A Butterfly Wearing a Caterpillar’s Corpse
A Rook Hunt fic exploring his character
He wasn't trying to be some elusive enigma. Not particularly. It would be a lie to say he didn't enjoy the privileges of being unknown, no one bothered him, he could be the best and most accurate observer of others' truths, no one could force and mangle his limbs into a neat box. Peoples' vain struggles to "understand" him were certainly interesting to watch, but it was never as complicated as they seemed to make it.
It was a habit. A very bad habit ingrained within hours of isolated mornings and evenings with only a nanny's cold mechanical responses as company. Hours of playing pretend in the nearby wilderness, the rivers and grass became the only play friends he had needed. And when he grew up the caterpillar's sticky skin clung to his wings, tiny legs tearing the delicate membrane, no matter how hard he flapped and fluttered. With such time passed, it was easier to carry that dead molted skin than shed the extra weight. Of course he had grown too big for the molted skin anymore, stretching gave way for the fresh raw underneath to be exposed to the world. It stung, it was horrifying, but what choice was there left.
The deep longing to be held and understood for all that you are, and still manage to say "I love you." "Je t'aime." But oh! The fear of being exposed, of having your innerds proved and poked, like a vulnerable specimen under a magnifying glass that took just the smallest adjustment to become a weapon. Does this hurt? Does it hurt now? How does it feel to lose control, to be helpless in the maws of a beast hidden in the appearance of someone he could love? He shudders. It's been a long time since he had this much uninterrupted time to ponder these sorts of topics to himself. Whether he wanted to or not. Was there anything else to be done now? The science club wasn't running today, and both Roi du Poison and the boy he had taken under his wing were busy with various other activities off the Pomefiore campus; an idea shot down.
It was, odd. Everything in his head felt more loud and bold without anything to distract him. Voices clawing for an ounce of recognition, but it's better not to dwell on those things, non? Perhaps if he could find a better way to camouflage some of his eccentricities he wouldn't be here. And while those essentricities provided him with vital characteristics that allowed him to say "beauté", but not everyone would always agree. No matter. Best to turn the attention outwardly in hopes of looking past the growing concave in his chest.
He hopped down from the slab he was perched on to further roam around the campus and scout out spots in which to inhabit and groups of prey to spy on.
A tricky thing about people watching is that previous areas of both hiding and hotspots are that it always changes, even if not by much. The hallway he walked through today, shoes ever so softly tapping the floor, was yesterday's area of intrigue. The bench he managed to slot into nicely yesterday was today's gossip corner. Walking through Pomefiore's halls he ran his hand along the cleanly cut limestone brick walls. Occasionally there would be a groove caused by one student's reckless engraved graffiti, he found it beautiful in its own way, though he couldn't say Vil had the same viewpoint.
Steps echoed across the marble as he ascended to the rooftop for better suryeving. The door groans slightly, not having been used in a while; he'd have to tell Vil about that. A bit of oil would do it wonders. Striding over to the mock parapet it's not before long he spots a group of freshman; sitting together on the lush grass just shy of the courtyard.
Perfect. It's mostly Pomefiore students, to be expected, but two Savannaclaw and one Ighnihyde are scattered through the group as extra flavoring. All whom surprisingly look rather groomed. It all seems merry and well, as the underclassmen talk about school so far, clubs, and some even mentioning home sickness. That is until he catches his name after one of the students does a mock sweep over the landscape.
"I mean does he even do anything to help out our dorm leader? He just stands there most of the time with that smile." Oh how predictablely unobservant the younglings can be.
"No, and I found out from an upperclassman that he used to be in Savannaclaw, our dorm and that one couldn't be more dissimilar!" they flailed with their hands. "No offense" they turn towards the two Savannaclaw. He couldn't necessarily blame the newly proud Pomefiore for his words entirely, as on the surface his change in dorms might've seemed odd.
"Personally what I find most disturbing are the stalking rumors, you'd think that a vice dorm leader would be more graceful," they scoffed. And what is not graceful about bearing witness to others' lives?
"For real! What does he even get out of it? Our social security numbers? Isn't he rich?" He was comfortable.
"Or maybe he's just some loser who refuses to actually talk to people because of some insecurity bs….. I know my housewarden is like that," speaks the Ignihyde one. Of course he helps, whilst Vil was basking in the sunlight he preferred to act as his shadow. He might not always been a Pomefiore, but he was happier here, he could relate better to his peers. His behaviors were merely observing the beauty and natural reactions of those around him! It wasn’t a crime to do so. He wasn’t— Observing beauty wasn’t him trying to compensate for anything. The nerve in which some people speculated.
It was now dusk, the sun tucking itself into the blanket of the horizon. The group he was watching had long since packed up and head to their respective dorms, and he remained here, pondering. Eventually he arose from his perch on the wall; he headed out. Limestone bricks, each polished well, but their age starting to show through minor scrapes. The stairs to the roof lit with false torches, incandescent light bulbs flickering as if they were a flame. Eventually the red tile of the main hallways, emulating the luxurious sense of old film runways. The silence only broken by his quiet footsteps and the sound of rambunctious laughter.
A few steps more and he finds the source; the petite Monsieur Pommette jousting with some freshman. Ah! How carelessly themselves the youth are, blindingly unaware of their surroundings. The lavender haired boy at the sight of Rook freezes up for a bit, as do the other, and straightens himself out. There’s a small demure nod, nothing like the boy he saw mere seconds ago, and the other Pomefiore’s follow suit. He gives them a small nod in return, and continues on. Small whispers return first, then the loud boisterous laughter does too.
Further down, he finds himself in the main lobby, where Roi du Poison moves about organizing the newest shipments of products. There lie a bit of test swatches on his hand, when he notices Rook. “Rook, it’s fitting you come to me at this time, as you can see we got another batch shipment and I’m low on hands to help distribute everything.”
“On any other day I would be most delighted to accept my Roi du Poison, however today I’d prefer to return to rest.” Vil pauses, if he were any less observant he might not have noticed.
“Alright Rook, I suppose I can find help elsewhere. You have helped quite a bit recently with the entrance ceremony and all, so I’ll permit this break,” he looked him in his eyes before continuing, “However this is quite unlik—”
“Thank you my dearest Vil, I’ll be returning to my chambers now, bonne nuit~!”
Unfortunately he can feel the dead corpse of the caterpillar shift, digging further into his wings, as if whispering “look, look at how isolated you make yourself, look at the shattered reflection that is the only part you allow others to view.” Insects aren’t human after all, the only thing they can do in their fleeting moments of life is to camouflage themselves. Camouflage themselves to allow for just a bit more of humanity.
Wow, this took fucking forever. I hope you found it enjoyable if not somewhat heartbreaking to read.
