32: BEFORE THEY SEE
//
8:58 A.M. // 11 - 2 - 2023 // Portland, Maine - Ample Comfort Suites
Starring Avil Daniase
Featuring Cedrance Manamune, Dean Harvest and Junseo Park
//
I dropped the heavy backpack onto the floor of the room, bathed in the light coming from the two large hotel windows spanning the far wall that were comfily separated by a pillar. It was quite large for a hotel room, with two beds filled with plush white pillows and thick alternate navy blankets all the way in the back to the left, the luxuriously white marble bathroom being four steps away between the entrance and beds. A large couch and coffee table filled the nearby space, while the rest of the room was decorated with pots and plants and other inviting ornaments, a large table with complimentary snacks and drinks on top, and obviously the mini fridge and TV. Next to me was a closet, fitted with a couple hangers and a folded board and iron, which I promptly put my jacket in sloppily.
Hearing footsteps approaching from behind, I picked up the backpack again and quickly took a few steps forward. Choosing the right bed by the window, I threw the backpack onto it and sat down as Cedrance entered the room. I glanced at him, seeing his perfect jawline and photogenic side profile as he stared out the windows into the city made something gurgle in my stomach. As I fiddled with the bedside lamp, on, off, on, off, the two other boys entered the room together.
“I’m surprised that… we actually got this room.” Dean was the first to talk as he took off his windbreaker, revealing the Pokemon t-shirt underneath. “Didn’t we just get it this morning on the walk here?”
“Arc privileges, man,” I said to him as Cedrance set down his own backpack onto my bed. “So Ced’s with me tonight, and Dean is with Jun?”
“Sure,” Ced was dismissive as his attention still stayed glued outside. I wondered what he was seeing. “I’m fine with that.”
“Me too,” Jun added. He was the only one not wearing a jacket, and instead fashionably rocked ripped jeans, a white long-sleeved shirt and a black sweatshirt over with some fancy brand, the name of which being in Korean. A black hat sat on his head of neatly combed pink hair, a mask hanging one ear, a pair of glasses on the collar of his shirt and a gold chain around his neck. With the backpack on one shoulder for a balanced image, he looked like he was a traveling celebrity. “Did you guys see those Portland travel guide brochures downstairs?”
“No?” I half-heartedly made eye contact with him, and before he could notice that I had scanned him head to toe I broke it and glanced at Dean. The three of the boys definitely had some things in common between them, and it was hard to not notice: they were tall, they had clear skin, they were toned, if not muscular (Dean less so), and they had colored hair that covered the right side of the Roy G. Biv rainbow, including me, of course. It varied from there by a lot, from their fashion sense and their vibe to the proportion of their bodies and the features of their face.
And then there was me. I was almost, and quite literally, half the person they were in the height department. I didn’t look a quarter as good as any of them, even Dean with his atrocious set of clothes that looked like a weeb going to an ani-con.
Life was a b****.
Cedrance casually reached his whole arm into his backpack, putting his shoulder in with the leaning and all to my confusion. Then he pulled out his sword from inside, which was definitely longer than the backpack. How the f—“If you want to use Serene’s money but you don’t have any space, my backpack has a D-grade storage modifier, or like, 4-ish cubic feet of space. As long as it fits into the top, I mean.”
I realized that he must have spotted the baffled look on my face. “O-oh. Yeah alright, how much did that cost?” I tried to play it off as a joke, but he replied nonchalantly, “400 and something points, I think. Why?”
He caught the second face I made and chuckled.
Blinking quickly, trying to think of something to say I sputtered, “D-do you need help paying rent now? You can’t just spend 400 hundred on a backpack… and—”
“Isn’t it worth it, though?” Dean cluelessly surveyed us as he set down his things on the other bed and plopped down across from me. “I-I mean, Cedrance can fit a whole sword in there. You said it was a D-grade artifact, right? There’s no way an artifact can be cheap. S-so… it’s expected.”
“D’worry about me,” Jun butted in seeing my face change for the third time to a look akin to impatience and a death glare. “I already have one.”
“Wha—”
“I got it second hand, though,” Jun cut me off again, glaring at Cedrance and Dean a message I couldn’t decipher, “so it was a lot cheaper. 120, I think.”
“But—”
“The original price was 500.”
…
I made the calculations. “F***, that's good.”
“You’re not mad anymore?” He tested the waters.
Feeling the ‘mad’ leaving my system, I shook my head. “Nah. I wasn’t mad to begin with, just… pissed.”
Dean, ever so clueless, rebutted, “Isn’t that the same thing?”
Before I had a chance to respond, Jun crossed to Dean, sat by him, and put a warning hand on his shoulder followed with a warning smile. “It isn’t. Mad is like you wanna pull your own hair out. Pissed is like you wanna pull someone else’s hair out. Get it?”
“I guess?” Dean absentmindedly pushed Jun’s hand off. “But Avil, why?”
“Gahhh,” I pulled my hair down and curled briefly, and I saw Jun’s face tense and eyes squint. Then I directed my energy to Ced, who looked a little nervous at the sudden attention, “Who the hell buys s*** at full price? Ced, I don’t care that you have money, but for f***’s sake, have you ever heard of a bargain?”
The nervousness followed but didn’t break the flow of his clear voice, “Didn’t you shop at full price last year for the Christmas gifts?”
“That’s different!”
“Is it?” He frowned, empowered to go on, “What about those times you bought birthday gifts for Salem and Huy? Didn’t you get Salem three jumbo packs of toilet paper that we could barely fit in the car trunk, a bible knowing full well he’s a Muslim, and a woven basket with a watermelon inside? And for Huy you got him an oversized calculator, giant mechanical pencil, and a giant sheet of paper with so many random insults on it and an ‘F, See me after class’ at the top bigger than your head? And how much did those cost you? 300 hundred bucks, but that didn’t stop you, did it?” The turn was so fast that I had no time to react with anything but total embarrassment. Jun snorted and Dean looked like he was doing his best to stop a fit of giggles.
Did Avil really do that? And who the hell were Huy and Salem?
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
“I haven’t talked to them in a bit,” I tried to assess my words, “but you know those two f***ers and I like to play around.”
It looked like I hit the spot exactly as Ced gave a partial sigh. “But was it worth it?”
“Yes it f***ing was,” I scoffed. Dean hit me with a raised eyebrow, and Jun shook his head. Damn, I sounded like a huge hypocrite.
“Look at the time,” Jun said, and we all turned to him, as did I with probably too much aggression to hide the shame on my face. “We’re supposed to meet up at the Preservarium at 10. You wanna go get breakfast or something?”
“Y-yeah,” Dean nodded awkwardly with a fat grin still on his face, no doubt still thinking about what Ced had said, giving me side glances.
“Well, the offer still stands,” Ced put the sword back into his backpack.
I cursed again under my breath.
//
9:58 P.M. // 11 - 2 - 2023 // Arc - Housing District, Zendolyn’s Room
Starring Zendolyn Ato
//
The box was still exactly where I left it: inside of the closet, with half of it sticking out and making the closet door impossible to close. I sighed melodramatically as I hauled it out to the foot of the bed, still dizzy from filling up the mana barrier. Then as I opened and felt around the inside of the box filled with random clutter I felt something soft. I pulled it out.
It was a black jumpsuit that I hadn’t bothered to take out, but I knew what it was and similarly knew how valuable it was. Not quality, not material, but the owner was what gave it value. Therefore, me.
Zendolyn.
I scrounged around some more and after a few seconds found the second item. Pulling it out sent a shiver up my whole body. The mask’s face was frowning, a grey-blue tint to it it’s jutting out features that made it impossible to truly tell what the wearer’s face was like. The expression itself was also eerie, like, really unsettling.
I knew that if I turned it over I would see the equally creepy smile, upturned eyes, the correct term for the overly 3D-ness of it was depth. I did turn it over. It was pale and very creepy.
It was definitely the mask that I had seen from the Memory. The Twin Muses.
Visionaire’s signature mask.
The watch buzzed with an Arc announcement, something about participation in the upcoming Winter Games like Professor Justin had said earlier during class, but I ignored it and instead took it as an opportunity to access Zen’s YouTube page.
Click, click, click. Tap, tap, tap. Scroll, scroll, resist the doom scroll.
And bada-bing, bada-bam, there was a long number in my face. To its left, the picture of the Twin Muses as a profile picture.
Holy Mother of a beaver, 18 million subscribers was absolutely nothing to scoff at, especially with a channel lifespan of only 2 years. A crazy grin filled my face, the same that I had made the last time I had checked.
Being Zendolyn Ato never made me feel so cool.
My hip throbbed, and I winced in pain. Maybe being a victim wasn’t the greatest, though. Earlier someone had punched me there from behind for no reason. An accident, she said. Disgusting b****, she said. Because Zen was also a murderer… well, I still hadn’t found the Memory that told me that I could be a… yeah. Even the real orphan of the murder mystery, Cedrance Manamune himself, seemed to dismiss those rumors. Or at least, that was what I gathered, seeing from the last time we talked he seemed to pity me.
The whole double identity thing was weird.
A jingle played and I refocused my eyes to the watch.
Oh, right. It was 10 P.M.
My daily call time with the Winter Game organizers.
I picked up the call. “Hello?”
“Yes, hello, Visionaire. This is Allison speaking.” Her voice was weak and sluggish, the same way mine was after working out for more than fifteen minutes.
“Yes,” I subconsciously flipped through the list of names in my head. She was… the main choreographer. I hoped. “How’s the dance going? I hope the song is working out for your crew.”
“Well, you have absolutely nothing to fear. The team is currently working on the chorus for The First Scene, you know, when it does the tertiary choir thing.”
I replied thoughtfully, “Well, that’s great to hear. Does that mean preparations for Blooming and Worlds Apart are completed?” Those were two of the more popular songs I had reused from Visionaire. Worlds Apart was the starter, the interest grabber. It was melancholic, with many subtle key changes, divisive chord progressions and a very powerful chorus suited for the climax of a movie. On the other hand, Blooming was a more catchy, ‘traditional’ pop love-song with a simultaneous orchestral and operatic touch to it. Both were appropriate for generating hype.
“You’ll have to ask Brian or Kimmel about that… I think they’ll be finishing up soon. When they do we’ll give you a call ASAP. Oh, Kimmel also said she would be sending you the stage layout and your staging notes. You do know what staging is, right?”
“Yes, I do.” I wasn’t about to tell her that I knew a thing or two about theatre. But I also needed to make note to study my staging notes and call Brian for my own choreography and plan my in-person meeting dates, so I quickly scrawled it into the notebook on my desk lest I forget. “Tell her I’ll review it, though I trust her as a professional.”
“Will do.”
It was about time I hung up. I still had some random things to do before I went to sleep. “Then, thanks for your hard work, Allison.”
“Thank you too, Visionaire.”
“Goodnight. Rest well.”
“Yes, goodnight.”
As soon as I left the call I slumped onto the bed. Being professional meant being polite yet socially intelligent, and I wasn’t the best at being either. However, I managed to push through every night without much problem even as the Visionaire who's talking voice no one had ever heard. That was because I was in Zendolyn Ato’s body.
It was also because of this that I had no trouble putting on a mask.
The blankets, which I had changed out earlier, were cool against my skin. In fact, it was cold, so I hopped into the bed and tucked myself halfway in.
Those calls had been happening since before August, apparently before I had taken over Zendolyn’s body. Besides Reya’s number, it was the only other contact on his watch at that time. He had been coordinating them for some time now, and it was only recently that I had found out about this after finally answering the huge wall of ignored calls from that suspicious number.
The first person to greet me had been Kimmel, who was quite understanding that the one and only, oh so famous and greater singer Visionaire was busy with something that wasn’t the internationally broadcasted and highly anticipated Winter Games. Needless to say, neither she nor the rest of the team working with me were happy.
It was also around that time when I had had the chance to hear most, if not all, of Visionaire’s songs for myself, while walking around campus or going to the gym. His music had a certain cinema-quality, an apotheosis of emotion in every single climactic point of each song. They were layered with different instruments, mastered to play perfectly in harmony. How he had managed to record all of them without anyone hearing a blast of random instruments was still baffling; did he rent a studio room? And how old was he when he wrote them… oh right, 14.
Both songs, Blooming and Worlds Apart, had been deliberated over and tweaked by Zen and the whole team for the purposes of the halftime show, so when I sent in the third song that I had recently written it was a huge surprise for them. Somehow, they found it more than acceptable, given the song’s very strong personality combined with its straight-from-a-movie style. I had thoroughly impressed myself with that.
Taking the laptop from on top of the nightstand I put it into my lap. My lats and triceps were still sore from the gym and the bobarista rush. I opened it, then tabbed to my digital painting app.
Never a forte, but digital painting had always been a hobby of mine, along with music and writing. Coloring was much easier for me than lineart and the actual process of sketching and planning out all of that. I liked it when the colors merged as expected to form vibrancy and depth, even if the clarity of the subject itself didn’t come out too good.
At that moment I was drawing the cover art for the new song; rather than spending money to hire an artist to make it, I would rather just do it myself and get experience in the process. If I didn’t get my foremost passions as my Awakening then I would have a second hope to fall back on.
From the nightstand drawer I pulled out a digital pad and pencil, which had cost me a hefty 40 points.
I had been quite serious when I said I dabbled a lot in the arts.