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Something was off. Alexander could feel it down his spine, right back up into his stomach and from there into his head. He wasn’t quite sure with date of the week today was, they were on holiday for the odd period between Christmas and the New Year and almost half the house had taken off to be with their parents. Alexander and most of the fourth, parts of the third and second had stayed. He wasn’t too keen on Christmas anyway. If someone asked him, they could just go into a comatose state from… the first of December until January. At least there were no services in the house. The students/habitants were left to their own devices apart from dinner and breakfast, which was mostly served in an empty hall. Alexander couldn’t say he hated the empty house. It was quite nice, actually, if the others weren’t up to some form of mischief every damned second.
Currently, he was mopping the floor of the fourth, where everyone and their wheelchairs had left muddy tracks behind. They had come up from the yard that was more mud than snow currently, got on different shoes and had left again, like an entire circus, bringing cold air and laughs. Sphinx and Blind hadn’t been alongside them but Alexander knew better than worrying about their leaders. Probably playing poker down the hall in the third or hiding somewhere secret… the house came with a lot of mysteries, after all.
A head popped in through the door, one of the rats of the second. “Hey, you wanna come down? We’ve got cookies and all that stuff. Some are with weed. It’s basically a lottery.” He grinned from one acne-tortured cheek to the other and disappeared again. Alexander continued to mop. He had little to no interest in getting high, the thought quite honestly terrified him, and the thought of being surrounded by most of the leftover inhabitants of the house was not much better. But he felt bad for not taking the offer. It was pretty much a lose-lose situation and Alexander thought some more about it while he cleaned the bathroom, picking long black and blonde hairs out of the drain. Noble and Blind were going to flood this bathroom one day and he would have to clean- but he would gladly do it. Those were his friends, after all. The only ones he was ever going to have…
The door creaked again, someone wheeling into the fourth. Tabaqui or Noble he assumed, none of the other wheelers ever came over. Alexander busied himself with rearranging bottles of conditioner and shampoo. The stereo was turned on and rock music sounded, old and like it was played from a literal soup can. Not that Alexander cared. The house was the first place he was ever allowed to listen to music that wasn’t considered “holy” and whatever the other played he listened to with immense curiosity.
Something fell over and worried if someone hurt themselves, the small boy re-entered their dorm. Tabaqui had apparently tried to shove the stereo inside his already overflowing backpack that was, as always, bound to his wheelchair and had almost fallen over in the process, his skinny arms barely gripping onto Lary’s bunk bed. Alexander, as always, ran to rescue and put the stereo back where it belonged so the weight on the chair would flip forwards again.
“Thank you, my dear Alexander. As you can see, I have quite underestimated the weight my mustang is supposed to be carrying!” announced Tabaqui’s voice out of a weirdly ageless face. Alexander, maybe closer to the truth then most of the people in here, assumed that he was much older than 17, somehow internally. He had those eyes. The jackal wore two shirts above each other, one dark green and one neon red, and above that a fluffy Christmas pullover that lit up everytime he moved. Tabaqui considered it his biggest achievement yet. On top of that he wore a broad pirate head, his usual assortment of necklaces and bracelets and his wheelchair was decorated with Christmas lights that ended in his backpack, where he must hoard batteries.
Alexander, long gone beyond the state of asking questions, just put the stereo on Tabaqui’s skinny legs instead.
“Where are you going to?” he asked, his voice silent and soft, his chin almost hidden in the oversized pullover (formerly Humpback’s, but property was very loosely defined within the fourth).
“Where having us a non-defined holiday feast and are in desperate need of some appropriate music.” Tabaqui, blinking like the biggest Christmas tree on earth, answered and wiggled around in his chair, trying his best to balance between the weight of the stereo in his lap and the overstuffed backpack.
“Is that… tradition or something?” Alexander asked, just as careful as before.
“Not really. It happens whenever it happens. This year it happens tonight. You wanna join us, Alexander?”
It was hard saying no in general for him, and saying no to Tabaqui, his name giver and probably the closest he had to a best friend in here was an even worse idea. So he slowly nodded, gripping onto the handles of the wheelchair when a skinny brown hand shot up from in front of him.
“You can’t just go to a party dressed like it’s every day! That’s not how partys work!”
He tries to re-evaluate his situation and stay, but what can he do. Tabaqui is already putting the stereo back on the communal bed and is searching through one of the closets, finding another pullover that is not brown like Alexander’s usual wear, but instead black and blue and obviously expensive. Must be Noble’s. He throws it in Alexander’s general direction, not directly hitting him though.
The younger boy doesn’t want to steal from Noble. That’s something else than being given clothes from Humpback or Sphinx, that’s right up stealing from someone who isn’t there and can’t – Tabaqui has already loaded himself back up with the stereo. “Come on, the others are waiting!” and with no powers to defend himself, Alexander gives in and runs to the bathroom, turns off the lights and puts on the blue pullover before running right back out. He doesn’t like looking at himself, but the fabric feels good on his tortured, freckled skin and he isn’t going to complain… hopefully Noble wasn’t going to be angry…
They take the shortest route possible down the crossroads and into the mostly abandoned third, which now smells like nicotine, pot, plants and freshly baked cookies… together with a bunch of other smells Alexander can’t quite sort – wet jackets, mule wine, warm soup… apparently Vulture had allowed them to throw mattresses on the floor, three cooking plates in the middle, a bunch of blanket clad figures hurling around. Vulture, the head of the third, apparently the only one Tabaqui didn’t get to dress up, is removed from the scene, on top of his step ladder, his face sad as it always is, eyeing down on the little crowd. It’s nice and warm… and Alexander can’t help but feel somewhat at home. Tabaqui is already passing the stereo over to Noble who’s sitting next to his wheelchair on the ground, chewing on something, a cigarette in the other hand. “Ah, you brought the forgotten son.” Noble sounds like he’s already high, but the lighting in the room is horrible and Alexander can’t see his pupils right. He tries to get away to a far away corner of the island of comfort but Tabaqui calls him back to help him out of his wheelchair, which the boy, of course, does without a single complaint. Afterwards he sinks down next to the jackal, pulling his legs against his chest and pretending to be nothing but air.
It doesn’t work. Red is there, still wearing the green glasses, but for the occasion he put on a tie instead of the usual red bow tie, and his pullover is just as much of a light feast as Tabaqui’s. Alexander had never spoken to the leader of the second before, Red looking like someone who can laugh in one second and get into a knife fight the next. He had never seen his eyes either. But now he’s crawling across the blankets to the smaller boy and puts his hand down on his shoulder so hard, Alexander feels like there had been an earthquake.
“You don’t want cookies? You’re missing out on half the fun, my friend” Red is loud, always so loud, but there is literally no attention on them right now, as the other grows a lot quieter, sitting down directly next to Alexander who tries his best to not flinch away.
“Hey… don’t be scared…” Red doesn’t sound all that loud and confident now, and Alexander looks up, trying to find the eyes that hide behind tinted-green glasses.
“We don’t bite. Look at Vulture over there. He decided to sulk too and that’s okay… just wanted to check on you” Red smiles and Alexander is 100% sure it reaches his eyes. And that they are beautiful. He tries his best to bring a smile himself, but isn’t quite sure how well it worked.
“The cookies are good.” Red adds, looking over to the three cooking plates, where another Rat is handing out mule wine. “Not all of them are spiked. I supervised that myself.”
Alexander isn’t quite sure if he should trust Red, after all the second are a crazy bunch, but the other is so unusually nice right now, his long limbs spread across a blue blanket.
“I… would like to try one. Not spiked, preferably.”
“Of course, my friend” Red grins and gets back up to go over to the two plates with cookies on them. He returns with two, one for himself, one for Alexander. “Gingers stick together, you know.”
The cookie is still warm. It’s with gingerbread, how fitting, and definitely not spiked. And for the first time in weeks, Alexander feels… content. Happy with where he is. With his newly found family of oddities.