Arc 3 - Interlude III: Doug Zirardge

(Mensis 28, 45 / 12:01PM)

27 years ago…

The wind blew across the red dirt, with no end in sight for the horizon.

On that same ranch, that same valley and hills that held itself in glory, was nothing more than a house. It wasn’t colossal, but it was meant to house the average family. Near the house, was a barn and stables, their size mini compared to the present day.

And inside the barn, a chubby young man stood with his hands in his pockets. Looking at the teen, he slept with closed eyes, while drool ran down his lip. Seeing that he was deep in his slumber, his overseer pulled out something…

And pushed a simple button.

“GRAH!!”

Jumping out of the hay bale, he awoke with fluttering eyes. Standing on his own two feet, he looked to his right and left, until he laid eyes on that chubby man.

“Really Doug!? Are you freaking serious!?”

“Nothing to worry about partner. Just a simple blowhorn, see?”

With a single push of his finger, the airhorn rumbled the barn’s walls. Shaking the dust, the wood, and the splinters along its sides, it especially trembled…

“Gah!”

Lowering the airhorn, he had it low to his waist. Seeing the teenage boy clench his eyes shut, it wasn’t long before he opened them back up. Shaking his head, he lowered his eyes, and laid them on Doug.

“Quit it!”

“Then don’t quit halfway through the day then. You still have a lot more work to do.”

“Why so much chores?!”

“I brought you into this ranch home. You should be lucky that I found you to begin with.”

The teenage boy raised his hand, and shook off hay that was stuck in his scalp. Rubbing his fingers back and forth, along with his palm, he laid his eyes on Doug.

“Don’t blame me, blame my father. He’s the one pushing you to be a ranch hand.”

“But aren’t you guys rich?”

“We’re part of the 13 aristocratic families. The wealth is shared between the families, but us Zirardges have always got the short end of the straw.”

Doug turned around, and laid eyes on the hills that held no vigor.

He knew the land around them was vast, but also empty. Red dirt, infertile soil, growing crops was a testament to a farmer’s will. But even so, a small batch of garlic crops sprouted from the land.

And with a land so small, and aspirations so low, Doug balled his right hand.

“I won’t be like my father.”

Pushing his fist into his pocket, he also pushed his other hand in. Keeping it there, he moved his eyes toward the red dirt.

“I want to be big. Grow big. I have so many ideas, so many things the family could do to make money.”

The more he stared at that dirt, the more he saw himself in that dry land. Soil that was hard to bloom in, all it needed was a miracle. Hope. Faith. The belief that a single plant would be able to grow.

“But I can’t do it on my own. After all, a CEO can’t grow a company without its workers.”

Doug turned toward the ginger-haired teen. Analyzing his build, his scrawny appearance made him rethink upon the future. At the most, or at the least, he could be a ranch hand or someone who works in an office.

Because in a million years, he wouldn’t be a fit for some bodyguard; or that’s what he thought.

“Come on. After we do our chores, let’s head toward town for some beer.”

________________________________________________________________________

Several hours later…

Inside a tavern, one that was built out of wood, were splinters that shot up like thorns. Torn, scraped against, bullet holes were engraved from the outside. Despite the building looking torn from the inside out, business still prevailed.

Sitting on creaking barstools, two men stared at the wine bottles behind the counter. Laying their hands on the wood, while a pianist played ragtime, the two teens glanced down at their shots of glass.

“My father told me many stories, most of them involving the many bar fights and shootouts. He says the country has gotten soft, with tech being introduced to the land, but I guess time doesn’t slow for anyone.”

“Well I hardly remember anything, so I don’t know what Haxouburg was like.”

“Amnesia?”

“Pretty much. I only know my name and that’s it.”

Doug gripped the shot with two fingers, and raised it up halfway. His eyes peering into the golden liquid, he saw his reflection, and he saw his chubby body’s state. Crinkling his eyes, he closed his eyes and swooped the whiskey like it was a swig.

Gasping out air, he shook his head back and forth.

“Damn this is strong! Is this moonshine or something!?”

“I don’t know. I never drank alcohol.”

“I already know you don’t drink. I mean, look at you.”

The teen furrowed his brow, before grappling his shot with his own two fingers. Raising it up slowly, the glass slightly shivered, but it wasn’t until he had the tip touching his lips. Keeping it there, he closed his eyes, and allowed the alcohol to—

He spat it out.

Saliva running down his chin, there was also the leftover alcohol. Making a slight mess, Doug chuckled loudly to himself.

“Oh, man! Hahahaha! You know how to make a man laugh!”

“S-Shut up! It just left a bad taste in my mouth, that’s all…”

He lowered the shot to the table, and wiped the saliva from his lips. Using only his sleeve, he tried to get rid of that skanky odor. As for Doug, he looked into the wine bottles in front of him, his eyes all preserving.

‘Well, it would be nice if there’s a … oh.’

Coming out from the back, a thin waitress walked with a rag in her hand. Seeing that whiskey spat on the counter, both of her eyes scrunched. Once she reached right in front of them, she began cleaning the tabletop with angry silence.

Doug analyzed the way she cleaned. Blonde hair that trickled her shoulders, a petite body that perfected femininity, a white gown that covered her ankles… his breath was stolen. Sensing that he was gazing at her, she looked up with slight red in her eyes.

“What do you want fatty? You could stare, but do it long enough and your eyes will swell black.”

“S-Sorry. Just taken aback. I haven’t seen you before.”

“Well I’m new. So… yeah.”

She continued to clean the mess, as her eyes rested onto the wooden countertop again. Having her left palm rest on the edge, while her right felt the alcohol soak the rag, she lifted her body up.

Throwing the rag beneath her, it landed into a small garbage can. Mixing in with the pile of other rags, she groaned with crackled lips.

“I swear. You men love making women clean up your messes. It’s like taking care of toddlers.”

“I could assure you that I don’t eat like a slob.”

“Then what about your boyfriend?”

“The kid? Eh, first time drinking.”

“Figures.”

Doug glanced at his glass shot, and noticed that he had ingested most of the whiskey in one gulp. Feeling his gums soak in parchness, feeling his own teeth shrivel like raisins, blood wanted to be released.

But with a slight shake to his head, he allowed no nervousness to kick in.

“Anyway. My name is Doug Ziradge. The kid next to me is Kenichi, Kenichi Honda. So if you may…”

Clutching both of his hands together, his back straightened, and his boots gripped the wooden floor.

“What is your name?”

The waitress raised her right hand up, and swagged a strand of blonde hair from her side. Looking at the chubby man, he had turquoise hair, and his body wasn’t fit or lean. But nonetheless, he looked practically harmless.

“I go by Betty, but my real name is Beatrice Mason. Just call me Betty though… hate the name Beatrice.”

________________________________________________________________________

Two months later…

“Thank you for keeping an eye on my daughter.”

“No worries ma’am. As a matter of fact, she’s not as weak as she looks.”

He sat on an unfurnished couch. Around him, many boxes and unpolished furniture roamed the ground and walls.

Having his hands clasped against each other, he had his elbows pressed on his knees. Right in front of him, was a middle-aged woman with thin hair and green eyes. Having a smile to her face, she looked eerily similar to the woman Doug was dating.

“Was Betty always that bold? I don’t mind a confident woman, but I’m just curious.”

“She got that fiery side from her father. He was a good man, but I suppose that fiery side got the better of him…”

Doug glanced to his right, and noticed a small dresser that held a stack of photos. Capturing the black and white photo, was a wood frame that splintered the paper. And within the paper, was a man holding a hunting rifle in one hand, while the woman carried a newborn in her arms.

Gazing away from the picture, he unclenched his hands from each other. Resting them on the sprawled out cotton, his fingers and palms tethered to the surface.

“If there’s uhm, anything that I could do for anything. Then by all means.”

“That’s so sweet of you, but you don’t have to worry. The only people I need to worry about are myself and Betty. Whatever financial struggles or challenges would be distributed to only us.”

Doug raised his right hand toward the back of his head, and began scratching. By the way she lived, the way she and Betty lived, the two of them were the class definition of poor.

“Focus on yourself and Betty, before tending to yours and Betty’s.”

He stood up with turquoise-colored boots.

Placing his hands into his jacket, he kept them there, while his right ruffled the fabric. The more he noticed the raggedy objects, and the sullied wood, it only worsened the strain on his cheeks. Darkening his eyes, his right hand finally grappled onto something heavy.

“To me, Betty is almost family. And if you’re Betty’s mother, then that makes you almost family as well.”

He took out a ball of cash. Extending his right hand out, he took a few steps forward, and was right in front of the wide-eyed woman.

Staring at the cash, her lips quivered at the holy sight. Whether it was greed, or for her own survival, but her stomach squeezed the more she stared.

“It’s enough to at least satisfy your monthly payment. So please… take this money.”

She instantly took it. Flipping through the many bills, water began to brew from her eyes. Each graze of her finger, each tip and corner of the money, her breath softened.

“I’ve longed for this day.”

Doug tilted his head downward, and pushed his right hand into his pocket. Turning his body around, he walked toward the door, and kept his boots from creaking the ground. Once he extended out his hand, and grabbing the handle, he heard a croaking voice from behind.

“W-What can I do to repay you? If this is a loan, then—”

“Keep it. It’s all yours.”

He tightened the grip on the handle. Pushing air into his lungs, he sullied his airways in the dry desert air. And pulling it out through his throat, he opened his lips an inch, before clocking his hand down.

“And besides madam, you’re already paying me back.”

Opening the door, he stepped into the desert. But it had no sun, no rays to shine down on him. Closing it with so much gentleness, it was only his feet that would take him to whichever destination next.

A couple of minutes later…

All around him were wooden houses with tattered paneling. Keeping his hands in his pockets, and his eyes daggered forward, he felt like someone had eyes on him. Yet, there was no one in sight. No music, no talking or shouting, it was as if the poor had whiskered into a coma.

‘It’s way too quiet…’

With his right foot, he kicked away a small soccer ball, and it rolled toward a shack’s foundation. Having a bead of sweat on his temple, it stayed there, while darting his eyes all around.

‘I don’t know why, but I feel like something is really, really wrong. Why is there no…’

He noticed a black silhouette.

Standing menacingly, was the outline of a man. Looking like he had his hands in his pockets, he wore sandals and robes. The more Doug walked, the more he could trace the faint outlines of his body.

Squinting through the darkness, both moons above couldn’t glow. In fact, the darkness worsened, while clouds from ground level began to form all around him.

‘Who is he?’

Doug stopped.

Staring at the silhouette, he noticed his glasses along with his bizarre colored hair. He had light green hair. Not only that, but his skin was tallied in brimming youth.

He noticed that his robes glowed white, making him stand out. Taking a step back, for some reason, his soul screamed at him.

‘I don’t think I should—’

—“I don’t think you belong here, do you?”—

It was like a knife had brushed against his back.

Unable to turn around, he kept his eyes forward, his vision resting on where the man originally stood. Without taking a single blink, without registering it in his mind, that man was nowhere. Unless of course he heard the voice from behind…

Pale enveloped his face, and both of his knees buckled.

“For a man that holds himself in riches, why loiter for the poor? I thought all of you rich kids were spoiled?”

He couldn't speak, let alone explain what he was doing. His throat still cluttered with air, and blistering his upper lip in his breath, he was unable to break free. Hearing that man click his tongue, he took a step forward, and had himself facing Doug’s right side.

“What? Cat-human got your tongue. Don’t tell me that you’re scared of me? Oh well…”

Doug noticed the mist, that fog that had circled around the village. Looking like it was spreading, swerving, it acted like some animated object that had one’s soul.

Meanwhile, the green-haired man took out a bottle of hand sanitizer, which he had on his holster. Pushing the lid, a good chunk of it parched his skin, but he nonetheless began mixing it back and forth.

“The name’s Lazaros. Lazaros Roosevelt. Even if you speak up, I already know your first and last name. Oh yeah, and about me…”

Rubbing it against his knuckles, and up to his wrists, the gel steamed and hissed from every rub. Once he was done, he holstered the bottle back onto his hip. He wiggled his fingers, all the while he had a smile to his face.

“You could call me ‘The Fox.’ Or a general, either one, but I prefer nicknames rather than my own name. Got it?”

Doug took two steps away from Lazaros, and turned around to view the lean man.

He had no wrinkles, no dry skin whatsoever. For a man who held such a cold voice, his cheeks and forehead looked even softer than his. For a man in his mid 20s, he spoke like he was in his 30s or even 40s.

“And no, this isn’t some dream, or nightmare. This is all real big boy. All seeing. Why I am here is because I have this plan…”

Lazaros placed his left hand onto his shoulder.

By instinct, gravity had thrusted Doug to the ground, his knees taking the brunt of it. Without taking heed to his surroundings, he could only look at the smug grin that man had.

“Unlike the others, you aren’t a pawn to be disposed of. In fact, I think you’re the biggest factor in whether or not you’ll help me succeed or not.”

The ground beneath their feet swelled in ice. Doug didn’t glance down, but he knew what was becoming of that fog. Feeling it tickle his chest, it traveled upward like it was a thousand spiders.

Until that seductive fog swept into his mouth.

“Everything that you planned to do, everything that you wanted to do; will be changed. But for everyone that you possess…”

His vision began to blur. Each breath was slow. Each intake of air withered the marination he had in his throat. Unwilling to fight back any longer, he closed his eyes…

—“Will be altered by you alone.”—