Please ignore the idiocy of everyone here. It benefits the plot, and I tried to make their trains of thought as convincing as possible. Also, the boringness. If it's any help, though, you could skip over it and you wouldn't miss anything apart from some extra knowledge on the plot. Heck, Thalia won't know about this stuff.
Also, ignore the general bad quality of this, but you're reading this story in the first place, so I'm guessing you won't mind that.
Ow.When Zavier woke up, his head was throbbing. Though he was no stranger to pain, this seemed... different somehow. Like something was tearing apart his skull from within, causing as much pain as possible in the process. He groaned softly in pain, then rolled over.
At last, it faded, leaving behind a feeling of inner peace. Combined with the comfort his environment granted, he was reluctant to move from his spot, curled up on his bed. Blankets muffled the flames on his back, and—
—wait, bed?
Alarmed, he scrambled off, staring at it as if he had never seen one in his life. Wasn't he... somewhere else... just last night?
(
Had it been night?)
The memories came to him in a rush. His friends, his adventures, and the world he was supposed to be saving. He had been in a void, hadn't he? Kris's home? So where was he now?
Then he looked around, and he gasped. Curtains covered small windows, framed by pale blue walls. A brown, wooden table, on which a computer was already switched on, was wedged into a corner. A darker-coloured closet sat at the edge of the room, door slightly ajar, revealing its contents. Hooded jackets and wide-brimmed hats hung from its pegs - all
his. This was Zavier's
home in all its rustic glory.
How?
He pushed the euphoria from his mind. True, he had never been the voice of reason in his circle of friends, but it was obvious there was something going on - how else would he have suddenly appeared here?
So many questions. He shook his head, clearing it, before striding out of the room. Though he still had no idea what to do, he wasn't about to find out by sitting around and thinking. He needed to take action.
An all too familiar sight greeted him when he pushed open the door - the usual hallway stretching out before him. As he walked through it, he looked around. Photo frames lined the walls. His parents on their honeymoon; the whole of the family, arms draped around one another; him on his thirteenth birthday, with Scarlette smiling beside him.
Everything was in place, as best as he could remember. Every detail, every texture, every scent. Unless Kris had telepathic powers he had used to look through Zavier's memories and find out everything about his home, this couldn't possibly be an illusion.
... Wait. Telepathic powers. He'd never proven himself able to use them, but neither had he proven himself
unable to use them, had he?
Zavier sped up, nearly sprinting into the kitchen. The porcelain ground was slippery, and he nearly slipped as he skidded to a halt. His father was standing by the dining table, leaning on both paws.
Tall, bulky, and muscular, the man, to a stranger, was intimidating at best; terrifying at worst. Having known him for all of his life, though, as a devoted, fatherly figure, Zavier had never been afraid of him. The sight of the family he hadn't seen in days brought a smile to his face, and for a few moments, all thoughts of Kris vanished from his mind. "Hey, Dad!" he greeted.
Wordlessly, the man smiled, gesturing for him to sit by his side.
It was their usual morning routine - his mother worked early, leaving his father to help prepare Zavier for school. It wasn't uncommon for the two to have a discussion over tea (neither of them actually liked it, true, but none of his other ideas had been approved) before he left.
Though he was about to comply, he suddenly remembered his situation.
Still haven't solved the problem of Kris, I'm pretty sure. Plopping down opposite him, he returned the grin.
"Morning," Dad (okay, should he be calling this man that, when he might very well be an illusion? He wasn't actually sure) said. "You wanted your eggs... sunny side up, is it?"
"Yeah," he replied, raising an eyebrow. He always had the same breakfast, day after day, and any need to ask had been eliminated at this point. "Hey, what happened? Wasn't I, um,
not here just yesterday?" Admittedly, with his phrasing, he sounded more like some caveman than anything else, but he'd failed his English. That was Rose's turf - sometimes Scarlette, too, but that was mostly to compete with her enemy and kind-of bully.
Dad nodded in acknowledgement, heading for the kitchen counter. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"What?" He resisted the urge to curse, knowing that it would probably just earn him a scolding. The flames on his back flared - flushing dark pink, he tightened his hoodie to subdue them.
(Hey, he hadn't noticed he was wearing it. Nice.)
"You went without sleep a couple nights, practising for some kind of sports event. I don't know; you didn't offer any details beyond that it was going to be hard."
Okay, that was definitely something Zavier would have done.
He discounted the possibility of all of this being some kind of elaborate illusion Kris made up - there had been an international track-and-field contest coming up, and he'd been planning on taking part. He doubted the villain had such plans, and even if he did have telepathic powers, there'd be no reason to dig through his memories on sports. Even so, he wasn't convinced that all was fine.
Besides, that explanation barely helped. He'd gone without sleep before, and last he checked, that didn't usually cause interdimensional teleportation. "And then?"
"I don't know. You kinda collapsed one day, and we didn't wake you up."
"... You... Um... What?"
He laughed merrily. "Yeah, yeah, when I phrase it like that, it does kinda sound a little stupid, doesn't it?"
"No offense, Dad, but I don't think you could make it sound reasonable no matter how you phrase it."
"Challenge accepted. How's this?" He straightened, speaking in a low-pitched, professional voice, as if he were a doctor and Zavier were his patient. "From third February to the tenth of the same month, you, Mr Wildfire, refused to go to sleep, citing the fact that you needed to practise. We - meaning myself and my wife - saw little of you in the house, as you were often out running laps around the school or some such activity."
"Uh, hey, you mind shortening this story a little?" Zavier had the feeling that, without intervention, he'd be sitting around listening for the next five years.
"Of course." He smiled, nuzzling the younger dog. "So, fast forward. You were constantly drowsy and lethargic. One day, you came home, and you just fainted in the doorway. You seemed healthy enough, apart from the sleep deprivation, so we just threw you on your bed. Didn't even remove your hoodie - since you wear it all the time, I figured you'd want it. So you're unconscious for three days, and all the while, I'm pretty sure you're dreaming."
"So, what you're telling me is..."
"Whatever you think happened, it was all a dream."
"Nope," he muttered under his breath. Not a dream. It could
never have been - the memories were too vivid. The pain he'd felt as Kris stabbed him in their fight, the creeping horror when he realised he was trapped in that stupid void.
And yet, what other explanation could there be? How else could he have suddenly appeared here?
(Did he even
want the alternative? That everyone was still in danger, while he was
here, somehow tricked by Kris? Sure, Zavier'd never been the kind of guy to blame himself for everything, but, dang if that didn't make him feel... somehow guilty.)
Dad raised an eyebrow. "Is there something wrong, Z?"
He realised, again, that his flames were sputtering, and he quelled the rush of emotion that surged through him. "No... I'm gonna... Hey, wait, what date is it?"
"13th of February. Still enough to train for your tourney, if that's what you're worried about. You're exempted from school for the time being, too."
He nodded. "I'm going back to my room now, I guess."
"Alright."
***
He still had the scars.
Before appearing here, he'd asked - the fight with Kris had left each of the group, save for Arianna, with cuts, barely missing their vital areas. He was no different. Having not bothered bandaging or treating them - hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time - they hadn't healed just yet.
So, if everything had been a dream, why were they still there? Sure, they could've been cuts he'd gotten flailing around in his sleep, but what were the odds that there happened to be some pointy thing just beside his chest? He wasn't sure, but he figured it was pretty low. His father hadn't offered any more details on the matter, and he didn't bother pressing him.
Dad was probably wrong, then. Emphasis on probably; Zavier still wasn't convinced. There was still the possibility that Arianna'd solved everything and just poofed him back home without explanation. He wouldn't put such a thing past her.
Still, the nagging feeling that he should really be doing
something to revoke—or confirm—his suspicions never left him. And yet, what was he supposed to do? He'd Googled information on Kris Beta and Worldhoppers, but all he'd gotten was some kind of weird equine mythology about the apocalypse.
(Okay, wow, he was beginning to appreciate that stuff a lot more. The horses and ponies had no mention of the Six Spirits in their mythos, but they had a whole lot of info on the Worldhoppers.)
Worry lingered at the edge of his mind, preventing true enjoyment of anything he did. He'd found his iPaw still in his pocket, and spent a few hours fiddling with it - checking for any friends online, playing Flappy Bird, whatever he else he hadn't really had the time for back at the void.
At last, he began to get frustrated. He'd been trying to play video games for way too much time, but he constantly lost, not even managing to get a decent score in the process. His hesrt wasn't in it; he knew that much. Stupid distractions.
Screw this. If he ended up failing brutally trying to investigate, then he'd fail brutally trying to investigate. If not, everything would be alright again. In a way.
He paced out of his room, running straight into the bulky build of his father.
"Ow." He was saying that a lot lately, wasn't he? Reeling back, he took a few moments to regain his composure - all that muscle was harder than he'd expected. "Hey, Dad."
"Afternoon," he replied plainly. "Wait, we already had this conversation."
Zavier chuckled. "Yeah. Is Mom home yet?"
"Nope. Just a few more hours 'till she is, though, if you wanna talk to her."
He nodded in reply, and as Zavier's father walked down the hallways, towards the dining room, he followed. "I kinda have a... school project about... memories," he said. "You mind answering a couple questions?" Earlier, he'd had that headache when he woke up. Taking a leap of logic, if that was some side effect of mind control, then he'd feel it again as Kris tried to get the answers. Probably not the best method he could use, but whatever - he couldn't think of anything better.
Turning to him, Dad narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly, but quickly regained his earlier smile. "I'd be glad to. What do you wanna know?"
"... Um..." He paused for a few moments, trying to recall something in his distant past. "At my seventh birthday party, what was the theme?"
"Space, if I remember correctly."
... Yeah, that's accurate. He continued: "Who did I invite?"
Dad raised an eyebrow, but recited a list of names regardless. It was incomplete, with several points where he paused as if unsure, but that was normal. There were about twenty guests, most of which he barely spoke to anymore.
Excluding Scarlette. She was there, and he'd never forget her.
And so, the interview continued, with Zavier asking whatever obscure things he could remember, and his father answering to the best of his ability. It carried on for several minutes, and logically, he should be satisfied at this point, but his conscience seemed to be screaming at him not to stop.
"What was the last argument I had with you?"
"It was over your exams. You failed Maths, I was pissed off. Fighting ensued."
"And how'd you feel then?"
"... What?" Dad cocked his head in confusion, as if he'd just been asked an exceedingly difficult question.
"Disappointed? Sad? That stuff." Though they rarely confided their feelings in each other, Zavier knew his own family enough to tell exactly how they'd have felt at that moment.
A long, awkward silence ensued, and Zavier shifted his paws impatiently. "If you can't answer-"
Then he screamed as a pain shot through him. His vision flashed red, and he scrambled backwards, fueled by fear. Around him, his home melted away, revealing rhe darkness of the void.
It's an illusion, he realised belatedly. Standing on his hind legs, he looked around for a feasible weapon, but found none.
... Yeah, he was gonna die.
Next regular-narrative post will be told by Scarlette or Arianna, since Zavier has now officially gotten his time in the limelight, and then some. This is, like, a thousand words. Before that, though, a fair amount of actual diary stuff, since that's probably what you came expecting.
The idea was that everyone under the illusion would be given his/her own version of the perfect world, so they wouldn't feel any need to think, "Hey, what about Kris?" Incidentally, Zavier's not a very ambitious person, so he's just at home, living a regular life. Each of them had a separate one, and this is Zavier's.
(Also, as you can see, Kris isn't the best of strategists.)
Excited for the next post!
