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She cackles madly, “Dude,” she wipes a tear from her eyes, ” dead children are what this nation is built on.”
It looks odd on the girl's features because of how young she looks. You glance away, cat ears flickering uncomfortably, tail swaying in the wind. She sighs.
“Sorry, where are you from?” the girl asks, threading her nimble fingers through her striking red hair.
You were hoping she wouldn’t ask, as most of the people you have met tend to not like foreigners that much.
“Tu’la,” you whisper, it’s one of the few words you know the translation for in their foreign tongue.
“You don’t know Dreamian?” she asks, a bit incredulous, ”you're from a lot farther than I thought, Tu'la? Never heard of that country, where is it?”
You have only been in the country for a few weeks now, and have only picked up very basic words of this strange language.
“Southwest,” you say, hating the way your accent instantly paints you as a foreign.
“That makes sense,” the red head murmurs, before in a louder voice saying, “I’m also not from around here, my country was called ‘SMPLive’, it fucking died.”
People around you two give you both side glances, you more than the red-head girl.
“Ignore them,” the girl comments, “foreigners don’t come to their shit hole of a country often.”
You nod, not knowing how else to respond to the girl, already starting to struggle with keeping up with her words.
“So are you gonna join the Manburgian army?”
You shake your head, strands of cotton candy colored hair falling out of your messy bun. You huff a bit, as you put the hair behind your furry cat ear.
“You're not?” the girl asks, own striking red hair falling past her shoulders. She looks like someone from around these parts, despite being a foreigner, and you envy her for that.
“You should,” she continues, looking into the crowd, “the army offers you a decent salary and shelter.”
Doesn’t the army want its own citizens to fight for the wars?
You try to find the words to ask the question. Luckily, the girl seems to catch on.
“You don’t need to be a local, if anything they’ll probably accept you over a local,” under her breath she adds, “the fucking bastards.”
“Hey Aimee!!” a nasaly voice shouts, making you flinch, and your grey cat ears to flatten against your head.
“Daniel, you got the stuff?” she asks, jumping up from sitting next to you and excitedly crowding around the tan boy.
“Yup, ” he turns to you, “hey, who are you?”
“She’s a foreigner, like us,” the red head explains, casually lighting up a cancer stick, which makes your nose involuntarily wrinkle. She takes a drag, and happily sighs, “that’s the stuff dude.”
He rolls his dark brown eyes, slightly shoving the redhead girl,“No dumbass, like what’s their name and stuff?”
“Annika,” you softly respond, surprising both teens. They grin at each other before looking back at you.
“Well Annika,” the redhead starts, “My name’s Charlotte, but everyone calls me Charlie, and this here is Daniel.” She says pointing to herself and Daniel respectfully. You smile, and suddenly you don’t feel that nervous about being in a foreign country by yourself.
“Yup Annika, what do you say about budding around with us?” Daniel asks, lighting up his own cigarette.
“You want one?” Charlie asks, extending the box to you, you shake your head rapidly making the older teens laugh.
She slings an arm around your thin shoulders, the smell of nicotine filling up your nostrils.
“Don’t worry you're gonna fit right in,” she says with a laugh and a light grin. Daniel grins too, as he leans against the dead tree. Cigarette hanging in between his fingers.
///
“Annika!” a man wearing a pair of white rimmed sunglasses shouts, boredly looking you up and down before motioning for you to go to the line.
“Damn immigrants,” another man sneers, fox ears pulled back, and the stench of alcohol hangs heavy off of him. You ignore him, fixing him with a cold glare. Beside you Charlie and Daniel flash their own toothy grins.
“Fuck off,” you mutter, your accent is still heavy, but you speak the words with confidence - unlike before. Shifting the bow over your skinny shoulders into a more comfortable position. Following after Daniel and Charlie.
The man flinches away, you think it has something to do with the sharp teeth you flash his way.
“We should join the Dream Army,” you call out to the older teens, who stop and think about it for a moment, “ they have higher wages than the Manburgian Army.”
Charlie and Danial look at each other before bursting out in laughter, “ the Dream Army is not like these ones, they’re more professional and rigorous with who they accept into the military.”
“That fucking blows,” you exasperate, making the older teens amusedly smile your way.
“Don’t worry Annika, we can find other work in the Dream Nation,” Daniel chirps, before diffing through his pockets.
“Did you get the Catnip?” you ask, changing the conversation. Danial laughs before throwing the small baggy to you he got from his ratty brown jeans.
“You're a fucking stoner,” Danial says, before adding, “just like us.”
You roll your eyes and pack the blunt with the plants within the baggy, tail angrily flickering to your side. Before fishing the lighter out of your pocket and lighting the cigarette. The older teen extends his hand and you throw the lighter to him.
///
War isn’t about people, it’s about power. Even in their homelands that is how it is.
Tu’la attacks O’khasis, and unsurprisingly they fight back. Launching attack after merciless attack on the coast villages. Destroying your home village, and subsequently your whole world. O’khasis now weak from the long and pointless war, no longer launches attacks.Tu’la is in no better shape. The countries head back to their respective borders to lick their wounds.
Phoenix Drop will lie and say how it's different from the other nations around it, but then it attacks weak countries and eats those words right up. Despite calling itself the land for the free, some of it's practices bring their moto to question.
“We’re here to help, to teach, ” those words mean nothing to you. You know what people truly mean when they say that: they mean control and influence. Tu’la is a puppet state for the much stronger Phoenix Drop. But you had already fled the country once your home had been destroyed.
You were 13 then, you're 15 now.
Danial and Charlie both run away from a broken home, and a dying country. They are orphans. The pair would be siblings in your country, with how close they are. They remind you of your family.
“The orphanage was the first place they went to,” Charlie says one night, her voice unusually soft and vulnerable. You quietly listen. It isn't every night Charlie or Daniel decide to share their past.
“To ‘recruit’ kids to fight the soldiers from the East,” she continues, taking a drag from her cigarette.
“My sister,” she chokes a little as she says the next part, “took my place, the soldiers from the neighboring country were strong men with enchanted weapons and much stronger than those our country could make. ”
“No one in that fleet made it,” Danial somberly adds.
“Our country was going to lose if we had stayed there any longer, had been going to shit for a long time now.”
“People will use what they can if it means they can stay in power for a little while longer,” Charlie mutters, tapping the ashes out of her cigarette, “so don’t do that shit here kid, we need you alive and kicking.”
She finishes by flashing you a toothy smile, and you notice that one of her teeth is chipped. You nod, quietly smoking your cigarette. Hunger claws at your stomach, but at least the drugs keep it at a manageable level.
“Well my dudes’, it’s getting late so I’m going to hit the hay,” Danial says, as he stands up and stretches his lithe figure. His dark eyes shine up a bit in the darkness, and everyone knows it isn’t because of the smoke. They all are too much of a weed lover for that to affect them anymore. Still you don’t say anything.
“You know,” Charlie began, parting her red hair through her nimble fingers before commencing a complicated braid, “ I meant to ask you, do the people where you come from have cat features and crazy
You look away, face heating up. You were afraid they would ask that. She misinterprets your flushing as indignance and is quick to backtrack.
“Aww shit, sorry I didn’t mean to be invasive or offensive I’m just really curious,” Charlie assures, letting the unfinished braid fall against her back as she waves her arms in front of her in a frenzy.
“Don’t worry about it, um yeah,” you say, flashing her a hopefully kind smile.
“Tu’la is a country mainly dominated by meif’was - cat people in your language. There are some minorities, notable ones being the fox people to the west, but the majority are meif’was,” you explain, playing with your oddly colored hair.
“But why is your hair a crazy color,” Charlie asks, before quickly adding, “if you don’t mind me asking,”
“Honestly, I don’t really know,” you bashfully say, ”‘purebred’ meif'was tend to have crazy colored hair and normal colored cat appendages, while those who become one through magical means or aren’t ‘pure’ have normal colored hair, but crazy colored cat appendages.”
“Was there tensions between the two groups?” Charlie asks, invested in the words you have to say, so much so she has forgotten about her cigarette.
“Yeah, in bigger cities not that much, but the more you went to rural areas the more it became apparent the difference in class and stuff, the ones who were meif’was due to magical means usually were upper class, especially after the war. Normal meif’was tended to work low to middle class jobs,” you continue, suddenly feeling homesick for your home country. You feel tears begin to collect at the corner of your eyes, and are quick to wipe them away.
Crying is a weakness, and weakness isn't something you can afford. None of you can afford it.
Charlie notices and puts an arm around your shoulders, you feel immensely grateful for the older girl, and sob. She doesn’t say anything other than patting your back. It's enough with her being there.
///
The smell of ash and dust fills your lungs, as you harshly cough. You feel your ears lay flat against the top of your head. You squint your eyes, hoping to find the other two teens in the mess of limbs and weapons.
“Danial! Charlie!” you scream, dodging an arrow that was aimed at your head, not even flinching after hearing the sickening crunch and feeling the warm blood splatter against your cheeks and seep into your uniform.
“Join the army,” you mutter, pulling your bow back before firing it to the person who had aimed for you, “it’ll be worth it,” you hear their guttural cry and turn away, “the wages will let you live comfortably,” your eyes scan the battlefield for the flash of fiery colored hair and yellow bandanas, “there is no chance in hell you’d get drafted for the frontlines.”
“Fuck,” you mutter beneath you breath, running a hand through your cropped cotton candy colored hair.
“Charlie! Danial!” you hollor again, hoping to hear them call back. Something hits your arm, and you hiss in pain. Tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. You blink them away.
“Shit,” you hiss out in your native tongue, you look around for the offender, “show yourself coward!!”
Something, possibly a stray arrow, hits you square in the middle of your chest.
‘Never thought you’d die like this, did you?’
A cold voice breaks the haze clouding your mind, and suddenly your pain goes away and your world goes dark.
///
Dream sighs, running a hand through his hair. You notice the faint pink scars decorating his arms like bracelets, and let yourself imagine them reopening over and over again.
'He would deserve it,' you darkly think. One fuzzy cat ear falls off your head, plopping onto the ground without a sound. A man shivers before rubbing at his arms.
"Are these all the casualties?" Dream asks. The secretary - of what? you have no fucking clue, nods, and is waved off.
You hiss as he passes by.
Dream can pretend all he wants, but you know he can see you.
All of those abominations can.
"You should've stayed in your country kitty-cat," he mocks while smirking, and you pray to your god that everything he represents is destroyed.
There are thousands of ghosts, all of them scarily young. They are angry and vengeful. Horribly mutilated.
You open your mouth and you let out a frustrated and primal scream. Dream rolls his eyes, ignoring the screams of the other ghosts in the room, and walks out of the office.
You continue screaming. Let yourself become a part of the angry mob of ghost children. Vengeful and angry, the mob of ghosts follow the personification of the nation which had led to their premature deaths.