The Conciege
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August Intruder - Chapter 16 - Lulu's
🕑 Added 2024-01-25 04:42:56 +0000 UTCArk was more than happy to announce very early the next morning that his class was Unranked, and his Growth Potential was B-rank before going back to bed. Though, to be fair, Melmarc didn’t know if he had even gone to sleep at all.
By general standards, it was a good Growth Potential rank
Most Gifted walked around with less. B’s were more in the fifteen percent of registered Gifted. A’s were like one percent. And there were only three recorded S-rank Growth potentials known in the world.
So, yes. B was a good rank.
Uncle Dorthna had been right. After an uncomfortable night’s sleep at the dining table, Melmarc woke up feeling less sad and a bit more excited for Ark.
So what if he didn’t have powers? He still might. He was sixteen, and there were Gifted who got their Classes at the cusp of eighteen.
He still had time.
The morning was simple and routine. Ark slept in and Melmarc let him. With Ninra not yet back from her night out at her friend’s place, Melmarc was left to deal with the chores alone.
It wasn’t the first time it was happening, and on different occasions while their sister had been in school, he’d slept in during a few holidays and Ark had done the chores himself.
Melmarc tidied the living room, maneuvering his way around his uncle who slept on the couch. The television was still on, muted as videos scrolled on by. The right thing to do would be to turn it off, but he didn’t.
Like his parents, uncle Dorthna had an uncanny ability to sleep through almost anything. But turn the silent television off and he’d wake like a volcano had erupted.
At this point Melmarc was convinced it was an adult thing.
He found a paper origami in the shape of a man holding a spear on the floor and a folded biscuit wrap that looked… odd.
It was as if it had been folded improperly, then folded properly, then someone shaved away some layers of it and folded it again.
In summary, it was odd to look at.
Ninra had recently started learning how to make origamis from uncle Dorthna so Melmarc knew the origami was hers. And he’d been the one to give his uncle the biscuit wrap yesterday afternoon, so it was his.
He placed the origami on the dining table and was at a loss for what to do with the biscuit wrap. He wasn’t sure if his uncle was done with it or not. Besides staring and making them turn on their own, none of them still had any idea what his uncle did with the things they gave him.
In the end, he walked up to one of the side-stools in the living room, positioned intentionally beside one of the one-seaters. It had a simple retractable compartment built into it, and he opened it.
He placed the biscuit wrap into it and closed it.
When he was done with the living room, he went into the kitchen. Dinner last night had been eaten in peace, and the plates had stacked. Ninra had a good habit of tidying up any dirt before and after cooking, so it made the kitchen an easier task than if someone, for instance, their uncle had cooked.
Melmarc placed the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. He wiped down counters and rearranged utensils. He moved with a systematic rhythm. Like a painter in his gallery. Tables were cleaned. Marble counter-tops sparkled. Varnished wood shone like they’d just been purchased.
After the kitchen, was his most hated chore. The guest restroom.
It wasn’t dirty, not necessarily. The only person who used it in the house—despite having his own room and restroom—was their uncle Dorthna. And he always kept it clean.
There were simply tasks people hated. Ark hated cooking. Ninra hated going to the market for groceries.
And Melmarc hated cleaning the restrooms.
His final task led him back to his room where Ark lay in bed, sprawled out without order. He slept with his mouth open and a wide smile on his face.
Spitfire rested carefully on his chest with a piece of cloth in its mouth. But it was not asleep.
Melmarc opened the door to their room to find its eyes staring at him.
Of course, he thought. Now that he’s a Demon Lord, you’ll sleep in the same bed with him—wait a minute, is that my shirt?
Melmarc peered down at the piece of fabric and let out a defeated sigh. It was his shirt. But it wasn’t any of the important ones, so it didn’t hurt too much.
Uncle Dorthna said his mum only allowed them wrap Spitfire in his clothes because they wanted it to get accustomed to him. Probably bite me and give me powers.
Now that it was a bust, maybe they would let him stop Spitfire from sleeping in his clothes.
Arranging his room was quick, and by the time he was done, the sun was already bright in the sky.
He was putting the finishing touches to the room, smoothening out his laid bed, when his phone rang. It was always on silent so it didn’t ring out, it vibrated from where it was on their study table.
He answered it.
“Eroms bit me last night at our sleep over that’s not a sleepover,” Delano announced before Melmarc could even say a word. “It doesn’t hurt very much but we’re going to Lulu’s for a quick bite, wanna come with?”
Melmarc thought about it. He hadn’t really done much in the way of going out this holiday so a breath of fresh air didn’t sound so bad. God knew if he was left to his own device he’d stay home and attend his classes online.
“Sure thing,” he answered. “I just have to let my uncle know. Who’s paying?”
“You ask like you want to pay. Do you want to pay, rich kid?”
Melmarc chuckled lightly. With both his parents being Delvers, it wasn’t difficult to know his parents were richer than Delano’s and Eroms’.
Delano had a running joke about how he knew Melmarc’s parents actually had a palace in some country somewhere and were only leaving out in the suburbs because they were hiding from some Gifted cartel they’d offended.
“I’ll pay for Eroms,” Melmarc answered.
“Nice. Just nice.” Delano’s voice danced with sarcasm. “Now you’re trying to give him free food, too. I swear it’s like he’s cast a spell on all of you.”
“It’s not about giving him free food, D.”
“You sure? If it isn’t, then why aren’t you paying for me?”
Melmarc snorted. “Nice try. You pay for your own food, D. See you at eleven?”
“I swear the both of you always team up on me,” Delano grumbled light-heartedly. “Ayt. See you at eleven. Lulu’s place. I’m having pancakes with the dirtiest syrup I can find.”
“Delano, it’s almost af—”
His friend hung up before he could finish his sentence and Melmarc placed his phone on the table.
He turned to Spitfire and shrugged. The creature was still staring at him.
“Who eats pancakes by eleven?”
He checked his phone for the time and saw he was basically very short on it. He had less than forty minutes to finish cleaning, shower, dress, and get to Lulu’s.
Time spent on the rest of the cleaning was quick, and he would admit he wasn’t the most thorough with the last of the chores.
He shoved his clothes into the washer, took a quick bath, got dressed and headed out into the living room. He stopped half-way out the room door when he remembered he hadn’t cleaned the blood stain from Ark’s injury last night.
And he couldn’t remember cleaning it when he was tidying up the room.
He looked at the spot where he remembered it being and saw nothing. The spot of wooden flooring was clean.
He didn’t have time to ponder much on it before darting out and into the living room.
He tapped uncle Dorthna’s foot to wake him, and told him that he was going out to meet his friends.
His uncle opened his eyes long enough as proof of coherence before asking if he needed any money. Melmarc had more than enough, so Dorthna waved him off with words about how he shouldn’t do anything he wasn’t supposed to do.
Lulu’s diner was somewhere in their school’s neighborhood, and Melmarc met Delano and Eroms waiting for him outside. Winter was still well in its strides so they wore clothes fitting for the season, all complete with their own beanies.
Lulu’s was a famous place for high school students.
It was free and family friendly. Parents trusted it because they trusted Lulu, the diner’s owner. No one knew her real name. Or, at least, anyone who did had probably sworn an oath not to disclose it or ever utter it again.
Melmarc and his friends walked into the diner, ready for an early lunch. Delano rubbed his gloved hands together as if it was going to somehow generate heat. And Eroms watched him as if he expected something to happen, even if it was not heat related.
They occupied one of the free tables and made their orders.
True to his words, Delano ordered pancakes and a lot of syrup. There was enough syrup over his pancakes to fill a bowl.
“So how’s the holiday been for you,” he said around a mouthful of pancakes. “Go anywhere nice? Meet anyone new? How long is Ninra going to be around for?”
Melmarc shrugged, twirling his fork in the pasta he’d ordered. “Ninra’s leaving soon, so it’ll be back to eating whatever uncle D can scrounge up.”
Delano paused with pancake half-way to his mouth. “Didn’t you say your uncle knows how to cook?”
“I did.”
“So why’s he scrounging up food?”
“He knows how to cook but doesn’t like cooking.”
“Ah, I see.” Delano stuck his pancake in his mouth. “He’s like you.”
Eroms nodded. “Food should not be scrounged up.”
“Ha!” Delano barked in laughter. “Says the guy who gets fed by any and every one.”
As if to prove a point, one of the waitresses walking past them stopped. She turned to their table and gave Eroms a wide smile.
“Would you like some milkshake, sweetheart?” she asked.
Eroms nodded.
“Alright, hun. I’ll be back with that milkshake in a moment.”
Delano gestured at the retreating girl with exaggerated dramatization. “See! It’s like they take one look at him and he’s suddenly some god they should sacrifice their food to.”
“I don’t know,” Melmarc mused, studying their friend. “He might make a good pegan god. He’s kind, wouldn’t hurt a fly. And, most of all, he’s put up with you for most of your lives. Sounds benevolent enough to me.”
Delano snorted. “Benevolent my ass. And just so you know, I’ve put up with him, not the other way around.”
Melmarc laughed and took another fork of pasta.
On the table opposite them, a group of teenagers were having a conversation about one of the popular topics. There were five of them in total. Three boys and two girls who looked eerily alike, but also didn’t look related.
They wore varsity jackets but Melmarc doubted they were in college. They just didn’t look it. He’d seen a few of Ninra’s friends in person and in pictures. They were not a lot, but they were enough to teach him that college had a look.
But that wasn’t his focus. He’s attention was more on what one of them was saying. They were in a heated debate about a Gifted who was a criminal.
Melmarc had already heard the news. Though he didn’t know the entire detail, he knew bits and pieces from passing the living room enough times when uncle Dorthna had the news on.
The Gifted was a woman who had fully embraced the super-villain concept. Like some of the government Delvers who played hero and fought against Gifted criminals that got too out of control and played dress-up for the sake of publicity, she also wore a costume of her own.
She’d struck three times in the last month and had never been caught on camera. From what one of the boys was saying, eye witnesses described her as a woman who wore a black mask with a hoodie that had the word ‘Dying Light’ emblazoned on the back.
As far as super villain costumes went, it wasn’t much. But it was an identifier so that was something.
“Stupid name, huh?”
Melmarc looked away from the group to find their waitress was back. She placed an entire bowl of custard in front of Eroms and a milkshake beside it.
Didn’t she only ask if he wanted a milkshake?
Was it some kind of marketing scheme where they would ask a customer if they wanted something just so they would bring extra and charge more?
“How much for those?” he asked the waitress as she stood to leave.
She gave him a kind smile and made an unbothered gesture. “Don’t worry about it, hun. It’s on the house.”
Melmarc stared at her as she left.
When she was gone, slipping behind the counter, Delano laughed.
“Creepy, isn’t it?”
Melmarc agreed. It was very creepy. “Eroms, have you ever considered—”
He stopped when he saw what was in front of their friend. He had a bowl of noodle in front of him, a cup of some fizzy drink, another bowl of custard, and a cup of milkshake.
Melmarc was staring at the very definition of unhealthy. Curious for reasons he could not understand, he pushed his pasta forward.
“Would you like some pasta?” he asked, eyes narrowed.
Eroms looked at him, then at the pasta he was offering. It was clear there was a test in the offer. Anyone could see it from a mile away.
Eroms reached for the plate. “Thank you.”
Melmarc was sure of it now, his friend couldn’t say no to food. It hadn’t been a bad thing before, but it was worrying now. He was always eating, always consuming something.
The other day he joked about only eating Delano.
Didn’t he bite Delano yesterday.
“No way is this going to happen,” Delano protested suddenly.
He smacked Eroms hand and pushed Melmarc’s pasta back to him.
“If you’re not going to finish your food, then keep the leftovers for the diner. I hear they sometimes reheat it and allow the homeless have it.”
Melmarc paused, realizing he’d actually allowed Eroms take his plate. It didn’t make much sense. He was hungry, hadn’t eaten today. And he wanted the pasta. Offering it had simply been a test to know if their friend could refuse food.
So why did I let him have it?
He shook the thought from his mind. “That was weird.”
“I know right.” Delano chuckled. “My theory is that he’s eaten so much that he now has a gravitational pull. The food of the world just kind of revolves around him now. And it’s stronger since he doesn’t waste too much energy talking.”
“I talk just fine,” Eroms grumbled.
“See? He’s barely said a complete paragraph since we got here.”
That was true, but they already knew Eroms wasn’t a talker. Melmarc knew kids had made fun of him a lot when he was younger for his size so he’d always assumed their friend was just on the very timid side.
“Anyway,” Delano said. “Dying Light’s a stupid name, don’t you think. Like, what’s the point? What’s it supposed to symbolize? Do you think it’s her class?”
Melmarc blinked, still in a bit of a daze. “Who’s class?”
“The woman that keeps drowning people,” Eroms said. “The one those guys were talking about.”
“Oh.” Melmarc shook his head and picked up his fork again. “Never heard of a class called Dying Light. So it’s got to be a name she’s given herself or something. It could be a skill, too. Those are harder to keep track of than classes.”
“Or it could be an unranked class with only one known user.” Delano bit into a piece of pancake. “Like Dragon-Knight. Or Omnipotent.”
Or Demon Lord.
Delano suddenly looked thoughtful. “Do you think it’s an Agility type? It would explain how she always moves so quickly. And just how strong do you think she might be? An A-rank? B-rank? Can’t be an S-rank because that would just be a disaster.”
There were no S-rank bad guys, at least none that had ever been caught or known of.
“C-rank?” Eroms suggested. “Maybe that’s why she keeps attacking only one person.”
“Can’t be an Agility type either.” Melmarc jumped in on the conversation. “Agility types are mainly built for speed. She’s likely an Intelligence type. Elementalist most likely since she’s been drowning people.”
Delano shook his head. “Not an Elementalist. The Class allows you use things like water and fire at will. Unfortunately, she comes with her own bucket of water.”
Melmarc paused. “Uhh… you’re kidding, right?”
Delano chuckled. “I wish I wasn’t.”
He shuffled a bit, then brought out his phone from his pocket. He tapped in a few things, then turned it. On the screen was a metal bucket with a black hand print on one side.
“She literally comes with her own bucket,” Delano explained. “She takes the victim and just shoves their head in it.”
“And no one’s caught her on camera?” Melmarc took the phone from Delano. “It takes a long time for a person to drown. There’s no way no one’s caught her on camera.”
“Oh, people have.” Delano took the phone and swiped left, then gave it back. “That’s what she looks like on camera.”
Melmarc stared at the picture. “It’s a blur.”
“Yep. My theory is that she’s an Agility type, most likely a speedster. It will explain why her victims drown too fast and she always looks like a blur on camera. Or she has a skill that distorts her image when captured on camera.”
“So she’s more like a serial killer?”
“She robbed a store,” Eroms added, as if it was a suggestion.
Melmarc and Delano looked at him and he shrugged, picking up his milkshake.
“I’m just saying she robbed a store.”
Delano nodded. “So she’s a serial killer and a thief… And don’t drink the milkshake now. Take it home with you.”
Eroms thought about the order, then put the drink back down.
“Anyway.” Delano took his phone back from Melmarc. “That’s how it is. If you ask me, I’d say the media should start calling her black-hand on account of the hand print… No. That one sounds cool. It will probably just motivate her. They should call her The Metal Bucket Killer.”
Melmarc cocked a brow at him. “She drowns people. She doesn’t hit them with a metal bucket.”
Delano shrugged, unbothered. “Who says her name has to be cool or align with reality. That’s the problem with the news and the police, all they do is give the bad guys cool names. Jack the ripper. The Night Stalker. Giggling Granny. Doctor Death. If someone gave me a cool name each time I killed a person, why would I want to stop?”
Melmarc didn’t really have anything to say to that. Delano was right. He didn’t think Jack the ripper would’ve been very motivated if he was called Jack the Stripper.
“Who’s the Giggling Granny?”
“Old woman.” Delano shrugged. “She probably laughed a lot. But not my point. What I’m getting at is Classes. If you got the chance to have powers, what type would you want?”
“Gluttony.”
Eroms’ voice had so much certainty that it shocked them.
“Looks like you’ve really thought about it,” Melmarc said.
“Isn’t that the class that generally gets a power boost from whatever they feed on?” Delano asked.
Melmarc nodded. “They differ based on which skill combination gets it, but yeah. Some of them are like mana drainers. They can suck out your mana if they touch you. Some get it from food. Some from plants. It’s kind of a weird class.”
“Isn’t that a Strength type?”
“It is.”
Delano nodded. He looked from Eroms to the mini buffet in front of him.
“Can’t say I’m entirely surprised you’d pick that. Me, I’d pick an Agility type. Something like the Slasher class. Or the Assassin class. Make it hard to hit me.”
Melmarc leaned back on his chair and thought about it. A few years ago his answer would’ve been immediate. As a kid he’d always loved the Intelligence class. They always gave him wizardly vibes. They were less brute force and more finesse, conjuring things to fight with.
Elementalists fell under the Intelligence class. Conjuring fire or water or wind. They weren’t limited to one element, though. They mostly just started out with one. Some Elementalists were known to diversify, get more elements under their control, while some chose to specialize.
For instance, there was an Elementalist who’d specialized and could now control liquid of almost any kind, not just water.
But he was older now, and had lived life a little longer.
“I’d pick the Juggernaut class,” he said.
Delano and Eroms paused to stare at him. Delano spoke first.
“Really?”
Melmarc nodded.
“You never struck me as the Strength type kind of guy,” Delano said honestly. “I always took you for an Intelligence class.”
“Like a Summoner class,” Eroms agreed. “Maybe Warlock.”
Delano nodded in agreement “Or Mage.”
Melmarc laughed.
They held him to too much of a high esteem. People didn’t want the Mage class. Not because it was weak or anything. The second ranked Delver in the world had the Mage class. The reason people didn’t pick it was because it was a difficult class.
From the little that was known about it, it had too many complications. But it was generally agreed that it was one of the most powerful classes.
“What’s that?” Eroms asked.
“What’s what?” Delano replied.
“A Mage class. What’s that?
Delano chuckled happily. “Oh, my fine fa—”
Eroms frowned at him and he back-tracked.
“—Oh, my fine grown friend. You don’t know what the Mage class is?”
Melmarc shook his head, smiling, and turned his attention to his food.
He knew more than the average boy about Gifted and their classes because it was just the way he was. He could comfortably claim he knew more about them than Delano, despite his friend’s unhealthy obsession.
And the reason was simple. He gathered all the pieces of information he could easily find, which was actually everywhere for all to see as long as you were looking. But Delano didn’t care about the simple information, he wanted the ones that felt like secrets.
The ones that felt like the higher powers were intentionally suppressing information on.
Though the Mage class was popular, specific information on it was very rare. Their skills were roundabout, and no one was willing to state for a fact what the skills really did.
The only real information anyone knew was that the Mage was the only class that started out with four skills instead of the generally known two skills.
As Melmarc continued eating his meal, Delano slipped into his conspiracy theorist persona quite comfortably.
“Let me tell you, Eroms, about the beautiful class that is the Mage.”
