the book he'd become engrossed in, since it was more interesting than unpacking clothes.
Ulquiorra wandered over, saying nothing because he'd been raised not to talk with his mouth full, and peered down at the book. It was full of funny looking squiggles that bore no real relation to what Ulquiorra had been learning to read at school. Although it was the other children that were really learning to read; Ulquiorra had been taught by his mother before starting school.
“Can you write your name yet?” Lawliet asked. Ulquiorra nodded, silently, and Lawliet retrieved a pen and piece of paper, scribbling some of the more stylised squiggles onto the paper after a moment's thought. “That would be your name in Rozarrian,” he said, when he'd finished, and handed the paper to Ulquiorra.
Ulquiorra took it in both hands, staring at the strange symbols. Lawliet handed him the pen. “You try,” he said, and stood up, slipping his hand in his pockets as he followed Ulquiorra over to the study desk and watched him try and copy the lettering.
“Not bad,” he said, when Ulquiorra finished, and took the pen back off him, “but try this way,” he wrote Ulquiorra's name again, more slowly.
Ulquiorra copied the pen-strokes again, and when he'd finished, Lawliet nodded. “You should practice until you can do it without copying,” he said.
“Quiorra-chan, Lawliet, go and wash your hands, please.” Ulquiorra's mother called from downstairs.
“Yes, mother,” Ulquiorra answered, and took hold of Lawliet's sleeve to walk with him to the bathroom. Lawliet looked briefly surprised, but went with his young nephew regardless.
Ulquiorra took his seat at the table, demure and polite, and his father mussed his hair up affectionately as he walked past. Ulquiorra looked up at him with a faint smile, and his father sat next to him. “Did you have a good day at school?”
Ulquiorra nodded, faintly, murmuring a wordless answer before elaborating, “Everyone was learning to write their name, but I can already do that.”
His father smiled, chuckling softly as Lawliet came in and added, “You can also write it in Rozarrian, now.” He clambered onto the chair opposite, balancing on his toes and sitting on his heels.
“Lawliet, sit down properly,” Elden said, with a frown.
“I'm afraid I can't do that,” Lawliet answered, hunching in on himself and holding the edge of the table with his fingers.
“Lawliet.” Ulquiorra's father spoke in a tone Ulquiorra hadn't heard much before; he rarely got cross, but he sounded it now.
“If I sit normally my intelligence will drop,” Lawliet explained.
Elden blinked at him, his expression blank and yet not surprised. “I'd appreciate if you showed some manners in front of Ulquiorra, Lawliet.”
“I have been nothing but polite,” Lawliet replied. “My posture is not a mark of impoliteness, it is simply how I am. If I were to sit normally, I would become normal.”
“There is nothing wrong with normal,” Elden said, firmly.
“Nor is there anything wrong with different,” Lawliet answered, calmly, “unless you would like to explain otherwise to Ulquiorra.”
A muscle twitched in Elden's jaw, and he flashed Lawliet a disapproving glare before turning his attention to Delcine when she came in. “Lawliet,” she began, with obvious disapproval, but Elden raised a hand, and shook his head, and she fell silent with a frown.
“Don't argue with a genius, dear,” he said, wryly, “you won't win.”
Ulquiorra looked from Lawliet, to his father, and then to his mother, eyes wide. He'd never seen someone talk back to his father before, and he'd never seen his father back down, either. He hadn't known that was possible; his father was an immovable object.
Apparently Lawliet was an unstoppable force.
“When do you start at Wammy's House?” Elden asked, when they'd started eating.
“A week on Monday,” Lawliet answered, placidly, holding his fork delicately between finger and thumb as he ate. It didn't seem to be causing him any difficulty, at least. “Then you'll only have to put up with me on weekends, until Warsend.”
“You're not a burden, Lawliet,” Delcine said, her voice soothing.
“I like you,” Ulquiorra said, quietly, his head down. He wasn't sure what was wrong, exactly; Lawliet was weird, certainly, but the atmosphere was making him uncomfortable.
Lawliet stopped for a moment, and cocked his head at Ulquiorra, before smiling. “Thank you, Ulquiorra.”
Elden sighed, quietly, and put his hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing it for a moment. “I'm glad the two of you are getting on,” he said, giving his son a soft smile.
Lawliet nodded, still wearing that smile. “Ulquiorra is an interesting child,” he said. “I enjoy his company.” Ulquiorra was perceptive, he thought, especially so for his age, and he didn't yet have the social conditioning that told him to keep his observations quiet, which also made him entertaining. He spoke his mind. A lot of the time, so did Lawliet.
“Lawliet taught me to write my name in Rozarrian,” Ulquiorra said, and his mother smiled.
“I will teach you more than that, when I'm here.”
“Home,” Ulquiorra's mother said, softly. “When you're home, since that's where you are now.”
Lawliet seemed to consider this for a moment before he gave a muted nod.
After tea, Ulquiorra sat at the table, practising writing his name the way Lawliet had shown him. Lawliet, for his part, was perched on the chair next to him, carefully reading a book at a leisurely pace.
“Well done,” he said, when Ulquiorra was able to write his name fluidly. He pulled the paper over, and took Ulquiorra's pen from him, scribbling something rather longer than Ulquiorra's name in Rozarrian underneath his own practice. He pushed it back to Ulquiorra when he'd finished.
Ulquiorra looked up at him, expression blank and eyes large and penetratingly green. The light was dimming, and his pupils had expanded very slightly from their tiny slits. “What does it say?” He asked.
Lawliet pushed the book over towards him, too, shifting his perch on the chair over so he was nearer to Ulquiorra, and explaining, referring to the book and pointing out the individual words. “My name is Ulquiorra, but my mother calls me Quiorra-chan,” he said, “which would be said like this,” and he wrote the Rozarrian words in Spiran script underneath, before guiding Ulquiorra through the phonetics.
He stumbled over it, at first, and once he was done, he asked, “Lawliet, what is your name in Rozarrian?”
“My name?” Lawliet repeated, faintly surprised, but he recovered, and wrote his own name underneath. “That,” he said.
Ulquiorra smiled before taking his pen back and copying the name.
“They're getting along well,” Delcine said, as she made her way back from watching the two of them through the doorway. Elden only murmured. “He's your brother, Elden.”
“He was Ulquiorra's age when I married you; I barely know him,” Elden replied.
“He's still your brother, you should make an effort,” she told him. “He needs a little normality, especially if he's going to Wammy's House. You know that place's reputation.” Wammy's House was a school for the gifted, but the students that filed out through its doors were either brilliant but socially inept, or brilliant and frighteningly maladjusted. If they could keep a little normality in Lawliet's life, then perhaps he'd stand a chance.
“Do you know what he said to me earlier?” Elden said, his tone measured. “He said that if I wanted him to sit like a normal person in his chair, then I'd have to explain to Ulquiorra how different is wrong.” He scowled. “He's ten, and already that manipulative. I don't like him getting close to our son.”
Delcine frowned, and then sighed softly. “All right, perhaps he isn't the best of possible influences, but he's actually taking the time to listen to Ulquiorra, and talk to him properly. At least give him credit for that. He's the only member of your family that hasn't done a double take and then given you a pitying look.”
“No,” Elden said, “instead he's using him to make a point.”
“Give him time,” she said, softly. “He's in a new place, with new people, being shipped off to a school for,” she hesitated before ploughing ahead regardless, “weirdos. He's smart, but he's still ten. If you can't treat him like a brother, at least think of him like one of Ulquiorra's friends?”
Elden huffed, and opened the evening paper, signifying an end to the discussion.
At school later that week, Ulquiorra occupied the reading corner with his friends. It was supposed to be outside play, but a heavy rain had been falling since mid morning, and the teacher had instead let the students stay in the classroom. The others had scrambled for the building blocks, and playing bricks, but Ulquiorra and his two friends didn't play much with the other children unless they were put in designated playgroups, a concept all three of them hated.
Neron had completely black eyes, sclera and iris, as well as pupil, and an extra finger on each hand. He was the more boisterous of the three, but had a quiet side to him, and he was stronger than Ulquiorra. Bonita was the girl of the trio; a pink haired Selkie with a pink furred tail she usually tried to hide under her skirt, and cat's ears. She was shy, and didn't talk much, unless she was with Ulquiorra and Neron; around them she had a playful streak, and she was the fastest runner of the three. The three of them were the only mist mutants in their year, or at least, the only ones with visible mutations. Ulquiorra's mother had explained that not all mist mutations were visible, and Ulquiorra had shared this information with his two friends, but it hadn't stopped one or two from the class from picking on them anyway.
Ryuuzaki was a Selkie boy with dark blue hair, and orange eyes. In their first week at school, he'd pulled Bonita's tail and called her a freak, which had made her cry. Neron had punched him, resulting in a fight between the two boys that had been split up by the teacher, who had marched both children off to see the headmaster.
Ulquiorra had been the only one of the entire class to go over to Bonita while the fight was going on, serious faced and quiet. He hadn't known what to say, at the time, and still wouldn't know now, so he did the only thing he could think of, which was to introduce himself, and offer her his bottle of milk.
She'd looked at him, for a moment as if she was angry, and then her bottom lip had wobbled and she took the bottle from him with a quiet thank you.
They'd both spoken to Neron, when he finally emerged from the headteacher's office, and had been friends ever since. The teacher liked to split them up in class, to work with other people, although never, Ulquiorra had noticed, with Ryuuzaki, but they were left to group together at play times.
“Your uncle sounds weird,” Bonita said, when Ulquiorra had finished telling them about Lawliet. He'd learned how to write all their names in Rozarrian now, and had shown Bonita and Neron, too, and now it had become their secret sign in their little group.
Ulquiorra nodded his agreement. “He is,” he said, “he's not really like an uncle.” Ulquiorra had uncles; his mother's brothers, whom he'd met, and who were always these tall, distant people who didn't talk to him very much, and certainly didn't sit with him before bedtime teaching him how to write in another language, and certainly never helping him read.
“He sounds more like a brother,” Neron said, his upper lip curled. Neron had a brother, and a sister; they were mist mutants too, he said, although Ulquiorra had never met them. Neron considered brothers a pain because his own was, so he said. Ulquiorra thought it would be nice to have a brother, and considered Neron's verdict carefully.
“I think I'd like him to be my brother. Maybe then he wouldn't have to go to Wammy's House.” Ulquiorra frowned, faintly. “Mother says it's a place for very intelligent people, but she always frowns when she says it.”
“Maybe if you're intelligent you have to go there,” Bonita suggested, “and you don't get a choice?”
Ulquiorra shook his head. “I don't think that's it.”
Neron leaned back against the bookcase in their little nook. They were hidden from the view of the rest of the class back here, and they liked it that way. “It can't be that bad if you have to be smart to go,” he said, reasonably.
Silence descended on them for a long moment, until Bonita broke it. “Maybe your uncle's intelligence is one of those mist mutations you can't see?” She looked at Ulquiorra, her tail peeking out from under her skirt as it coiled in the air like a cat's. “Maybe that's why he has to go to a special school?”
“I don't think they separate mist mutants into their own schools,” Neron said, with a hint of bitterness, “or we'd be in one.”
“Just the super intelligent ones,” Bonita said, defiantly.
“Mother did say that everyone from Wammy's House is a little bit strange,” Ulquiorra admitted, quietly.
“See!” Bonita said, and stuck her tongue out. She had little fangs, too, but she didn't show them often. “Your uncle might be a mist mutant,” she said, turning to Ulquiorra.
“Being strange doesn't make you a mist mutant, and being a mist mutant doesn't make you strange,” Neron said, firmly, his mouth set in a line. “My family always says that.”
“Yeah, but all of you are mist mutants,” Bonita said in response.
“I'll ask him,” Ulquiorra said, bringing the argument to a halt.
“Ask if we'll go to Wammy's House when we get older too,” Bonita said. “It has to be better than here.”
“You have to be super intelligent,” Neron said.
“Then we can study.”
“I don't think my mother would let me go,” Ulquiorra said, quietly. “I don't think she likes that place.”
“Well,” Bonita said, disappointment in her voice, “maybe we can go somewhere else instead, where there's no Ryuuzaki.”
Ulquiorra cracked a tiny smile at that. “Neron and I can deal with Ryuuzaki,” he said, “you don't have to worry about him.”
The rain was still falling when school ended, and Ulquiorra and the rest of the children waited in the classroom for their parents to collect them. He stood with Bonita and Neron, out of the way, while children filed out, accompanied by their parents.
“Schiffer,” Ulquiorra heard his surname called, and nodded his farewells to his two friends before going forward. He was surprised, then, to see not his mother, but Lawliet.
“Your mother asked me to pick you up,” he said, as Ulquiorra stared at him. “She had an errand to run.”
Ulquiorra looked him over, taking in his slouch, and the way he had his hands firmly in his pockets. He was, at least, wearing shoes, although they were ratty old ones with the backs stamped down in the same way some of the older kids in the school wore theirs. “What's wrong?” He asked.
“Nothing,” Lawliet answered, “but it's the last weekend before I leave for my school and your mother is organising a special meal.”
Ulquiorra regarded Lawliet carefully before he took his sleeve and tugged him towards the back of the classroom where Bonita and Neron were. “My friends want to meet you,” he said, simply, as he tugged Lawliet over.
“Is this your uncle?” Neron asked, as Ulquiorra approached. Lawliet was walking without guidance now, hunched over, and put his hand back in his pocket. Bonita, Ulquiorra noticed, had stepped behind Neron when she saw Lawliet.
“I am,” Lawliet answered.
“You don't look old enough to be an uncle,” Neron said.
“I don't feel old enough,” Lawliet told him, mildly.
“You look old enough to be a brother, though.”
Lawliet tilted his head slightly, considering this. “Perhaps I am, but then Quiorra-chan would have to call me 'aniki' instead of 'uncle'.”
Ulquiorra looked at Lawliet, blinking once. “What does 'aniki' mean?”
“Older brother,” Lawliet answered, “but it can also be used with people who are only similar to an older brother.”
Neron looked at Ulquiorra as if some matter had been settled. Uncles weren't only six years older than you, but brothers could be, and if Ulquiorra's uncle was okay with being called a word for older brother, then he was as good as one.
“Is it true you're going to Wammy's House?” Bonita asked, her voice barely above a whisper, changing the subject.
“Yes,” Lawliet answered, simply.
“Could we go there when we're older?”
“Why would you want to?” Lawliet asked, with genuine sounding curiosity.
Bonita hid further behind Neron again. “Because people might be nicer there,” she whispered.
“They're not,” Lawliet answered, flatly. “Wammy's House is a competition to be the best.”
“Then why are you going?” Neron asked, folding his arms.
“Because I'm going to win,” Lawliet answered, simply.
“Will Ulquiorra go when he's older?” Bonita asked, quietly.
“Do you want him to?” Lawliet asked. Bonita shook her head violently, and Ulquiorra looked at the floor and away, feeling awkward. “I don't think you have to worry,” Lawliet said. “Ulquiorra is very smart, but I don't think he'll go to my school.”
“Why not?” Ulquiorra asked, giving Lawliet a piercing look.
Lawliet considered this, looking to the ceiling and putting his thumb to his mouth as he thought. After a few, long moments he finally answered, “Your parents wouldn't let you. They don't want you to end up like me.”
“What would be so bad about that?” Ulquiorra asked, keeping that same piercing look on Lawliet.
“I'm ten,” Lawliet answered, “and my only friend is four.” He smiled to himself before he changed the subject, saying, “We should be going, or your mother will think we were kidnapped.” He didn't bow, or say anything else to Bonita and Neron as he turned away. Ulquiorra waved to them both before running to keep up. As he walked alongside Lawliet, he watched him, and then put his hands in his own pockets as he walked.
Lawliet gave a tiny smile to the air.
“Are you all packed?” Ulquiorra's mother asked Lawliet.
Lawliet nodded; in truth he'd never really unpacked. He'd only unpacked what clothes he'd worn, and the books he'd required or been interested in. Now, most of them had been repacked, haphazardly, because they were only going to be unpacked again over the course of the next week. He was leaving some clothes behind; enough that he wouldn't have to drag clothes back and forth between here and school, and he hadn't packed away a couple of his books, either. “Yes, I am.”
Delcine nodded; she wasn't going to inspect the state of Lawliet's packing because she knew what she'd find and didn't want to waste her time. Some things wouldn't be tackled in an evening. “Quiorra-chan will be going to bed shortly, you should say goodbye while you can,” she said. “We'll miss you tomorrow, so there won't be chance.”
Lawliet picked up the books he was leaving behind in a small stack and headed for Ulquiorra's room. Ulquiorra was already in his pyjamas, green flannel with white stripes, sitting on his bed with one of his schoolbooks open in front of him. Neat rows of basic mathematics in Ulquiorra's hand lined the page.
“Quiorra-chan?” Ulquiorra looked up at him at the use of the nickname, but didn't give a verbal reply, instead fixing Lawliet with his green eyes. Lawliet approached, and put the books on Ulquiorra's bed, clambering up to crouch on the end of it, opposite Ulquiorra. “I'm going to leave these with you. I expect your grasp of Rozarrian to have improved further by next week.”
Ulquiorra blinked at him, just the once, “Don't you need them?”
“I've finished with these,” Lawliet answered.
Ulquiorra pushed the maths book away and shuffled closer, picking up the book off the top of Lawliet's pile. “Thank you, aniki.” he said, in Rozarrian.
“You learn quickly, Quiorra-chan,” Lawliet answered, and watched as Ulquiorra worked out the translation in his head. He smiled to himself; it had been two weeks, but Ulquiorra was already attempting to speak the language, at times. He was still shaky, and struggled with grammar structures, and his vocabulary was limited, but he'd picked up a couple of hundred words already, and Lawliet expected more from him in the following weeks.
“Can I show them to Bonita and Neron?” Ulquiorra asked. He'd taught them how to write their names, and say a few words, which they all thought was cool, but it would be even better if they could speak to each other in it.
“Of course,” Lawliet answered. He pulled Ulquiorra's maths book nearer by one corner, scanning the neat lines of numbers and pluses or minuses. He'd got them all right; Lawliet wasn't surprised.
“Do you have to go to Wammy's?” Ulquiorra asked, after a moment, as he stared at the writing in the book he held.
“I want to go there,” Lawliet told him, quietly. “It was my request.”
That drew Ulquiorra's attention, and he looked up, with surprise. “Why?”
Lawliet put one hand on his knees, and worried at his thumb with his teeth while he explained, “I was an accident. My parents are elderly and don't have the energy or capability to deal with me, or my intelligence. I have no peers, and few boundaries. Adults struggle to cope with me. The first friend I have made was you, the first person to have shown understanding and tolerance, is my brother's wife.” Lawliet looked at Ulquiorra, his black eyes wide, and he looked too old, and too tired, all of a sudden. “Wammy's House will be better for me. Even here, I'm mainly tolerated.”
Ulquiorra stared at him, his pupils expanding slightly, and Lawliet smiled at him, and reached out to muss his already messy hair. “But here, I have someone I shall be glad to return to. I shall see you next week,” he said.
Warsend came and went, and Ulquiorra spent the holiday with Lawliet. Ulquiorra's father disapproved, but he bore it with some grace until he overheard Ulquiorra and Lawliet talking to each other in another language.
“It is rude to talk in a language your mother and I don't understand, Ulquiorra,” he explained to his son.
Ulquiorra had seemed to accept the explanation, and hadn't been caught doing it since, but Elden was sure he'd overheard Lawliet and Ulquiorra talking in private since then, but they made a switch to standard Spiran as soon as either of them sensed him there.
Lawliet's bad habits had grown worse, too. Wammy's House wasn't like an ordinary school; the students were taught academic subjects, but that was where the similarities ended. He was assured that Lawliet was flourishing, that he had a unique talent, but Elden still wished they could teach him to sit on a chair like a normal person. He'd chastised him for walking hunched over, with his hands in his pockets, when he'd witnessed Lawliet and Ulquiorra side by side and noted the similarity in their stances, only to have Delcine traitorously point out that Lawliet and Ulquiorra were not the only Schiffers present to habitually put their hands in their pockets.
He'd made a conscious effort to refrain, since, and when Lawliet was away, made sure to spend time with Ulquiorra to undo some of the damage.
Then there were Ulquiorra's friends, who looked at Lawliet in a similar way to Ulquiorra. It was depressing, it really was.
Then, a few scant weeks before the summer holiday, Ulquiorra returned him from school with a torn shirt and his eye puffed and red.
“Quiorra-chan?” His mother asked, rushing to him. “What happened?”
Ulquiorra was taciturn, but Elden, who had taken a half day from work because he'd agreed to help Ulquiorra and his friends build a tree-house ready for the summer months and longer days, spotted the tensing in his son's jaw. “Answer your mother, Ulquiorra.”
His heart jumped painfully when he saw his son sniffle as he gathered himself, and finally answered, “He was throwing stones at Bonita, so I hit him.”
“Who was?” Delcine asked, crouching down and examining her son's eye with a frown.
“Ryuuzaki,” Ulquiorra answered, after a moment. “He's always making her cry,” he said, in explanation, “and Neron usually stops him, but Neron was kept behind at school for hitting him earlier. So I did it.”
“Where's Bonita now?” Delcine asked.
“I walked her home first,” Ulquiorra answered, quietly. He looked, for a moment, miserable. “Why won't he leave us alone?”
Delcine frowned, and gathered her son up in her arms, shaking her head. “Some people just aren't very nice, Quiorra-chan. It's not your fault.”
Elden watched Ulquiorra grip his mother's clothes in tight little fists, but he was clearly refusing to cry. “Ulquiorra,” he said, kneeling down to be on eye level with the boy, “You did the right thing.”
Delcine let Ulquiorra go as he shifted to leave his mother's arms, and instead planted himself in his father's. Elden hugged him tightly. “I'm proud of you,” he said.
They applied a cold compress to Ulquiorra's eye until some of the swelling had gone down, and then, as promised, and to take his mind off things, Elden and Ulquiorra went out, meeting up with Bonita and Neron to build their tree-house When they got there, Bonita was already up the tree, standing gracefully on a branch in bare feet, tying a rope up so that Ulquiorra and Neron, who lacked her balance, would be able to work safely. She waved at them as they approached, smiling brightly.
It was dusk before they'd finished, and Elden carried Ulquiorra on his shoulders while Ulquiorra double checked the solidity of the supporting strut. Neron gave the whole thing a test jump, making Elden wince, but it held, and then their parents came for them. Elden lifted Ulquiorra back to the ground while he spoke to them, and Ulquiorra clambered up the tree, and into their new hideaway. It was above the heads of the adults, and they'd put a rope ladder in at the entrance so Bonita, who was a natural climber, could throw it down to let Ulquiorra and Neron up with them.
“What do you think?” Neron asked.
“They're talking about Ryuuzaki,” Bonita said, quietly. “You didn't get in trouble, did you, Ulquiorra?”
“No,” he answered, “but mother says I will have a black eye.”
“Wish I'd been there,” Neron muttered, balling a fist and punching the air. “I'd have given him something to cry about.”
“You're already in trouble for doing just that,” Bonita pointed out, her hands on her hips, and her tail swaying with annoyance. “Daddy says he's going to talk to the headteacher again,” she added, after a moment.
“That won't make any difference,” Neron said, with a sneer.
Ulquiorra murmured wordless agreement before elaborating, “Mother mentioned speaking to his parents, but they both agreed that it won't make any difference.”
“Yeah,” Neron grumbled, “his mom and dad are as bad as he is.” Neron lived down the street from Ryuuzaki and his family, and the two households didn't speak to each other. It was also why neither Ulquiorra nor Bonita went to Neron's house; he always came to them.
Bonita crouched down, her tail coiling around her as it often did when she was upset. “He's never going to stop, is he?” She said, quietly.
Neron frowned, sharing a look with Ulquiorra before he said, full of bravado, “One day, we'll hit him so hard he'll have to get the message.”
“Violence isn't always the answer,” Ulquiorra said. His parents had told him that today, and after altercations with Ryuuzaki before. It had never been scolding; it had never been to tell him it hadn't been the answer this time, simply that it did not always have to be the answer, and Ulquiorra thought he was beginning to understand. “If it doesn't work, we'll find another.”
“You're going to talk to your aniki, aren't you?” Bonita said, looking at Ulquiorra.
Ulquiorra nodded, his hands in his pockets as he watched the adults through their viewpoint; it let them watch for anyone coming up to the new tree-house, just in case anyone tried to come and bother them. The tree itself was on land owned by Ulquiorra's father; it had, once, been home to a chocobo stable and paddocks, but the chocobos were all gone before Ulquiorra was born, and this tree at the end of an old paddock had been perfect for building in. The fact that it was on Schiffer land meant that no one else should come near it, but they'd wanted to prepare for the possibilities.
Neron looked grumpy. “He's not here very much, though. We can't rely on him.”
“He may have an idea,” Ulquiorra answered, quietly.
“Bonnie!” A voice called from below.
“Neron! Time to go home.” Another voice interrupted.
Bonita stood, her tail waving in the air as she made her way to the exit. “See you tomorrow,” she said to her friends, before she swung out of the door, using her tail for balance. Neron only gave Ulquiorra a brief wave before he followed.
Ulquiorra waited a moment before he followed them, sitting himself on the edge of the exit before dropping, to be caught by his father. “Were you talking about Ryuuzaki?” He asked, when his father picked him up and held him close instead of putting him back down. Ulquiorra gripped his father's shirt in his hands, looking at him with his bright green eyes.
His father nodded. “He picks on all of you, doesn't he?”
“Bonita's the only one who cries,” Ulquiorra said, with a tiny note of defiance.
“Well,” Ulquiorra's father said, “we're going to speak to your school, and not just the headmaster, but until something is done, we're going to make sure someone is there to pick all of you up from school every day. No more walking home alone.” Ulquiorra frowned at that, as he'd enjoyed the responsibility of walking home on his own, and his father adjusted his hold on him before he mussed up Ulquiorra's hair. “It's only until something is worked out, Ulquiorra,” he said, “it won't be for long.”
Ulquiorra maintained his frown, but he nodded, and his father sighed, and then lifted him up to ride home on his shoulders. That finally earned him a smile.
“What happened?” Lawliet asked, when he saw Ulquiorra after arriving back from school for the weekend.
“I got into a fight,” Ulquiorra answered, “with Ryuuzaki. He was picking on Bonita again.” By now his black eye was in full bloom; the bruise was black, and extended from his eye socket and down over his cheek. The lid was swollen at the bottom, although the upper lid had escaped the worst of it.
Lawliet frowned, crawling into his customary crouch on a nearby chair. “I see. You struck first?” Ulquiorra nodded, silently, his expression grim. “Show me your fist.”
Ulquiorra looked at him blankly for a moment and then extended a fist, unsure of where exactly Lawliet was going with this line of conversation, although he could hazard a guess. “Mother says that violence is not always the answer,” he said, quietly.
Lawliet nodded his head just the once, examining Ulquiorra's fist critically before adjusting the position of his thumb and commenting, “She's right, but 'not always' is not the same as 'never'. Some problems can only be solved with violence, and only a bad parent would demand their child react passively when physically attacked.”
Ulquiorra stared at Lawliet a while longer while Lawliet tucked the tip of his own thumb against his teeth and worried at the nail. “Father mentioned speaking to Ryuuzaki's parents.”
“A child like that, at that age, is merely copying the attitude of his parents; speaking to them will make no headway.”
Ulquiorra scowled at Lawliet's response, muttering, sullenly, “That's what we thought.”
Lawliet canted his head, looking at Ulquiorra. After a moment's thought he said, “You're young; let your parents fight this one for you, for now.”
Ulquiorra's scowl remained. He looked distinctly unhappy, his frown accentuated by the darkness of his upper lip. He always looked unhappy when he was being serious, which Lawliet had grown used to; it was down to his colouring, the pale skin and dark lip, dark rimmed eyes, and that vivid, piercing green of his eyes. When he was flushed from exertion, his cheeks darkened, but they didn't go pink like those of most people. This, however, was a genuine unhappiness. “So when what they are doing doesn't work, aniki, what then?”
“Try to punch me.”
Ulquiorra's eyes went wide. “What?”
“Try to punch me,” Lawliet said, “and I will evade, and then you will learn to evade, and then I will teach you how to fight back.”
“Aniki,” Ulquiorra trailed off.
“Don't expect to be a competent fighter after learning only a couple of moves. They must be practised, like language, until they become second nature. Do you understand?”
Ulquiorra nodded, and then said, quietly, “Thank you, aniki.”
“Don't thank me yet.”
Part Two
/flail!!
Date: 2012-12-05 04:37 pm (UTC)And stop making me like L. B|
Re: /flail!!
Date: 2012-12-05 05:47 pm (UTC)I may have to leave the next one as a reward for getting some work done later today, though... /looks forward to! <3
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Date: 2012-12-05 10:23 pm (UTC)Yeah, there are three bits. The last one is significantly shorter.
AND HE'S A TAINYBEAN XD
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Date: 2012-12-06 12:29 am (UTC)And yes, cutest srs tinybean. c=
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Date: 2012-12-06 12:38 am (UTC)Ulquiorra needs all the fuss.
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Date: 2012-12-06 05:26 am (UTC)