The playground was quiet. The only sound to disturb the silence was the scuff of Sneakers across the concrete. With hands shoved in his pockets, L kept his eyes to the ground as he made his way to the swings. The scent of honeysuckles wafted in from the forest behind Wammy’s House, the sun streaming through tree branches casting jagged shadows along the grass. It was a familiar feeling to the detective, warm and sweet, Reminiscent of days he could barely remember, and for a moment, he swore he could taste strawberries from his mother’s garden on his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, a flicker of yellow danced in his peripheral. It was something that quickly drew his attention.
A dandelion. It was like the mid-summer breeze whispered his name, asking him to come closer to the delicate flower.
He huffed, a grin tugging on one side of his lips. Most people thought of dandelions as nothing more than a pesky weed that littered its obscene canary glow across otherwise perfectly manicured lawns, but to L it was something entirely different. It was childhood memories of making chains of wildflowers with his mother in the backyard of the home he spent his first five years. His mother never cared to have a beautiful lawn nor did she care what others thought of her yard, the tall grasses and thistles a safe haven for birds, butterflies, and rabbits alike.
But it was also his safe haven, the place L loved more than his room or spending time in his father’s den. He remembered running in and out of the raised beds, hopping over his mother’s tulips or stuffing himself with whatever berry was ripe at the time. He remembered how his mother taught him to make a whistle from thick blades of grass, a daisy he picked for her tucked behind her ear.
“Now remember L. The wildflowers are good for the bees and without the bees…”
“There would be no strawberries.” He smiled widely up at her as he finished her sentence.
“That’s right!” Giggling, She brushed his wild inky locks away from his huge steel blue eyes, the same color as his father’s. “If you remember that there is good to be found in things that most people find irritating or ugly…if you realize true beauty lies in those grey areas even if others say differently. Keep that in mind and You’re going to change the world one day.”
Her words rang inside his mind, and for a moment he considered picking the dandelion to put in his pocket, to feel closer to her, but he thought better of it, deciding to let it go to seed instead...
Second entry for @wammyweek - Day 2: Right and Wrong. These two have such an intriguing relationship and I enjoyed drawing this immensely. Near is just So Done. Lol
He has perfect pitch. If you give him a note, he can match it perfectly. He was taught how to match pitch by his mother, who used to play a note on the piano and L would match it. He still can do it to this day, but no one knows~.
Mello:
He’s actually a really good makeup artist. He is amazing at contouring. He’s also good at costume makeup and did Matt’s and his own make up during Halloween to scare the other kid’s. It looked way to realistic!
Near:
Yeah you guessed it.. Ventriloquism. He used to make his own puppets speak, and was very good at keeping his mouth closed while doing it. Though, Mello said it was creepy, so he stopped doing it in public. He still practices though.
Matt:
Matt enjoys the art of magic~! He uses his free time to master new tricks. The kid’s at Wammy’s loved to watch him perform. Mello would always ask him how he did a trick, but a magician never reveals his secrets.
BB:
Okay I know this one seems a bit farfetched but, Beyond is a terrific dancer. Really any style of dancing, he can do! From graceful to quick movements. But, Beyond only trusted one person with his secret talent, and they took it to their grave.
I decided to do something silly and fun for Day 6! These are just my HC’s! If you would like to share your HC Wammy kid secret talents, I would love to hear them!!
For @wammyweek Day 1- Character Origins/Before Wammy’s
Summary: Quillsh Wammy visits a Romanian orphanage after hearing of a 5-year old boy with a facility for codebreaking, but will have to deal a little dirty to pry the orphan from the hands of the nuns.
Characters: Beyond Birthday, Quillsh Wammy (Watari), minor OCs
Rating: Mild T for references to children in poverty circumstances, less than upstanding nuns, and a dash of angst
Authors’ notes: Dialogue in bold is spoken in Romanian. Beyond has three names: the name he was given by the nuns (Bogdi), the name he picks and tells Quillsh (Beyond), and his true name (Bernael). Bogdi is a derivative of Bogdan and means ‘given by God.’ Bernael is the name of a fallen angel (Beyond is part shinigami in this story). Mr. Wren is Quillsh Wammy’s alias.
Sister Maricica adjusted her habit as she led the English gentleman, Mr. Wren, through the high crumbling stone arches of the courtyard and towards the Day Room of the orphanage. “This way. The children playing now.” Her English was far from perfect but she enunciated each word crisply, walking quite fast so the gentleman’s eyes did not linger too long on the poor state of the building. Their convent was always immaculately clean but they ostensibly relied on donations for the orphanage’s survival. Mr. Wren’s offer of a generous adoption fee had created a bit of excitement in the convent and everyone was on alert to put their best face forward. It wasn’t common for them to have international adoptive parents; local ones were rare enough. She looked back at the gentleman to speed him along, inquiring, “And wife? Mrs. Wren?”
Quillsh felt a spark of irritation at the intrusive question, though he of course knew why the woman was asking. He hadn’t been a practicing Catholic in a very long time, but he remembered well the Church’s distaste for ‘practicing homosexuals’. “Sadly, Mrs. Wren had some business to attend to and could not make it.” No need to explain that there IS no Mrs. Wren.
Still, he smiled indulgently at the Sister and sped his steps until he was walking only a couple paces behind, his anticipation lending an air of warmth to his demeanor that he did not feel. “She asked me to send her deepest apologies.”
“A pity, a pity.” She opened the heavy Day Room door and immediately clutched her rosary tightly, mumbling a Hail Mary in Romanian at the disheveled state of the room. She rushed over to a young boy in the corner who was crying and holding a hand over one eye. “Oh, Nicu! What happened to you?”
“Bogdi.” Nicu scowled and pointed an accusing finger at another boy, separate from the others and hunched over an old metal contraption.
Sister Maricica huffed and gave Mr. Wren an apologetic look, her cheeks reddening. “Very sorry, one moment.”
Quillsh nodded, removing his hat and watching the proceedings with great interest. Or rather, watching the young boy who seemed to be the troublemaker. He recognized a code-breaking machine when he saw one. And that is the child I came for, no doubt. He may not be able to understand Romanian, but actions would speak louder here.
The nun trounced over to the other boy and pulled at his arm, whispering severely, “Bogdi! I told you to be on your best behavior today! There’s a very important guest here so get away from that old junk and tell Nicu you’re sorry!”
That’s not my name. “But I’m not sorry, Sister.” The child yanked his arm away and didn’t look up at her, but did shoot a menacing look at Nicu, causing the boy to burst into tears all over again. Tattletale.
Sister Maricica almost looked like she too was about to cry but merely went back to Mr. Wren, slightly more flustered than before. “Very sorry, sir. Bogdi in one of his moods today. Pay no mind.” It was a little white lie and she immediately asked for forgiveness from the Virgin. Bogdi was always in this same mood. She took a deep breath and forced a pleasant smile. “Which child I can tell you about? So many good children. Needing good father like you.” She motioned to the clean but shoddily-clothed children of varying ages playing with old hand-me-down toys. For the most part they seemed relatively content although they perhaps did not realize their deprivation.
Quillsh reached out to rest a hand comfortingly on the nun’s shoulder for a moment, murmuring softly, “No need to apologize.” He turned to survey the room, making a show of considering the other children, even though his mind was already made up. Bogdi. His contact had informed him of the young boy with a brilliant mind for puzzles, languishing away in this derelict orphanage. And already showing exceptional promise with codes. Doesn’t work well with others, if that exchange was anything to go by, but that works well enough for my purposes.
With a smile, he selected one of the other children at random, a young girl with her dark hair in pigtails, tied with faded blue ribbons. “Tell me about that young lady, please, Sister.” Her face lit up, and Quillsh let his expression settle into a mask of pleasant interest as he watched Bogdi out of the corner of his eye.
“Catina! Very good girl, Catina.” Sister Maricica motioned the pre-teen girl over, prompting her to curtsey with a nod. The little girl smiled in a way that was obviously perfunctory, showing several bad teeth. “Sad, so sad. Whole family lost in landslide three years ago. But Catina, she minds very well and good cook, too!” She nodded again and the young girl wandered off to play with her raggedy doll.
The child in the corner was listening intently as several more candidates for adoption were paraded in front of the ‘guest,’ although he didn’t look over at them. Quillsh Wammy. He’d caught the name when the man first walked in. It would have seemed odd if his own name wasn’t the epitome of that. Bernael Antonia Beyondormason. The nuns had given him a new code to crack today so he plugged away at it on the machine, knowing that while someone might get adopted today, it certainly wouldn’t be him.
Quillsh let the facade play through to the end, keeping his expression suitably bland despite the growing satisfaction he felt. It was obvious to him now that Bogdi was the child he had heard about, and just as obvious that the boy was listening very closely, one ear turned towards the conversation. He looked around the room again, asking in a voice pitched to carry clearly to the boy’s ear, “Was that all of them?”
“Ah....yes.” Sister Maricica looked a little like a deer in the headlights, and smiled tightly. “Those are candidates for adoption. No more.” She gave him a worried look, clutching her rosary again before she glanced guiltily at Bogdi.
“Oh?” Quillsh adjusted his spectacles and followed her gaze to Bogdi, pointing at the child. “And what about that young man? Bogdi, you said his name was earlier, yes?” He started to drift towards the boy, pretending ignorance. “What is that he’s playing with, Sister?”
Sister Maricica stiffened, bringing herself up to her full height. “Just old trash found in basement, left over from the war. Bogdi likes to tinker with--”
“It’s a code breaking machine.” Bernael’s small voice somehow carried and silenced the whole room, despite being very soft. He said the words in perfect and unaccented English.
“Hmph!” Sister Maricica shot daggers at the boy although he wasn’t looking up to see them. “Silence or you won’t get your bread tonight, Bogdi.”
“If I don’t get my bread then you don’t get your code.” Berneal smiled down at the machine, making ker-plunk, ker-plunk noises as he mashed the old keys.
Sister Maricica’s face reddened and she tugged at Mr. Wren’s arm, whispering, “Come into office if you want to know about him.”
Quillsh stopped and looked at the nun, then back at Bogdi, diligently poking at the keys. A small smile flickered on his lips briefly before he said slightly more formally, “If you insist, Sister Maricica.” He gestured for her to lead the way and followed, waiting until the woman closed the door to take a seat. “Now then.” He placed his hat on the arm of the chair and folded his hands neatly in his lap, looking Sister Maricica directly in the eye. “If you please, I would like to hear about young Bogdi.”
“Very well.” Sister Maricica took a seat behind the oversized desk, frowning slightly. This was the one child she didn’t want to talk about, that she didn’t want to adopt out. Well, she’d just tell the truth-- no lie would make the boy seem more unappealing. “Bogdi found in dumpster as baby. Brought here five years ago.” Her tone was much more curt than before, her gaze more steely. “Nothing but problems with Bogdi since small child. Fighting, defiance, bad attitude. Destroy the toys, hurt children who cross him. Antisocial. Barely speaks.” And when he did speak, she often wished for silence. She waved her hand dismissively and said, “Odd child. Pick another.”
“I’m quite set on this child.” Quillsh stared at her steadily, all humour gone from his demeanor.
Sister Maricica didn’t flinch. “No.”
Quillsh smiled at the woman; this time, there was nothing pleasant about it. “Oh dear. I had hoped we could come to an arrangement, Sister, but I can see you have no wish to give him up. I would have given you quite a hefty donation to adopt the boy, too. Very well.” He shifted to sit more comfortably, knuckling his salt-and-pepper mustache as if in thought. “I know you have Bogdi working on breaking codes for the Romanian government. That must be quite lucrative. And yet, the state of this orphanage suggests there is very little money coming in.”
Sister Maricica’s eyes went wide, her lips parting slightly in surprise. It was rare for the verbose sister to be rendered speechless, but now, she certainly was.
“Tell me, Sister Maricica, how little are you selling young Bogdi’s work for that the children have such shabby clothes and toys?” Quillsh’s eyes glittered shrewdly, his cold smile widening. “Or are you perhaps keeping the money for yourself?”
“Lies!” The nun affected a suffering expression at the true accusation, and stood up abruptly behind the desk. She planted her palms on the smooth wood and glared at Mr. Wren. “You must leave orphanage now! Not a good Catholic to accuse a nun of such things.”
“As you wish, Sister.” Quillsh placed his hat back on his head, rising from his chair. Pausing, he held up one finger and then patted down the front of his overcoat, a soft, satisfied ‘ahhh’ leaving him. He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and pulled out a slim, leather bound pocketbook, removing a piece of paper and approaching the desk. “But first, perhaps you could tell me what this is.” He placed it on the desk and slid it across to her.
Sister Maricica sputtered as she snatched the paper, a cloud passing over her features as she realized what it was. An invoice for the last five codes Bogdi had broken for Romanian Intelligence, payable specifically to her.
“And please, Sister, don’t bother doing anything so vacuous as to try and destroy it. This is hardly the only copy.” Quillsh looked at her rosary pointedly, which he had noticed upon first glance was made of far finer materials than a nun of her supposed means should be able to afford.
The nun paled at Mr. Wren’s glance, hiding her gold and ruby-encrusted rosary within her habit. There was no use lying about it now; her golden goose was exposed. “I see. Mr. Wren is not who is claimed. But...” She sat down with a sour expression and primly arranged her skirts again. “...we can come to agreement.” She took out a bottle of Țuică and two rose-cut glasses from inside the desk and poured herself and Mr. Wren generous helpings.
“Excellent.” Quillsh smiled and sat back down, taking one of the glasses. He waited until she had taken a sip first to drink any of the sweet alcohol, and then said, “To amicable arrangements.”
---shortly afterwards---
Quillsh Wammy approached Bogdi in the empty Day Room, making sure to take even, clearly audible steps in an attempt to not startle or upset the boy. Stopping a short distance from him, he removed his hat once more and said kindly, “Hello Bogdi. May I sit?” His fingers closed around one of the hard candies he kept in his pockets for just such an occasion, waiting to see if the boy acknowledged him. He will.
Bernael had heard the man coming and had made himself small, thinking he might be in trouble. The sister only went into her office to speak of things the children shouldn’t hear, and he knew they were talking about him. His hearing was better than the nuns knew. He said softly, again in perfect English, “Sit if you like. I have to do this work though.” He looked askance at the hard floor beside him. There were no soft rugs or pillows in the place. The whole orphanage was made of or felt like stone. Still, it was interesting to have someone new here. Someone he didn’t hate yet.
Laughing quietly, Quillsh moved closer and sat down carefully on the floor beside Bogdi. He had always found that meeting children on their level tended to put them at ease, though perhaps Bogdi was different, given the colourful description the Sister had given of the boy’s behavior. “Do you like doing this type of work, Bogdi?” he asked curiously, tugging the candy from his pocket and idly twisting the plastic loose before pausing and offering it to the boy.
Bernael’s fingers stilled on the keys when he smelled sugar, something he’d only had a few times in his short life. The temptation to look was irresistible and he raised his eyes, mouth watering at the sight of the candy. He’d seen pictures in books and knew what it was, but had never had it before. He snatched it immediately and popped the whole thing into his mouth only to gag on the plastic wrapper and spit it out in confusion. He ducked his head in shame and took the candy, methodically unwrapping it before putting it into his mouth again, more carefully this time. “Are you from the code team?” He smiled instinctively at the sweetness, the tangy strawberry taste, and looked up with bright blue eyes. “It’s good.”
“It is good, isn’t it?” Quillsh chuckled more heartily, smiling warmly at the boy. “And no, Bogdi, I’m not from the code team, though your talent in code breaking is what caught my attention.” He knew he needed to be careful not to say too much, but a child so intelligent would not accept dumbed down explanations, either. “I don’t often hear of children as young as yourself who possess such extraordinary aptitude, so I had to come meet you, make sure you were getting the best possible outlet to explore those skills.” He glanced around the room disdainfully. “That is clearly not the case here. But I can give you such an outlet, if you would like to come live in England with me.”
Bernaels eyes flicked above the man’s head. The year Quillsh Wammy would die was far enough in the future that the man might make good on his promises, if he meant them. Sister Maricica would die much sooner than that, and who knows what would become of him then. Even a year would be better than staying here in this boring, white-washed and crumbling down orphanage, and Quillsh had much more than that. “Do you live in a castle?” One thing they did have here was books, mostly religious tomes and morality plays, but fairy tales, too. Sometimes the orphan was saved, brought to a beautiful castle to live and grow up in peace.
The question made Quillsh smile. No, but I’m sure all my charges would love that. “Sadly, not a castle. However, my residence does have a bell tower.”
A bell tower sounded interesting. Bernael eyes leveled with Quillsh’s again, tilting his head to a nearly impossible angle, and he asked plainly, “What will you make me do there?”
“Do?” The question took Quillsh aback, the look in his eyes becoming speculative. If he’s asking questions like THAT, clearly everything he’s known is transactional. “Well. For starters, I can give you much harder codes to break, if that tickles your fancy.” INTERPOL could get a lot of use out of a talent like this if he hones it.
Bernael’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Yes, I like numbers and letters. Puzzles. Everything they give me here is so boring.”
With a smile, Quillsh said softly, “Then you shall receive harder puzzles to stimulate that brilliant mind. Though I suppose we won’t truly know what path you’ll walk until we find out what your particular skills are. Beyond that, we will just have to see.”
“Beyond.” Bernael would never tell this stranger his real name, but he detested the name Bogdi. The nuns named him Bogdi and he needed to shed it, move past it. Yes, I’m Beyond that now. “You may call me Beyond.”
Pausing only a beat, Quillsh nodded. He had heard stranger requests from his charges. “Of course. Beyond it is, then.”
Bernael stood up and looked down at Quillsh with a blank expression, although he wasn’t much higher than eye-level with the crouching adult. “I’ll go live with you, Quillsh.”
Quillsh’s smile was slowly replaced with a surprised expression, his eyes narrowing speculatively behind his spectacles. How does he know my name?
Bernael smiled slowly and gazed past the older man to the Sister’s closed office door and said quietly, “But there’s something I want.”
Twenty minutes later, Bernael was humming happily and sucking on a new piece of candy as they walked to Quillsh’s sleek black sedan. He clutched a certain gold-and-ruby rosary in his small fist as he gave the orphanage one last look. “What’s England like?”
Quillsh held the door open for Beyond to climb in, chuckling under his breath as he closed the door and came around to slide into the driver’s seat. He eyed the boy before starting the vehicle and pulling out into the road. “For starters, the weather is frequently on the wet side. But if you like the outdoors, we do occasionally get nice weather, enough to enjoy the countryside where you’ll be living. And the house is big. A converted church, with lots of rooms to explore, a spacious library, and a big yard.”
Berneal frowned at his reflection in the car window, mumbling, “I don’t want to go to church anymore.” The nuns made them go every day and snapped at him when he couldn’t sit still.
“Oh, I won’t enforce religion on you, Beyond. Church services are not something that happen at Wammy’s House. It’s meant to be more of a… a boarding school for gifted orphans like yourself.”
“Gifted.” Bernael caught Quillsh’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Is that what I am?” He’d never met any other children like him-- children who could see names and numbers above everyone’s heads. When he was smaller, he’d shocked some of the nuns by calling them by their given names instead of their religious ones. The spanking he’d received, and the whispers he might need an exorcism, had been enough to show him he was different. Maybe there were other kids like him in England?
“I would certainly say you are gifted, Beyond.” Quillsh returned his eyes to the road as he went on, “Just in the short time I’ve known you, I see an intelligent, inquisitive and bold young man… and I’m impressed with your skill in the English language. Tell me, how is it you are able to understand and speak English so well when the nuns couldn’t?”
“I dunno.” Berneal pressed his face closer to the glass to watch the forest whizzing by. This was farther than he’d ever been from the orphanage and it was sinking in he really was getting away. “Could always just understand what people say and speak it back. The sisters said it was unholy.” Just another reminder he was different.
“Fascinating.” Quillsh smiled slightly, having a good idea of exactly what the nuns must have thought. “Well, your talent with tongues could make you quite a sought after translator one day, if you wish it.”
Berneal screwed up his face and said, “But then I’d have to talk to people. I don’t like people.” It was truer to say that people didn’t like him, but he didn’t like to think about that. He fiddled with the door locks and the window controls, then unbuckled his seatbelt to crawl around the backseat. “Nobody says anything interesting anyway.”
Quillsh glanced at the rearview mirror again and chuckled when he couldn’t see Beyond. Just like L, goodness. “Then we won’t pursue that route for you, don’t fret.” Beyond might be even MORE restless than L. Something to watch. “And Beyond, please feel free to ask me any questions, but if you would like something else to occupy you instead, there is a compartment in the console with a few things for restless minds. Puzzle books, some fiction novels, a sketchbook and drawing implements. Help yourself to any of them.”
Bernael opened the cubby and rummaged around inside, jamming the brand-new markers into his pockets before perusing the books. A sketchbook contained some crudely drawn dragons and strawberries. One book contained various puzzles and he grabbed that one before climbing into the front passenger seat. “What’s a crossword puzzle?” He flipped through the book and stopped on the last page, which looked like the most complicated puzzle. “Oh. You guess the word from the clue.” He grinned and started scrawling in the answers in terrible handwriting, swinging his short legs from the seat. Some of the clues were pretty tough, or maybe were English words he hadn’t heard of yet.
Quillsh glanced down at Beyond, utterly charmed by the determined curiosity that seemed to be radiating off the boy. He’s doing well on that crossword already. I made the right decision.
Bernael looked up with searching blue eyes, brow furrowing as his marker stilled. “What’s a six-letter word for...failsafe?”
Quillsh smiled, reaching into his pocket and pulling out another candy to offer to Beyond as he raised his eyes back to the road. “Backup.”
