Young Writers Society

Ugh. Please don't judge my grammer or really, much else about this chapter. I don't know WHAT my hands were doing, but they weren't typing the right words. Revised edition will come later, as for now, read it and weep.

Chapter One

“If you grades don’t start improving, I’m going to have no choice but to fail you.”

The words played over and over in Elsa’s mind as she made her way across the soccer field behind the school. She felt as though someone had recorded that moment, and she would be forced to repeatedly hear it over and over until it drove her mad. She liked Miss Turner. She was one of the younger teachers at the school and was always kind. Even as she had spoken those words, she had sounded deeply upset by the prospect of having to do such a thing as that.

Elsa shook her head. Her parents were not going to be pleased. They were the kind of people who liked telling other parents about how well their daughter did in sports, in school, in everything.

The warm autumn wind dashed across the field, throwing scarlet, gold and auburn leaves into the air, one got tangled in her hair, and she had to pause to untangle it. She was going to drag out her walk home as long as she could manage.

The day was warm and looked lovely, even to Elsa as she bore such dark thoughts. The sun was just sinking behind the skyline of downtown as she stepped off of the browning grass and onto the sidewalk, where she joined the forever moving river of people. The Westbridge School was built in one of the oldest areas of the city, it was nicer here then in the metropolitan part of the city, where the sun was nearly always invisible behind the skyscrapers.

Even as Elsa walked, she was going past small but well-cared for stores and a coffee shop that was greatly popular with students. Then for the first time that day, she spotted the Liberty Fountain.

It was a lovely thing, and it was said – in travel brochures only – that it was one of the finer pieces of art in the modern age. The base was rounded, then a second level held two figures, one holding what looked like a snake in one hand and a fruit of some kind in the other, while the second figure had a mane of flames and on closer inspection, sharp teeth.

The fountain really unsettled Elsa, it looked violent rather then lovely most of the time. But at that moment, the fallen leaves from the trees along the lane had been caught up in the fountain’s limbs, and the snake was nearly invisible for all the leaves. Elsa decided she liked it better that way.

“Well, would you look at that?” she overheard a young woman say to a lady walking beside her. “I’ve never seen someone juggle like that before.”

“I agree, that certainly is something, isn’t it? I wonder if it’s just an illusion of some kind, no one could really do that I don’t think …” Came the companion’s reply. For a moment, Elsa was confused as to what they were talking about, but when the two turned aside to go into a jewelry store, Elsa spotted who they must have been speaking of.

The small balls were flipping through the air as the juggler caught and immediately threw them up again with a grace that must have take many years to prefect. Without really noticing it, Elsa was enthralled, watching the twirling patterns and graceful arcs. With no thought, she was moving towards the juggler.

Stopping only seven or so feet away from him, she saw the juggler catch two balls in the palm of his hand before catching a third with just the tips of his fingers and with a twirl, turned to her.

“Good day, young lady.” The juggler said with a small smile that was more visible in his bright eyes then on his face. He was younger then Elsa had originally thought him to be. Probably no more then twenty, even. He was entirely dressed in black and white, and with a pale complexion and black hair, he seemed to have stepped directly from an old photograph.

Adjusting the silk top hat on his head and dropping the unsurprisingly black and white juggling balls into his coat pocket her leaned down till they were the same height, as he was rather tall and Elsa rather short. “How might I assist you?”

For a moment Elsa was quite speechless. His skin was so very oddly pale, she was fairly sure that he must be wearing make-up, “I … you’re a wonderful performer … sir.”

The juggler laughed, straightening up and picking up a ebony walking stick from the ground. With a quick glance over his clothing he seemed to be very much a gentleman from the early 1900’s. “Why thank you, you may be surprised to hear that not many people tell me that. And if I ma y be so bold as to introduce myself,” he gave a small bow. “My name is December.”

He held out one spotless white-gloved hand for Elsa to shake and she did, with a hint of uncharacteristic shyness coming over her. “I’m Elsa.” She replied, before rather hastily drawing her hand away.

December seemed to find this amusing. In fact, she could tell that he did by the twist of humor in his mouth and the twinkle that could better be described as a flash in his eye. This annoyed her, and she turned and strode around to the other side of the fountain all the while saying: “It was very nice to meet you, and you do juggle wonderfully, but I really must go now.”

He was in front of her so quickly that it confused her, even looking back on the moment to how he had gotten there so fast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you, as I’m afraid I have. “

Elsa stopped, actually, she walked directly into him, as he seemed to have come out of no where, before taking a step back, rubbing her slightly injured nose. “Apology accepted.” She said, as there was little else she could say.

“Oh good,” there seemed to be real relief on his face, though she couldn’t imagine why. “If you like –“

“December,” a deep, rich voice that reminded Elsa immediately of chocolate cut the black and white juggler off and December looked up to somewhere behind the girl, and she turned to find an equally strangely dressed man leaning casually against a lamppost, watching them with an air of amusement. “I don’t think you could play any other part by that of the charm, could you?”

December made a huffy sound, but Elsa had forgotten him. If she would describe December as impressive … she had no idea what word she would use to describe this man. He costuming looked a bit like something Elsa had seen in a movie once. With a sky-blue cloak thrown around his shoulders over a plain tunic with a large belt with plain trousers and large boots. He was tall, and stocky, but not to any extent fat, and she would have probably placed him in his late thirties.

But his hair! It was long enough to hang past his shoulders, which in a normal occasion, Elsa would have found rather unattractive and old-style. But it was amazingly thick, like a long haired cat’s, and nearly crimson in color, that she shortly found that she didn’t mind at all.

“I’m sorry if he was bothering you.” The scarlet haired man said, pushing back a lock from his forehead and taking a few casual steps forward. “December can be a nuisance at times, but for the most part, he’s alright.”

“I am standing right here you know.” December grumbled, though they both ignored him.

“He wasn’t. That’s alright.” Elsa replied, smiling and feeling much more at ease then she had been before. “I was just saying how amazed I was at his juggling.”

The man smiled and nodded, looking up at December as he spoke. “Yes, he is talented, isn’t he?” There was something sarcastic in his voice, and if Elsa had turned around, she would have seen December maturely sticking his tongue out at the scarlet haired man. But she didn’t and the man was ignoring him.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’re probably wondering who this strangely dressed person being mean to December is.” He said with a light chuckle. “My name is Oblivion, I am the leader of the troupe of performers young December belongs to. And you know …” he paused. “We are doing a show tomorrow night, if you would like to come?”

On most circumstances, Elsa would have flatly – and wisely – refused an invitation by a complete stranger. Especially with what she was sure her parents were going to say. That is, if she wasn’t grounded first, which was quite likely considering the letter from Miss Turner in her pocket that was weighing heavily on her mind. But there was that warm chocolate voice that Oblivion had that made her desperately want to agree. And though she was quite aware that she was not acting on the best of ideas, she smiled and nodded.

“I’d be delighted.” Was what came out of her mouth, while a voice in her head was trying to backpedal the words that had already been spoken.

“Excellent,” Oblivion replied with a warm smile. “Now, you’d best be getting off home, shouldn’t you?”