Leather bound [Yao's Antique Shop] [Arthur and Yao]

Arthur was in a very shaken state, had been for nearly a week now. Ever since the lightning storm had come about, things had begun to happen; the wings that hurt him, the water, the boy who changed his hair colour, the list was truely endless. He hadn't gotten a proper night's sleep in ages, too aftaid to turn on to his back and cause himself pain.

So he looked a bit rough, and he felt a great deal rougher. He needed something normal back in his life, to calm him and make him feel better. Instantly, he knew what he needed - books. There was something about books that calmed him, the smell, the pictures, the words, running his fingers down a worn spine, leatherbound books. Something about them made him happy, if he was honest, he was probably addicted. He even had books in languages he didn't speak, like Chinese or Japanese, that he would sit with and look at, lazily turning the pages. For him, it was a way to turn off.

Which was why he found himself wonderng in the antique shop close by to see if they had anything interesting. He'd never been in before, but he'd like to see if they had anything good on offer, something old. There was a bell above the door that made a noise when it was open, something shopkeepers often had and Arthur found rather irritating. Still, he didn't complain - who would he complain to?

He peroused the shelves, of dusty books with in muted red or blue leather, with gold stamped in to it and the sweet smell of leather. He carefully picked one out, looking through it, his eyes widening when he saw the price. Clearly, though he could buy out the whole section, he could only buy one book. Maybe two, after all, they were books, they were educational!

He looked through them all, and eventually managed to choose two books. A slim volume on manners and how to behave like a gentleman and another, larger book which was a compendium of gothic short stories. He took it up to the till and gave the man behind it a polite smile. He looked oddly familar...

Yao was in the back room packing up a pair of vases to be sold at auction in a few days when he heard the bell jingle above the shop entrance, telling him he had a customer. He stood up stiffly and went to the shop floor to see who'd come in, and was quite surprised to find a rather scruffy young man perusing his books. He watched him warily from behind the counter, having experienced far too many thefts over the years to let his guard down. Though on closer inspection, he realised the boy was from his building. Yes, he remembered, he'd moved in about a year ago. He'd never really caused much trouble as far as he could tell, and was unlikely to steal anything. Even if he did, it wouldn't be hard to find him, he thought.

The boy came to his register with two books, and he returned his smile politely. "Good afternoon, sir." He treated all customers just the same, no matter what they were buying or how they looked. He was honestly surprised to find anyone looking at the books; most customers gave them nothing more than a quick browse before finding something ornamental to fill up excess space in their too-large houses. He couldn't blame them though, as the books he put out in the front weren't anything special, more there for show. The book of gothic short stories was one that Yao had borrowed from a library decades ago and had never returned (though to be fair, the library from which he had borrowed it had been bombed out in the Second World War, so it sort of counted as his now anyway) and the book on gentlemanly decorum was something he'd picked up in Blackwell's in the 1920s. He'd never really expected to sell either of them, but he was glad that someone was finally going to make use of them and enjoy them, so he rang them through the till (a new, electronic, computerised one which he loathed, but he'd been forced to replace his lovely old one once people started buying things with cards rather than cash, much to his annoyance).

He knew how much the British hated small-talk and were uncomfortable making conversation or even eye-contact with strangers, but he was curious about his customer/neighbour. He wondered if he'd been affected by the storm. He looked haggard, like he'd been missing sleep, so perhaps it was something particularly bad. "You're from next door, aren't you?" He asked, still smiling. He wished he'd bothered to learn the boy's name already, but so many people had passed through this building over the years, it seemed pointless to keep track.

Arthur looked up when the man spoke, where he had been looking at his hand before. 'Next door', was that where they knew each other from? "I don't know, I think so." Well, he didn't think next door, exactly, he hadn't seen this guy around the floor, but it was fairly sure that he'd seen him in the lift or the stairs, and just generally around. He may have also seen him at the bus stop, he wasn't sure. Funny how he had lived for a year in this building, and he only knew a few people. It had taken this... event to bring him closer to his neighbors.

"Gracefield house, right?" He asked, even though he knew it was correct, "Which floor? I'm fifth." He said politely. He fidgited with his credit card, tapping it against the countertop. He really needed a job to support his book habit, it was an expensive habit after all, clearly. Hopefully, the man behind the counter would give him a discount for being his neighbor? It would make a lot of difference, to him at least.

He nodded. "I live on the eighth floor." He noticed the young man was fiddling with his card nervously. He was a student, wasn't he? From the heavy bagfuls of books he'd often seen him carting around, he was either that or some kind of book thief. Either way, did he really have the money to be buying this kind of thing right now? He almost felt bad for the price he was charging for the books, but considering one was a first edition and both were long out of print, he thought it wasn't extortionate. "That comes to £47, sir." It did seem a lot for two books, and honestly he'd rather this young man read them and appreciate them (he looked like a bookworm, he thought) than for someone who could afford them to just buy them for the sake of spending money, only for them to sit ignored on a bookshelf for years, or worse, used as coasters.

Sir seemed wrong somehow. Too formal for neighbors... "It's Arthur," He corrected, "Arthur Kirkland," He gave an awkward smile, "Nice to meet you." He held out the credit card. He should shake his hand, but he sort of needed to pay as well. He could shake his hand later. They were expensive, but he'd prepared for it, he knew how much they cost. He would just have to eat... less than usual. He always ate sparcely, but he would just have to cut out takeaway meals from his restaurant.

"So were you around for the ligtning storm last week?" He asked. He was a Brit, he liked talking about weather, and this weather deserved to be talked about, truly. Maybe he was like that too, he knew other people were, but he didn't know how many people, and he didn't really want to talk to that Italian kid about this... They didn't know each other well enough and he seemed a little too immature. The (surprisingly young) proprietor of the shop seemed like it might be more promising.

Kirkland. It wasn't a name he'd heard often. It was distinctive, so he was sure he'd remember it. He smiled broadly. "Yao Wang." He introduced himself and took Arthur's credit card, swiping it through and handing him the machine to enter his PIN. He still felt wary about those little bits of plastic; it didn't feel quite the same as having paper and metal, something substantial.

Ah, he'd brought it up. "Yes, I was. It was quite dramatic, wasn't it?" He didn't know whether Arthur had been affected by the storm, might have just been bringing it up as a bit of conversation, and he'd rather not interrogate him about how it had affected him, only to find out he had no idea what he was talking about and thought he was mad.

Arthur put his pin in to the machine. He really shouldn’t be allowed a credit card, in his opinion. It wasn’t real money, he didn’t have to physically hand it over, so it didn’t feel like such a blow when he spent nearly £50 on two books. His mother would kill him if she knew that he was spending so much money on books. She’d never quite understood his obsession with them. Still, he had to use a card – it would be stupid for him to carry so much money on him; he’d be robbed quickly. Now that would be a waste of money. “It’s a pleasure.” He said politely.

“I’m surprised nobody was killed. I could have sworn that it actually hit the building. We’re lucky it didn’t burn any thing down, either. Mind you, it messed up his computer. He remembered Eduard, who had fixed his computer without even touching it and shuddered, a little creeped out, thinking about all the strange things that had happened. He wondered, was Yao like him, Eduard and Feliciano now? “Is it just me or as everything been a bit...” He paused, looking for the right word, which was something for him, since he had a very large vocabulary, “queer since that night?” He asked. Maybe Yao knew more than him, though he doubted it. This guy could only be a few years older than him, surely.

"The pleasure's mine." He replied. His manners had changed little in the past 100 years, and he was pleased to meet a young man who was just as polite and respectful as he had been brought up to be. The payment went through and he slipped the books into a paper bag and handed them back to Arthur.

He nodded, having thought the same thing when it hit the building the first time (although part of the roof had caught on fire, but it was quickly put out again by the rain). He looked at Arthur knowingly when he mentioned how everything had been 'queer'. "I'd noticed, yes." By the looks of the boy, he'd been having a tough time of it since the storm. "People haven't been themselves recently. Excuse my saying so, but you don't look well yourself." As much as British society had tried to knock subtlety into him, he couldn't help but be to the point.

Arthur placed his hand on the books, but leaned his hip on the counter slightly, not ready to leave quite yet. "Well, I mustn't grumble, you know. But I haven't been sleeping as well as I do normally." He said, trying to down play it as much as possible. But he really had had a bad time of things since the storm. Yao, though, seemed mostly to be alright, had he been affected. "I can't complain though." He reiterated.

"Is that so?" He said he couldn't complain, but he wasn't leaving, and he knew 'mustn't grumble' was just British code for 'everything's a mess but I'm too polite to bore you with the details'. He decided to stop beating around the bush, as it was clear to him by now that something had happened to this young man during the storm and that he was feeling burdened by it. "Well, I imagine one would be out of sorts after suddenly being bestowed with supernatural powers by a lightning storm. It's perfectly understandable." He smiled calmly. If this all turned out to be one big understanding, he could simply wipe his memory of it, but if not he was curious to discuss the effects of the storm.

Arthur's eyes widened and for a moment, he only stared. "I... yeah." He finally managed, rather inarticulately. He was so relieved that he wasn't going insane, that he had someone to talk to. He didn't know Yao very well, but he was polite and he seemed so calm with all this, surely it was okay. "So... you were affected too, right?" He was sure they shouldn't be talking about it here, it was too public, what if someone heard them? He didn't want to be sectioned or worse, experimented on.

He waited patiently as Arthur recovered from the shock. For a moment Yao thought that he wasn't sure what he was talking about, but his question indicated otherwise. "Not this time, no, but I was when it happened before." He answered. He could explain it all to him when they weren't somewhere so open that someone could walk in and hear their conversation, which most would perceive to be quite mad. That said, he didn't get many customers, and it was almost five o'clock already, so he thought today might be a good day to close early. "Do you drink tea? I was just about to brew some." He offered, thinking it might help calm the boy's nerves a bit; he seemed on edge.

He blinked, confused at what the other man had said. Last time? Had it happened before? He'd never heard anything like that, how long ago had it happened? And...and what would that make Yao? His eyes widened in surprise, "What... do you mean?" He asked, gripping the books lightly, a bit nervous. He'd not explicitly shown anyone his powers yet... He was nervous.

"Tea sounds amazing right now." It would probably be Chinese tea, but that was still good, just he preferred black tea to green. He would still drink it though, and hopefully it would calm his nerves.

To be honest, Yao was quite excited to get to talk about this. He hadn't been able to tell anyone about the effects of the storm, well, ever. At least, not without erasing their memories afterwards. But he remained calm, because Arthur seemed quite nervous, which was understandable given the magnitude of what had happened recently. "What I mean is the lightning has struck before." He explained, making his way to the back of the shop, indicating that Arthur should follow "And it had the same effect." He smiled as he accepted his invitation for tea, leading him to the back room, where the vases were still not packed. He could always finish that later. He started to boil the kettle and spooned some Oolong tea leaves into the teapot. He had some English kinds of tea too, but he thought Chinese tea was better for calming nerves and so forth.

“That’s... wow.” This had happened before? That really surprised him; he hadn’t ever heard of an incident like this ever. However, he supposed that something like this would be kept very quiet – either because the people it affected didn’t want to get found out or because they were taken away by the government and everything hushed up, “When?” It must have been fairly recently, right? Yao didn’t look more than 25, at a push. “What happened?” He asked.

He grabbed his books and followed Yao to the back room, where there was a box with two vases in it. As Yao started to boil the tea, Arthur crouched down beside the box, admiring the design on it. It was fairly simple, but it looked well made and probably old (considering this was an antiques shop), but it was in good condition. He motioned to them, “Do you want me to finish packing them?” He asked. He assumed they were being packed, not unpacked. It was the least he could do, really, considering the man had invited him back for tea. He liked to be helpful and it might take his mind off all this slightly, so he could possibly digest the fact that this had happened before. He realised something; if it had happened before, perhaps it could happen again. That was... a little terrifying, he thought. Certainly, they were being quiet about it so far, but each time it happened, surely the chance of creating a super villain increased? "It's sort of like a comic book, isn't it? It doesn't feel real,"

"It happened in 1912." He answered "One hundred years ago the night of the storm. It was the exact same thing; lightning struck the same spot, though of course it wasn't the same building, the original was torn down a few years ago. All the tenants suddenly had these supernatural abilities, but they were sectioned or sent to hospitals because of it, and it was kept quiet on the whole." The kettle boiled and he filled the teapot, waiting for the leaves to unfurl and brew. He'd let Arthur work the rest out for himself; from that he should be able to guess that Yao was immortal, considering he'd been alive in 1912 but didn't look a day over 25.

He shook his head at Arthur's polite offer "No, no, I'll finish it myself later." He seemed like a nice, trustworthy boy, but he couldn't afford any damage to these vases; a single scratch could knock hundreds off the price. It did feel a lot like a comic book, he agreed. "I think it's something you'll come to terms with eventually. There's no way of reversing it, as far as I can tell, so I'm afraid whatever power you've been dealt is permanent."

A hundred years ago? Wow... "What a coincidence..." He muttered. Obviously, he didn't think it really was a coincidence. What a scary thought it was, that this had happened before and everyone had been carted off to the madhouse. Would the same happen to them? He didn't want to be sectioned, he wasn't mad. He'd worked hard to prove that he wasn't insane or didn't have some kind of mental disorder. Various people had thought he was mad at some point or another, probably because of his over-active imagination. Arthur sighed, "So you're immortal?" Obviously he was, Occam's razor, after all. He just asked to be polite. "That must be cool... better than me." He muttered.

He nodded and went over to Yao, away from the vases lest he break them. He wouldn't want to owe a few thousand to the man. He sat down opposit him. "I had... suspected as much." He sighed, "Still, one can hope, right?" He stretched, fidgiting with his shirt sleeve. "It seems that I have um... two powers. Do you?" He asked.

"Yes." No, immortality was anything but cool. It was more like a curse than anything. He wanted to tell Arthur this in no uncertain terms, but he held his tongue; he'd clearly not given his statement much thought, and was brooding on his own misfortune. "'Cool' isn't the first word that springs to mind, I have to say." He tried not to sound too cold. But that wasn't important right now; he'd had a century to deal with his problem, this boy had only had a week to come to terms with whatever had happened to him.

There wasn't much point in hoping, he wanted to tell him. It was a waste of energy to hope that you could get rid of your powers, but why deprive Arthur of the idea that their might be an end to all of this? He nodded at his question "Yes, I also have the ability to erase a person's memory." It was strange how easily this was coming out, as if it were a story he'd told many times before, like he was totally calm telling someone who was practically a stranger about his deepest secret. "So, what are your 'powers'?"

The tone was rather icy, Arthur noticed, and thought that perhaps he’d hit a bit of a nerve. Now that he thought about it, watching everyone you knew and love die probably sucked. He was just feeling sorry for himself, but he couldn’t help but cringeslightly at his faux pas. “Hm, right, maybe not.” He said quietly. “Still... you must know a lot of history. The antiques shop makes sense.” He said, mostly to himself, looking around the back room.

Arthur fidgited. “Memory erasure? That must be useful, if someone catches you doing something illegal or wierd, you could just erase their memory?” He asked, curious. It seemed like an interesting defense mechanism. He wondered how it worked, but he was pretty sure if someone actually tried to explain it to him, with all the neurones and stuff in the brain, his head would spin. He’d never been brilliant with science, though he still had moutains of books on medicine that he would read. (Though often what he really liked was the illustrations)

“Well...I’m not sure how to explain my powers. The first one is easy... I have these um... massive wings.” He admitted, “Like an angel.” He clarified. “And... well, I don’t know how to describe it, but I can sort of... sense water. Like when I get too close to people, I can feel their blood... or I can feel watter rushing around the pipes in the wall. It’s not really loud, it’s just background noise. Sometimes too, it comes to me. Like I can make it move. I don’t know how I do it, but I know it’s doing it for me. Once, I even made water. I was thinking about needing a drink and I got this feeling, like I was putting together a jigsaw, and suddenly there were droplets ofwater on my palm. I think it came from the air. Oh, and when I’m upset, water sprays everywhere. Pipes burst, or the taps suddenly turn on... it really freaks me out.”

He hoped he wasn’t actually crazy and Yao had just been humoring him to get enough evidence to section him. Hopefully, really, the last week or so had just been a hallucination and really, he had a brain tumor and was lying in a hospital bed. He’d wake up, without his hair, unfortunately, but completely safe from weird powers.

He thought about it "I suppose. I fought in both the World Wars, at least. It's less history than nostalgia." He mused. Of course, most of the antiques he sold were far older than he was, but most of the things that people now counted as 'history' were still vivid memories to him; he remembered the death of Queen Victoria, the break out of the First and Second World Wars, the Cold War, the Great Depression. He found it strange, being the only one to remember them.

"Yes, it is rather useful. But I'd never use it for anything illegal!" He laughed. Not that the thought hadn't crossed his mind when money had been tight; it would have been so easy to commit crimes and nobody to even remember the crime had happened, or that anything was missing. But morally he hadn't been able to bring himself to do it, even when he was close to eviction.

The tea must have finished brewing by now, so he poured two cups of oolong for them. It wasn't a particularly strong blend, as he knew how sensitive Westerners' taste buds were to bitter things. He offered one to Arthur and sat, listening to his description of his powers. Wings like an angel? That sounded... painful. If he had wings, where did he keep them? Did they just appear out of thin air, or were they folded up under his clothes? He hadn't noticed any strange protrusions from his back when he was browsing books, so he assumed not. And the ability to manipulate water, it seemed, though it sounded as if he hadn't really got the hang of that yet. The poor boy sounded shaken, as well he should be. He didn't exactly like being immortal, but at least it was something he could ignore most of the time. A set of wings on your back must be something you're constantly conscious of. "That sounds dreadful." No wonder he hadn't been sleeping.

Arthur had never fought in a war. He'd never really wanted to, he was afraid of death. He wondered how many times Yao had been killed (sort of) during those wars. He decided he wouldn't ask. "History takes on a different meaning when you've live through it, I guess." There were many examples of what would make history, but Arthur didn't see it that way. They were just things that had happened. It must be the same for Yao. "Did anyone ever recognise you? You know, people you fought with in the wars, for example?"

Arthur held up his hands defensively, grinning slightly, "I never thought you would." He said, lightly, "But it did pop in to my mind. Still, you could probably be caught somehow, couldn't you? What with today's forensic techniques." He didn't know much about forensics apart from what he'd learned from CSI and other shows. It sounded like a useful skill to have. "Can you put back memories? Like if you erase them by accident, can you replace them?" He was asking so many questions, he probably sounded like an annoying chatty kid, not the impression he wanted to give. He wanted to appear mature and well... old. He'd rather be older, so people took him seriously.

Arthur took the cup from Yao, thanking him, and breathed in the scent of the tea. Certianly, it did smell like tea, though it had a slightly different palatte to the tea he normally drunk. Still, tea was tea, he'd drink it, but he thought he'd let it cool before he actually did drink it, so he just held it for a while. "It's strange, like they're on my back and... in my back as well. I know that they're not just folded up, they're much too big. They seem to grow... the skin breaks when they do. Sometimes there's blood everywhere and it hurts, but that's happening less often now." He admitted, stroking his fingers over the china cup. "And the bones and muscles ache. I'm not sure if it's because they're used differently when I have wings or if it's because it's where the wings come from. I haven't checked."

He shifted and changed how he was sitting, so he was leaning more forward. "I could probably show you my wings." He said, "If you wanted to see them. I need to take them out every day no matter what I do, because if I don't, they ache the next day. Like not using your arm for the whole day, not one little bit. It would be stiff and sore by morning too."

"I was recognised a few times, yes, but I could make them forget me if I had to." He shook his head at Arthur's question. "No, I can't put a person's memories back. Once it's gone, it's gone for good." He had to be very careful with that power. Who knew what damage it could do to a person's mind? He found Arthur's curiosity and questions quite endearing, really. He seemed like a good boy, if a little naive.

He winced slightly at the description of Arthur's wings. The idea of something like that under his skin, tearing his flesh each time he opened them, sounded unbearable. What a thing to have to live with, certainly too much for such a young person. He jolted slightly as he offered to show his wings; it sounded like it would cause Arthur a lot of pain, and he didn't really want to watch him suffer that. What's more, a pair of wings would be large and unwieldy, and he'd mentioned blood too, and the back room was full of antiques he was in the process of cleaning or fixing, so he didn't want the wings to accidentally smash something or splatter something precious with blood. He shook his head "No, you don't need to show me, honestly." He smiled, slightly awkwardly. He was happy to talk about it, but he didn't want to see it particularly. He was feeling a little useless, to be honest; he couldn't really help Arthur, as although his own powers were hardly easy to deal with, Arthur's were so complicated and obtrusive. What was he supposed to say?

"Does your family know?" He asked; he wouldn't have told his family if he had any sense, but it would probably be good for Arthur to have some kind of support or help at this time.

"That must be dangerous then." Arthur pursed his lips. Imagine not being able to control it and accidentally wiping someone's memories of something very important to them. "Can you do it on yourself? Wait... would you remember if you did it on yourself?" He asked. Memory loss sounded awfully confusing.

Arthur shrugged, "I wouldn't show you here. Too small." He explained. And there were antiques around; he didn't want to break anything. "But if you don't want to see, it doesn't bother me." He gave an awkward, polite smile then shifted on his seat awkwardly. Just thinking of it made his back burn, along the deep scarred flesh that ran between his shoulderblades. "I hope I'll get used to it one day... I don't think they'll hurt forever. I suppose it's just like having never been able to use your arms, then suddenly being allowed to use them. They wouldn't work very well." He tried to rationalise.

Arthur bit his lip. "No." Was all he said. Should he have? "They would have me sectioned or something." He shuddered to think. What might happen? Would his wings be cut off, would he be hidden away as a freak? He didn't want people to think he was a freak, he just wanted to be normal. He'd always wanted to be normal, though he'd failed miserably on that account. "Would you have told yours? Did you tell yours?"

He drank some of his tea and sighed slightly "I can't erase my own memory, though I've tried to a few times." He smiled at Arthur's confusion "I wonder. I doubt one would remember."

Honestly, he was quite curious about Arthur's wings; who wouldn't want to see something as miraculous as that? Like a real life angel. But the idea of it made him a little nervous. He'd seen many bizarre and strange things in his life, but nothing quite like this, and he wasn't sure how he'd react to it. He smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll get used to it eventually. It might seem like a burden at first, but one day you'll be able to find the good in it."

He nodded approvingly when Arthur said he hadn't told his family; it would probably be best if nobody outside their building found out about this, as nowadays they wouldn't just get psychologists and doctors, but the media too. If someone let this slip to a journalist, they'd be hounded by international media, he was sure. "I didn't have to tell my family, because they'd already passed away by then, but I doubt I would have told them. I might have been tempted to, I suppose, but no good would have come of it, as they would not have been able to understand." He'd been lucky, he supposed, as he didn't know how he would have kept his immortality a secret from his family. He didn't think he could have brought himself to erase their memories of him as he had others who had come too close. "It would probably be best if you didn't tell them."

Arthur shuddered, "I wouldn't want to have my memory erased, or even part of it. All we are, our identity, is the sum of our memories really. Take away the brain, the thought patterns and the memories which made us act how we do, then... we're not us. Just a lump of flesh." He said, sipping his tea. He was calming down, thanks to it, so he was thinking clearer and his learned personality came out. He wasn't really that intelligent though, if anyone asked him, he would shrug and say he read a lot, "I woudn't want to be someone else." He said awkwardly, realising he'd been rambling. Probably, Yao had already thought of all this and he was being trite, not deep.

He shifted, tensing his back muscles and arching his back nearly unconciously as he thought about the wings. "It's just practice, right?" He murmured. "But I have a feeling it will take a lot of pracice. I don't know if I'll ever be able to fly. I'm too afraid of falling."

"Oh, I'm sorry." He said automatically and redundantly when Yao said all his family had died. Of course they had, and he was sure that the man had had enough time to come to terms with the loss, and every other one he had faced. "I thought telling people was probably the wrong idea. Who would belive us? And if we showed them, who would accept us?"

"I think we need to get together. Everyone, so that we all understand that we shouldn't show anyone but also so we know that we're you know, not alone."