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“Amelia, do you know there’s a new guy in town?”
Amelia turns to her sister, her short black hair bobbing up and down. “I haven’t.”
Valeria merely shakes her head in disappointment. “Well, I heard from mami that he’ll be moving in today, just across our house too!”
They’re walking back to home from school, the suns beating down their backs but never too comfortable. Amelia had insisted them to take the school bus multiple times, but Valeria has always refused, inciting that she loves watching the narcissuses bloom throughout their entire walk.
Amelia can’t refuse, even when she questions sometimes how flowers can triumphantly thrive in their challenging climate. Their history teacher once told them that No Man’s Land had once could barely bear any sort of flora without the crucial help of limited technology, so they should be grateful for the lush greenery growing naturally in their current time.
Valeria sighs beside her, twirling her curls. “I wonder if he’s hot.”
Amelia scrunches her nose. Her little sister is currently at the age when she only thinks of one thing; boys. “He’ll be too old for you.” She deadpans. “I’m more curious as to why some guy is moving into that haunted house.”
Mouth agape, Valeria retorts. “It’s not haunted!”
“I swear I remember you entering it for a dare, right? What was it again?” She leers. “Smelling someone smoking even when no one’s there?”
Valeria looks offended, but she also looks scared. Amelia cackles, her little sister fuming and raging like a tiny baby bird. Eventually, they chatter about other mindless topics, some about snobby girls in school and the latest hit song dropped yesterday, Valeria will gush over the pretty flowers they can see and Amelia will just nod.
They reach their house, a quaint cobblestone house with a chimney, just like any usual house in December. Amelia creaks open the gate just as Valeria gasps, tugging the end of her blouse.
She questions, “What is it?”
“Look at that, Amelia!” Valeria points excitingly to something behind her. Willing to indulge her, she turns around, looking at a drop dead gorgeous motorbike.
“Whoa.” She gapes.
Valeria bulldozes her way towards it, Amelia hot on her heels. “It looks so … ancient.”
“Antique.” Amelia corrects her, peering at the dangerously nice-looking handles and bars. She whistles. “I wonder how much it costs.”
Valeria turns her head towards her, eyes bright. “Can I touch it?”
“And what if you break it?” Snarks Amelia. “Besides, we don’t even know who this belongs to. Some psycho can own it for all we know.”
“It should be illegal for a psycho to own a bike this hot. ”
“Nice, Valeria. Nice.” She corrects her again, this time with a sigh.
Valeria ignores her, opting to take a closer look at the bike. Amelia is ready to snatch her back, not taking the risk of breaking a luxurious and definitely very aged fossil, but is interrupted by the voice of a man getting closer.
“- I should be free on Sunday. Yeah, please pencil me in. Say hi to Leona for me! Thanks and see ya!”
Amelia pulls Valeria close to her as a tall man rounds the corner, a phone in his hand. When the man gets closer, Valeria audibly gasps. And Amelia immediately gets it.
Because the same as this bike, this man is drop dead gorgeous .
Amelia knows hot boys, she’s dated a lot of them. But this man takes the definition of hot to outer space, into a black hole and emerges out as something totally inhuman. He’s pretty too, like those male supermodels in magazines but even way prettier. He can probably knock anyone dead on the runway with his looks all alone.
Black spiky hair styled sideways, shimmering in the sunlight. Fitting tight jeans revealing long lean legs. A bulky black jacket. A circle earring dangling from his left ear. Ombre tinted lens aviator perched on his nose, hiding the colour of his eyes.
Amelia has no doubt his eyes are pretty too.
Those eyes flit at them, catching their presence. The easy-going grin on his lips spreads wider as he walks closer, pocketing his phone.
“What can I do for you girls?”
Amelia steals a glance at Valeria, finding her mouth still gaping open like a fish. She nudges her sharply, smiling at the man in order not to offend him. “Cool bike, sir.”
He appears not to take any offense, appearing very amused instead as he glances at where Amelia just nudged Valeria violently.
Ah, crap. Keen eye.
“Thanks, I had this baby for a long time already.” He pats the bike affectionately.
Amelia nods, ready to excuse themselves when Valeria blurts out. “Are you our new neighbour?”
Amelia glares at her, but miraculously, the man doesn’t find it rude, only chuckling. “You two live across the street then?”
Valeria perks up. “Yes! My name’s Valeria and this is my sister, Amelia!” She hugs her arm.
He smiles, pulling down his aviator to wink at them and - oh, heck his eyes are aquamarine. “Name’s Vash Wolfwood. Nice to meet you, Valeria, Amelia.”
Amelia wonders why the name sounds familiar, but then Valeria is gasping again. Loudly. She turns to inquire her about the reason why she’s sounding like mami’s broken yoghurt machine when Valeria squeaks out, voice very loud.
“You’re married?!”
Mr. Wolfwood (Mr. Vash?) blinks as Amelia feels her face burning. He raises his right hand and only now does she notice the simple wedding band around his ring finger, drowned in all the sparkles of beauty he carries. How can Valeria notice it, she doesn’t know.
He smiles. “Yeah, I am.”
Valeria screeches.
Needless to say, Mr. Vash Wolfwood sweeps the whole city up in a storm.
“Oh my god, he is so hot! Like that cool outfit!”
“Have you seen his eyes? They’re so pretty I’m so jealous!”
“It’s kinda a shame he’s married …”
“I haven’t seen his wife around yet, maybe he’s divorced!”
“Wolfwood’s the name of that charity organisation, I think so?”
“I can smell the money. He must be so rich!”
“Hey, hey, Amelia. You’re neighbours with him, right?”
Looking up from her phone, Amelia tenses as she finds herself in the spotlight of her female classmates. Their eyes are eager, sparkling with bright enthusiasm. She sets her phone down, aware she’s not getting another second of peace if they’re going to hound her. She steals a glance at the clock, only a ten-second or so before school ends.
“Yes, I’m neighbours with him. He’s hot. He’s married. He’s probably rich, I don’t know. I haven’t seen his wife around yet.”
Her classmates swoon, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes as she stands from her seat, hefting her bag up her shoulder. When she’s at the door, she turns and smirks. “He’s also coming to dinner tonight.”
Hell breaks loose as she shuts the classroom door behind her. Whistling a tune, she walks to her house, enjoying the nice breeze gusting through December. She glances at the new neighbour across the street, the house a mirage to the others in the area before getting into her own.
Mami yells from the kitchen. “Amelia! Go and wake up your sister! Tell her to get ready!”
Amelia walks up the stairs and barges into Valeria’s pastel-themed room with no care, she spots the big bundle on the bed surrounded by many plushies and shouts.
“Come on, get out, Valeria!”
“Don’t wanna!” Comes out her voice muffled from the cocoon she’s in. Amelia sighs, hands on her hips as she nudges the bundle with a toe.
“Get ready, Mr. Wolfwood’s going to arrive in like 30 minutes.”
Valeria’s answer is muffled, tightening the patched blanket around her. Amelia purses her lips, flopping to sit on the corner of the bed. She places a hand on the blanket, groping until she clenches around what must be an ankle.
She yanks her out.
Valeria yelps as she tumbles down the bed in a mess of ungraceful limbs. Groaning in pain as she touches her head, her eyes are watery from the pain. Amelia doesn’t feel a single ounce of guilt at all.
She whines, kicking her leg away from her grasp. “What was that for?!”
Amelia makes sure she’s rolling her eyes heavily, just so her sister can catch her obvious mocking displeasure. “Stop being a drama queen.” Poking her foot, causing Valeria to jolt and pout.
She lets out a breath, blowing her bangs upwards. Grumbling, she wiggles into her blanket once again. “It’s always the hot ones that are taken.”
Raising an eyebrow, Amelia says off-handedly. “You’re the one who went and asked him.”
There’s a short silence before Valeria dramatically bursts into crocodile tears. Amelia rolls her eyes again, hefting herself up from the bed and walking out of the door. She shouts. “Get ready soon or mami will kick your ass!”
A muffled eat dirt! answered back. Amelia ignores it, going to her room to pick out the nicest dress in her wardrobe. It’s a blue sundress dotted with white chrysanthemums, flowers she can only see when she visits the Planetarium. She combs her hair, giving herself a nice once-over in the mirror before walking down the stairs.
Mr. Wolfwood arrives a few minutes after their promised time. Valeria is vibrating in her spot, dolled up and hiding her puffy eyes with makeup. When the doorbell finally rings, she literally rushes towards the dining table.
Their new neighbour is dressed up in a white buttoned shirt with fitting black slacks. His aviator is still propped up on his nose and Amelia can hear her mami and Valeria swooning at how perfect Mr. Wolfwood pulled off the outfit. Papi approves with the slightest smile he has after Mr. Wolfwood gives them what Amelia dubbed as “sunshine grin”. He also brings with him a box of donuts, citing that they’re his favourites.
They sit at the table, where food is immediately plattered and small talk begins. Amelia is scooping up Albóndigas onto her bowl when mami asks.
“What are your thoughts on our city?”
Mr. Wolfwood answers, “December is a nice city. Many things have changed, but they are good ones.”
That ignites mami’s housewife curiosity. “It must have been a long time since you last came.”
There’s almost a melancholic smile on his face before he laughs. “My work keeps me busy, I’m afraid. I’m always travelling around here and there.”
It’s papi’s turn to ask a question. Amelia notices him tapping his index finger, an agitated sign showing that he wants to smoke.
“What do you work as?”
Mr. Wolfwood smiles, his eyes crinkling. “Just your normal Plant Engineer.”
That catches Amelia’s attention. Plant Engineers are fancy jobs - demanding and high-paid. It’s a tough ambition to wish for. Amelia has never known one personally, but it looks like Mr. Wolfwood can be one. Not only does he have the looks, he has the brains too, huh.
Beside her, the topic appears to pique Valeria’s interest as she asks. “What is it like?”
Mr. Wolfwood’s eyes shift towards her and Valeria reddens at the sudden attention. Guess she’s still embarrassed under all that tough matured girl act. He indulges her, answering. “I travel around and check any Plants with worrying vitals. It’s an adventurous job, all alone too. It’s certainly something suitable if you love flower biology. Do you love flowers, Valeria?”
She flusters, probably taken aback that Mr. Wolfwood remembers her name. She meekly nods. “I do! They’re pretty.”
Mr. Wolfwood only smiles at her, almost mysteriously before he gets roped in another conversation with mami and papi. Amelia loses track of what they’re talking, some big word stuff about his job probably, judging by Valeria’s excited face as she really listens. It’s no big secret her little sister wants to be a Plant Engineer growing up, despite how challenging it will be.
After finishing eating, they both are shooed upstairs for bed because tomorrow is another day at the hell known as school. Valeria chatters her ears off as they squeeze inside the bathroom to wash their faces and brush their teeth, stopping only to catch her breath. Amelia tucks her in, kissing her forehead despite complaining that she’s too old for bedtime kisses. Amelia ignores her like usual, padding to her bedroom and grabbing her empty water bottle to refill it downstairs.
The wine bottle on the kitchen counter has disappeared, definitely currently being emptied by papi and their guest in the lounge. Amelia tries not to eavesdrop when walking past the small opening creak of the door, but it’s difficult when the smell of cigarette smoke wafts through it.
“I hope you don’t mind me smoking.”
Amelia freezes when she hears Mr. Wolfwood’s answer. “I’m used to it. My husband smoked too.”
That piques Amelia’s curiousity. So, Mr. Wolfwood swings the other way? Oh, that’ll generate cries among the December women population. But most importantly -
“Huh. You’re a widower?”
Bless papi’s bluntness.
She can hear Mr. Wolfwood’s loud wince. Amelia notices a pattern that Mr. Wolfwood never takes offence to any rude remarks. It’s the same as her observation as he answers. “My husband died a long time ago.”
“And you just never remarried?”
This is getting too personal. Amelia gulps, forcing herself to move away from the door. Still, she catches Mr. Wolfwood’s distant answer as she begins climbing up the stairs.
“-I’m afraid I will never forget him.”
“Well, fine! Don’t call me again!”
Amelia punches the red button, shoving her phone into her pocket as she fumes. Kicking a stray stone on the road, she internally seethes.
“Ugh, why do I keep attracting disgusting boys.” Grumbling, she kicks another pebble, watching it roll down the road.
It’s not her fault she’s seen a prize to win among the human species bestowed with the name boys ! She would have blushed and giggled whenever a boy praised her looks, but right now she’s just sick of them. Apparently, these boys didn’t try and treat her right, putting her on the stage as some sort of showpony or toy collection - because they heard she’s pretty.
Fuck them.
Frowning deeply, she stomps back in the direction of her house, having taken the phone call outside so that Valeria won’t use her recently-acquired nosey skills for her private angry conversation. She can use it on Mr. Wolfwood across the street all she wants, but not on her.
Speaking of, Amelia spots Mr. Wolfwood hefting up some boxes into his house, his black hair shiny under the sunlight. It’s been like a month since he arrived, and the rumours about him have dwelled a bit after the news of him being a widower faithful to his dead husband spread like wildfire. No one can stop talking about it for a week.
Amelia wonders if he ever got tired of it.
She looks at the pile of boxes in front of his house and decides that it’s better if she calms down before going back into the house.
When he steps out, Amelia waves at him. “Mr. Wolfwood ~ Do you need a hand?”
He blinks at her as if he heard that right before his lips split open into a wide, amused grin. “I really need a hand here!”
Crouching, she picks up a few of those boxes. They weigh moderately, probably containing clothes or something as light as them. Mr. Wolfwood lets her in, pointing to a door on her right. “Put them in front of the fireplace, please.”
She does as told, hurrying towards the fireplace. She puts them together with the boxes on the carpet, grunting. Standing straight, she lets her eyes take in the crowded room. There’s a lot of potted plants with colourful flowers poking out of green leaves. A huge window lets in a generous amount of sunlight, and the room looks generally cheerful with the bright furniture and pretty flora around if not for the huge crucifix above the mantle.
Tilting her head, she gets closer. The crucifix looks thick, wrapped in some sort of cloth with belts strapping it. It looks solemn, old and oddly out of place in this bright room.
Amelia turns around when Mr. Wolfwood walks in, carrying the last of his boxes. He puts them down, stretching his back. He looks at Amelia with a satisfying smile. “Thanks for helping me, Amelia.”
“No problem, Mr. Wolfwood.” Answers her, she looks back at the crucifix and can’t help but ask. “Never expect you to be religious.”
Mr. Wolfwood looks at where she’s looking and Amelia swears, his smile falters a bit. He answers, tone not giving anything out. “I’m not. It’s my husband’s.”
Amelia wonders over the implication, then it settles in and she questions incredulously. “Your husband’s a priest?”
Frankly, she can’t imagine Mr. Wolfwood, with all his black extraordinary getup, pierced ear and sunshine personality shacking up with a serious-looking clergyman.
He snorts. “Nah. Not a priest. Just an undertaker, and a bad one too.”
That doesn’t get any better. Amelia squints up at him, how on Gunsmoke did this man of perfection even end up with a husband like that?
Mr. Wolfwood keeps his eyes on the cross, and Amelia sees the nostalgia swirling in his eyes. “He always joked that it’s heavy because it’s so full of mercy. Brings it literally everywhere, saying that it brings him the money.” He sighs softly, and god, Amelia can see the lovesickness from miles away.
As if noticing that he’s getting too lost in his memories, he turns his head to give a blinding smile at her. “I have some leftover donuts. Let me give it to you as thanks!”
Amelia only nods, trying not to look back at the dismal crucifix as she follows Mr. Wolfwood out of the room.
The Planetarium as called - is a building where their city’s plants are located. History said it was originally built like a factory, but after the Heavenly Battle, various actions had been taken to prosper the many cities and towns with their plant treatment, December included; renovating the place to be as welcoming and full of nature as possible.
Amelia stares at the glowing pods in awe. Tiny bubbles float in their bright-blue water, gathering at the top of their unseen pods.
There’s a few other visitors milling around, hushed voices as they look at the Plants in the dark space illuminated only by low-lights and the Plants. The metal bridge under her clangs as she walks, enraptured by the soft light emitting from these energy sources.
Valeria had dragged her here, wanting to enjoy the garden of flowers in the bio room. Amelia had left her, knowing Valeria would do fine without her monitoring any flower activities she’s going to do. What’s the worst that can happen? Not like she’s going to choke on a flower or something. Amelia’s been in the Plant Section many times before because it’s simply a major attraction of December aside from the churches and theme parks, but she never gets bored watching them.
She looks around, her feet and heart light. Being in here always helps her relax, she vaguely remembers her teacher saying it’s because Plants help to alleviate stress and negative emotions of any living beings around them.
“Amelia?”
Amelia jumps, a scream stuck in her throat as she whirls around only to face Mr. Wolfwood head-to-chin.
Craning her neck upwards, she looks straight into his eyes. “You scared me there, Mr. Wolfwood!”
Brushing his nape, Mr. Wolfwood chuckles apologetically. “Sorry, Amelia. What are you doing here?”
Smiling, Amelia answers. “Valeria wanted me to go with her. She’s in the garden right now, busy sniffing the flowers. What about you, Mr. Wolfwood?”
He grins. “I work here.”
It takes Amelia a second to remember that he works as a Plant Engineer. She cocks an eyebrow and asks. “Shouldn’t you be working right now?”
Letting out a sigh, he says. “Contrary to popular belief, we don’t stress ourselves with our workload. Right now, I’m walking around, just enjoying the view.”
Amelia hums, they both settle into silence as they look at one of the Plants surrounding them. She breaks it with a question. “There’s a Main Plant here in December, right?”
Tilting his head, his nose scrunches before he exclaims. “Oh! You mean Leona? Yep, she’s December’s Main Plant.”
“... Plants have gender?”
“Only one!” He rocks on his heels. “They’re all genetically speaking, female.”
She politely asks, peering from beneath her bangs. “Can you show me where she is? I want to show her to Valeria sometime soon.”
Mr. Wolfwood smiles with his eyes. “Oh, she’ll love you two. Come, let me show you!”
They walk down the metal bridge, Mr. Wolfwood explaining about the Plants throughout their walk. Amelia is sure that she now knows more about Plants than she ever had in her many past years of life as he keeps rambling energetically on and on.
“Here she is. Amelia, meet Leona!”
They stop at one of the metal pit stops. Mr. Wolfwood is happily showing the Plant with a flourish, a wide grin on his face. Amelia steps near, noticing how this Plant looks no different than the others. However, she still places a gentle hand on the cold glass while gazing up at the bud behind it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Leona. I’m Amelia.”
She feels a sudden tingle in her arm and pulls back. Frowning, she dismisses the feeling, turning around to catch Mr. Wolfwood smiling at her so brightly it’s a miracle he doesn’t light up the whole space like fireworks.
“What makes a Plant a Main Plant?” She asks.
Mr. Wolfwood thumbs his chin, his ring glistening. “It’s their energy storage. Every Plant has the same energy input and output, but some carry an alternate way to create energies. There’s also a recorded search about a Plant who can create energy by changing the terraform.”
“Isn’t her name something like …” Amelia purses her lips, trying to remember what Valeria always rants about. “-Vash the Stampede?”
Mr. Wolfwood chokes.
Amelia looks at him weirdly, but he’s now laughing, slapping his knees. She mutters loudly. “I guess … no wonder your first name sounds familiar, Mr. Wolfwood.”
Wheezing, Mr. Wolfwood wipes the corner of his eye. “Haha, yeah! Many babies are named Vash.”
“I did date a Vash once -” Mr. Wolfwood starts howling.
Annoyed, Amelia prevents herself from glaring at him. Respect your elders, as they always say. “Anyways, isn’t she like some sort of hero? Or is she a he? Vash is a boy's name, isn’t it?”
“It’s gender-neutral, but I think Vash the Stampede goes by he.” Mr. Wolfwood smiles down at her before continuing. “And I really don’t know about the whole hero part.” He grimaces. “Some think he’s a calamity faulting for humanity to crash on this barren planet in the first place.”
“The Big Fall.”
Mr. Wolfwood gives her an unreadable look. “They teach about it in school nowadays?”
“The Big Fall. The named tragedy occurred when all the SEEDS ships crashed onto No Man’s Land by the work of the Independent Twin Plants; Nai and Vash. I don’t remember the exact casualty rate, but I do remember the reason it wasn’t so severe was because of the work of an officer onboard named Rem.”
There’s no quirky commentary by Mr. Wolfwood, so Amelia turns with a frown. He appears deep in thought, a small sad smile stretching on his lips when he catches her watching. “You remember all of that?” He quips.
Amelia scoffs. “They made us watch a movie about it multiple times.” It was a good movie, alright, Stryfe & Thompson Production makes the best movies airing in the theaters. “And it’s like the most important event aside from the Heavenly Battle.” She pauses, remembering snippets when her teacher told them the fight between the Independent Twin Plants. The planet had shaken with tremors, the now extinct Worms decapitating from the sheer Plant power outburst. Stars had fucking exploded. There was also the first of a once-extinct species growing back; an apple tree.
She bites her lower lip, frowning. “It’s pretty obvious that Vash the Stampede had atoned for his sins. He stopped his brother, didn’t he? Willing to sacrifice himself for humanity? If that’s not called redemption, then I don’t know what else to describe what he had done.”
When she looks at Mr. Wolfwood, he’s giving her one of his mysterious smiles. “Many will beg to differ, you know.”
“Assholes then.” She thinks Mr. Wolfwood won’t mind her cursing. “Probably those old-fashioned fake church people who believe Plants exist to be slaves for humanity.”
He is clearly holding back a laugh. Amelia grins in victory before explaining solemnly. “Even Plants have feelings and I think Vash the Stampede was no different. He probably had human friends and someone he loved. Since there should be a reason why he fought his brother in the first place. He clearly was humane.”
Mr. Wolfwood doesn’t deign her with a reply, only giving his usual smile. Amelia tears her eyes away from it. It just … looks so sad that it can make her eyes prickle.
They stand in comfortable silence, watching Leona in her pod.
Mr. Wolfwood speaks again, asking her. “Do you like kids?”
Amelia narrows her eyes at the unexpected question. “I guess so. Valeria’s pretty much still a kid. Why are you asking, Mr. Wolfwood?”
He sheepishly rubs his nape. “I plan to visit the orphanage tomorrow. I wonder if you can show me the way there?”
Amelia doesn’t bother telling him that Wolfwood Orphanage is easy to find, she knows Mr. Wolfwood must know, his name is literally in it. Instead, she shoves down her curiosity and answers with an easy grin.
“Sure, Mr. Wolfwood.”
To be frank, Amelia’s never visited the Wolfwood Orphanage before, but she knows where it is.
Not only her, the whole of December knows where the orphanage is. It’s like the first few things they learn; how to draw, how to walk, where is home, where is the Wolfwood Orphanage.
The orphanage is located on a cliff overlooking the desert highway. It’s an old building, but well-cared for. The biggest church in the city which happens to be a major tourist attraction is located beside it, the first theme park built on the planet is located a few streets away and there is a small graveyard behind the orphanage. It’s a weird location to place an orphanage at, especially the famed Wolfwood Orphanage.
Amelia manages to read the sign on the gate as they zoom past on Mr. Wolfwood’s cool bike.
Wolfwood Orphanage, Main Branch.
Mr. Wolfwood stops the bike near the building. Amelia carefully steps down, not stepping on the sidecar Mr. Wolfwood had attached to the bike before they departed. She unstraps her helmet and follows Mr. Wolfwood up the short flight of stairs. She catches him glimpsing at the church before his eyes go back to the door.
A few knocks and the door opens. An elderly matron greets them, smiling warmly. “Good afternoon. You must be Mr. Vash!”
Amelia watches silently as Mr. Wolfwood greets her back. She furrows, but doesn’t question Mr. Wolfwood’s decision to not use his last name. Maybe to avoid a top-star treatment.
They’re ushered in and Amelia immediately surveys the huge hall they’re in. The matron asks Mr. Wolfwood. “I presume you will really be adopting the boy, Mr. Vash?”
Amelia snaps her head at that. Huh.
“Yes.” He answers with a smile. “Can I see him?”
The matron is more than happy to let them. Amelia finds herself with Mr. Wolfwood in another room, a reading room, she thinks. There on one of the colourful beanbags is a boy, looking younger than Valeria. He has thin grey hair and kind dark eyes, the latter currently pinned on them, the newcomers of the room. His hands are busily patting a small Thomas, who is squawking as a finger trails down its beak. Amelia watches as Mr. Wolfwood approaches him, squatting to reach eye-level with him.
“Hello, Triste.” He softly says.
The boy, Triste, looks at him cautiously through his bangs. “... Hullo.”
Mr. Wolfwood seems undeterred, brightening instead. He gestures to himself. “My name’s Vash and I’m your uncle.”
Triste blinks. “I … have an uncle?”
“That’s me! I’ll be adopting you today, Triste.”
Triste stays quiet at this, his face painted with distrust. Mr. Wolfwood keeps on smiling, gesturing to the blue bird. “What’s its name?”
There is hesitation in Triste’s eyes before he answers, presuming there’s no harm in it. “Bobby.”
“That’s an adorable name! Listen, I may be able to persuade the caretaker for you to bring Bobby home. Will you like that?”
This has Triste asking quietly. “You will?”
“There’s no harm in trying.” Mr. Wolfwood grins before ruffling his head. Triste scrunches his nose, a hand rubbing the disturbed part of hair. “I’m going to go and talk to the matrons, alright? While at that, you can stay with Amelia here! Maybe show her around! You’ve packed, haven’t you?”
Triste nods, and Mr. Wolfwood sweetly claps his hands while standing up. “Awesome! Keep an eye on him for me, Amelia.”
She mumbles an affirmative before Mr. Wolfwood turns around to exit the room, but not before giving her and Triste a small wave. As soon as he’s gone, Amelia turns her head to catch Triste staring at her.
She wonders if the kid is usually this quiet. He’s back to patting the blue Thomas, Bobby again, but his eyes are still on her. Shuffling on her feet, Amelia says, trying to ease the air. “You can show me around …?”
Surprisingly, Triste nods. He cradles Bobby expertisedly in his hands as he lifts himself up from the beanbag, hastening towards the door to lead her outside. Amelia follows on quick footsteps as they take a few turns down the corridor past some children poking their heads out to watch them. Triste leads her into a large circular room, past the main hall where she and Mr. Wolfwood entered the orphanage from.
Amelia lets her gaze run through the many photographs pinned on the wall, appearing to be the yearly lineup of children in the orphanage. There are trophies too, some engraved with achievements of winning a sports tournament at the local school and other rewards etched on them. She lifts her head up, reading a short description of the orphanage’s foundation. It is boring, but she feels a bit curious as she comes across a mention of Mr. Wolfwood’s family name.
“Formerly known as Hopeland Orphanage, Wolfwood Orphanage had gotten its new name as a tribute to Nicholas D. Wolfwood, who sacrificed his life to protect the lives of countless children during the Heavenly Battle era.”
Lifting an eyebrow, she lets out a huh. Never expect to learn that kind of historical info is linked with Mr. Wolfwood. So her neighbour is somehow related to this guy?
Amelia nearly leaps into the air as Triste materialises beside her. He whispers. “My ancestor’s brother.”
Amelia blinks. She looks back at the description. That … somehow makes sense, considering that Mr. Wolfwood is the kid’s uncle.
Triste leans forward, pointing a finger at a very old picture. “That one. The boy on the very left with a hand in his pocket.”
Leaning in, Amelia looks at where Triste is pointing. The monochromatic picture is old but well-preserved, easing her to find the person Triste’s pointing at. It’s a boy with no resemblance to Triste at all, appearing to be dark-skinned with a mop of shaggy black hair on his head. He’s scowling, Amelia notices. The boy beside him looks like a mirror of Triste, light hair and the same kind eyes. There’s also a baby Thomas in his hands, a resemblance Triste carried with him.
“I guess that’s your ancestor?”
Triste nods, silent.
That’s unfortunate, Amelia thinks. To have a cycle of karma for Triste to end up as an orphan too. Amelia shakes her head to clear that rude thought away.
He tugs her hand, asking very quietly that Amelia has to lean down. “Do you want to see the Thomas pen?”
Amelia agrees and for the first time, Triste’s eyes lighten up. He’s quick to tug her away, navigating towards the backyard. There’s a huge playground out here, but Triste swerves to the left side where the pens of Thomases are.
Amelia spends the next thirty minutes or so patting the chicks. Triste seems happy, letting them come to him as a very wide grin settles permanently on his face. Amelia can’t deny that it’s nice patting these fluffy birds, but it does get boring after a while so she asks Triste, curious.
“How long have you been here?”
Triste doesn’t get sad, stopping his hand for a while before Bobby nuzzles its head into it. “3 years.”
“Oh.” She softly says. She doesn’t say anything else.
He shifts a bit on where he’s seating at, dark eyes lowering. “My parents were buried in the graveyard behind the orphanage. All Wolfwoods are. After they die, I’m just … left here.”
“I don’t even know I have an uncle.”
Amelia is quiet, then Triste asks. “Are you my uncle’s daughter?”
Amelia doesn’t manage to hold back her sputter. “Me?! No, I’m just his neighbour!”
Triste’s eyes come to an understanding. “Why did you come with him?”
Blowing out a breath, she answers. “He asked me to. But, I guess.” She purses her lips, remembering Mr. Wolfwood’s lone smile as he pondered over his lost loved one. “He’s lonely, you know. Needs company and stuff.” Kicking her legs, she pinches a baby Thomas’s beak. “Maybe you can keep him company starting from now."
Triste hugs his knees, Bobby squeezed tight between the gap available. He mumbles, a small voice filled with hope. “Maybe.”
Triste - as Amelia learns the next few weeks, is naturally quiet.
He doesn’t speak much, but is apparently very loud with his body language. He goes tremendously well with Mr. Wolfwood, Amelia has caught them snickering together whenever she comes over for the free donuts Mr. Wolfwood is more than happy to give her. More things have been broken and ruined too, Amelia notices a dwindle in the number of potted plants and ornaments, as easily as she can hear Mr. Wolfwood stumbling inside his house, a yelp always followed by an ear-splitting crash. She wonders over what a miracle it is that the sound doesn’t travel to her household or practically the whole street.
It’s the same this time too. Amelia is sitting on one of the nice bar stools Mr. Wolfwood just have in his kitchen, feeding Bobby some few donut crumbs as Triste works on his Math homework when a sound akin to an elephant crashing down comes from upstairs.
Triste halts his pencil. Amelia frowns. “That sounds bad.”
Triste gives a nod of agreement. Amelia shouts. “Mr. Wolfwood! Are you okay?!”
There’s no response. Her frown deepening, she hops off from her stool. Climbing up the stairs, she hears Triste following her as they go up to the upper floor. The sound came from the main bedroom, so she raps first on the door, her voice rising as she asks the same question.
“Mr. Wolfwood! Are you okay?”
Silence. Worried now, she says. “I’m going inside with Triste, okay?”
Pulling the door open, she sees Mr. Wolfwood lying on the floor.
Triste gasps. “Uncle Vash!” He ducks under her arm to run into the room.
Yelping, Triste slips, nearly falling if not for Amelia to quickly grab him. The floor is slippery, water pooling from a fallen jug laying a few metres away from Mr. Wolfwood’s body. Triste escapes himself from her grasp, carefully kneeling next to Mr. Wolfwood and shaking his body with urgency.
“Uncle Vash?”
Amelia is relieved to hear the man groaning, aquamarine eyes blearily blinking awake. She really doesn’t know what to do if he actually doesn’t wake up. “Ow, my head …” He hisses as he hefts himself up, blinking rapidly before taking in Triste’s anxious pale face and Amelia’s frozen form.
“Urrr, oops?” He sheepishly smiles.
Triste’s lips tremble, and that’s the only sign he gives out before he starts bawling into tears.
Mr. Wolfwood looks bewildered, taking quick measure as he pulls a crying Triste into his arms. His face softens, hand going through the silver hair with care. “Shh, shh, I’m here.”
Amelia looks away from the scene, trying to occupy with something else in the room. She has never gone into this room before - a nod of respect to Mr. Wolfwood’s privacy, but now he looks welcoming and must have noticed her beginning to snoop around, so she takes the opportunity to observe her new surroundings.
A small single bed in the middle. There are potted flowers in this room too, except that they come in primarily red. They look more cared for than the other plants inside the house, Amelia tries not to dwell on why.
She hears Mr. Wolfwood excusing himself to go to the bathroom to clean himself up. Triste sniffs, mumbles a yes, letting Mr. Wolfwood disappear through a small door in the room. He stares at where he went before distracting himself with the beautiful potted flowers.
Amelia looks at a line-up of picture frames. She walks closer, recognising Mr. Wolfwood with his black hair. The first frame shows Mr. Wolfwood together slinging an arm through their neck with a silver-haired man, resembling Triste, so this may be Triste’s father. Amelia notices the background is the Wolfwood Orphanage, yet it looks a bit older. Maybe it’s because of the photo’s poor and low-quality. All of the other photos carry the same quality.
A picture of Mr. Wolfwood with two women, one short with black hair and earrings, the other tall with long hair. They all have big grins, posing with a peace sign in what must have been a tavern. Another picture of Mr. Wolfwood with the two women too, except that there’s a dark-haired man in sunglasses joining them and Mr. Wolfwood’s hair is bright yellow. He’s nogging Mr. Wolfwood’s head, a cigarette in his mouth while the short woman looks exasperated while the tall woman laughs with fondness. They look like they’re in the desert, on a journey with a goal in mind.
Amelia squints his eyes. The man somehow looks familiar. But then she sees the gun at Mr. Wolfwood's hip and she blinks.
It ... isn't surprising, he does look like he can use a gun. But guns in public are rare nowadays, or maybe because of his job, he has to be armed at all times.
Another group picture, this time with only Mr. Wolfwood, the dark-haired guy and the short woman. There’s a man with a beard in the background looking deeply resigned. Mr. Wolfwood’s smiling, the dark-haired guy grinning close to the camera and the short woman has a look of pleasant surprise on her face.
The final picture frame is put at the end of line, close to bed as if it’s the first thing Mr. Wolfwood can look at when he wakes up.
It’s Mr. Wolfwood and the dark-haired man together. An arm is settled around Mr. Wolfwood’s waist, and the stranger’s other hand is thumbing below Mr. Wolfwood’s eyes where his beauty mark is located. Mr. Wolfwood has his eyes half-closed, appearing content as the dark-haired man looks at him, his sunglasses tilted below to reveal dark eyes that are brimming with love and fondness.
It all clicks together now, this man must have been Mr. Wolfwood’s husband.
She turns around as Mr. Wolfwood comes back in. Triste dashes towards him.
She pretends she hadn’t seen any of the pictures as she begins fretting, helping him to wipe dry the wet floor.
“Mr. Wolfwood!”
The door swings open, revealing Mr. Wolfwood. He has his usual happy grin on his face as he greets her. “Sup, Amelia. To what pleasure do I owe the visit?”
Amelia carefully makes sure her grip is strong as she jiggles the container in her hands. “Mami made some pudding for you, Mr. Wolfwood.”
His eyes twinkle at the mention of free dessert, he opens the door wide for her. “Put it in the fridge, Amelia!”
Amelia does as told, easily fitting the square container in the medium-sized fridge. Mr. Wolfwood rarely has a full fridge, Triste doesn’t eat a lot and Amelia notices that Mr. Wolfwood barely has a craving for anything else besides donuts.
Somehow, Amelia doesn’t know when she starts worrying over Mr. Wolfwood. He has been here for nearly a year now and everyone adores him. From the most anti-social office worker to the happiest gardener, they all have taken a liking to Mr. Wolfwood, says he’s like a breath of fresh air around here. Newcomers and migrants aren’t uncommon, but Mr. Wolfwood brings in a hurricane of something else entirely into the town. The city looks happier with his presence.
Brushing her hands, Amelia walks in the corridor, searching for any sign of Mr. Wolfwood. She finds him in the room full of potted plants, arms crossed as he stares at the huge cross atop the fireplace. Amelia admits, the cross sometimes creeps her out even when it’s not uncommon to find crosses in any of the resident’s homes considering that December is a Catholic-Christian city.
Just - Mr. Wolfwood seems so attached to it, but she knows the man isn’t religious and she knows it’s a memento of his dead husband. However, the look in his eyes whenever he gets absorbed in the image of the heavenly symbol simply makes her worry. It’s not just the look of looking at a treasure his loved one had, it’s more than that.
Mr. Wolfwood sighs, and that has Amelia nearly tripping as he turns around to catch her peeking.
“Um - hey, Mr. Wolfwood.” She puts a hand up, wobbly grin in place.
Mr. Wolfwood only grins and it seems very out of place with the melancholy in his eyes. He’s quiet for a few seconds before he asks. “Why do you call me that?”
“Huh?”
He says softly. “Wolfwood. Why do you call me by that name?”
“Huh.” Amelia blinks. Now that she thinks of it, most people that she knows call Mr. Wolfwood by his first name, even her classmates or the children around. The name of the legendary outlaw and hero; Vash. It’s an honourable name to have, so there’s no surprise as to why Mr. Wolfwood is addressed informally, it’s a tradition of the planet to honour Vash the Stampede’s sacrifices.
But why doesn’t she call him that?
“Because … you love it?” She hesitantly answers. Coughing into her fist, she tries to remember what had made her call him by his last name. “You have this kind of look in your eyes when you hear the name Wolfwood, like the Wolfwood Orphanage, Mr. Wolfwood …” She trails off and concludes. “Because it’s your husband’s name?”
Amelia looks up, watches Mr. Wolfwood with a surprised look on his face. Then, he lowers his head down and laughs sardonically.
“I was that obvious?” He asks, breathless.
“You’ve never tried to hide it.”
Mr. Wolfwood goes back to stare at the crucifix. As if contemplating, he closes his eyes and sighs tiredly. When he opens them again, those aquamarine irises hold a mountain of emotions Amelia can’t even describe.
“I guess so.” He mumbles, then turns to look at Amelia again. “Will you accompany me to another place, Amelia?”
Amelia doesn’t even mull it over as she agrees.
Mr. Wolfwood disappears for approximately ten minutes into the house as Amelia waits outside, leaning on the familiar motorbike parked in the pathway.
Triste is currently off on a school trip to one of the theme parks in the city, Amelia wonders if Mr. Wolfwood chooses today on purpose or if it’s another example of his lacking impulse control. She doesn’t have enough time to puzzle over it as Mr. Wolfwood appears again, a bouquet of red flowers in his hand and the large cross slung over his shoulder.
Confused, Amelia beats down the urge to ask. Instead, she watches silently as Mr. Wolfwood climbs on his bike with the cross still attached to his back. He hands her over the bouquet of red flowers, letting Amelia to sit in the sidecar and take a subtle sniff.
It smells sweet.
The ride is familiar, and maybe Amelia shouldn’t have been surprised as she recognises the direction they’re driving. This time, Mr. Wolfwood doesn’t drive through the orphanage gate, swerving to take a left corner into a narrow steep road filled with brambles and wild bushes.
The bike stops as they reach the cemetery. Crosses and headstones buried in the soil mixed with sand and lined in perfect order, her eyes flit through on all of them. Triste’s words dance in her mind. All Wolfwoods are.
Mr. Wolfwood takes a step forward, and Amelia hears him take a deep breath before beginning to walk with purpose. Amelia follows him, casts a wild look at the graves around her while trying to focus on the cross on his back.
Mr. Wolfwood halts.
Amelia doesn’t get closer as she sees the way those aquamarine eyes haze, losing focus as they stare down at the soil in front. She turns her head, walks away as she hears Mr. Wolfwood’s soft but sad greeting.
“It’s been a while, Nico.”
Mr. Wolfwood is now whispering, but Amelia can’t make them out as she purposefully gains a distance between them.
She didn’t notice back then, but the graves in this line have been here for over a century. She can’t barely read the headstone, only spotting cursive, broken chunks of Livio . She notices too, that Mr. Wolfwood’s husband’s grave doesn’t have a headstone.
The mystery is solved as she turns at the sound of something heavy thumping loudly. Mr. Wolfwood had dug a small hole, enough to fit in the huge cross. Amelia wants to rush and help him, but the look on his face has Amelia approaching with quiet steps instead.
When Mr. Wolfwood is satisfied with the way he places the cross, he turns to Amelia. She gets the message and hands him the bouquet of red flowers.
Mr. Wolfwood says, answering one of her many unspoken questions. “They’re called geraniums. Means determination.”
Amelia lets out a noise of understanding, but doesn’t say anything further. Instead, she watches silently as Mr. Wolfwood crouches to put down the geraniums on the sand. It stands sharply at contrast, the vibrant redness against the yellow surface of the planet.
The sunlight hits Mr. Wolfwood’s glasses, colouring them in shades of blues and oranges. Amelia can’t see his eyes beneath them, but the crooked smile his lips curve up tells all.
“Can you do me a favour, Amelia?”
She asks, eyes unable to look at anything else but Mr. Wolfwood. “What can I do?”
“Please never stop calling me by my last name.”
She blinks, and she thinks there might be sand in her eyes. “I can do that.”
Mr. Wolfwood smiles. “Thank you.”
And he repeats.
“Thank you.”
and if the sun grows cold for you along the way
and if the stars don't line to light the way
and when you fall away and crash back down below
i'll search the skies for you and i'll follow
i'll be in your afterglow
and i'll bring you home.