Let Me In [Mihai]

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

Could it have already been a month?

Ludwig stared mutely outside as he walked down the corridor.  The leaves on the trees had been green when he had arrived; now, they were the colors of autumn, fiery orange and yellow and red, and whenever a cold wind whipped up outside, the weaker ones tore from the branches and scattered.  So time had to have passed.  To Ludwig, it didn't feel like so much time had gone by, but he'd been tuning out the rest of the world for quite some time.

After the windowless police van had dragged him from his doorstep, he'd been unceremoniously shuffled into a different van, a comfier one, and given a bottle of water, which he'd been grateful for at the time.  He drank the whole thing immediately and had promptly fallen asleep, a result of whatever drug the water had been laced with.  When he woke hours later the van was speeding through the Russian countryside, and one of the guards unceremoniously warned Ludwig that he had permission to tranquilize him if he started anything.  Ludwig had decided not to start anything and choose instead to look outside.  It had taken another full day of driving past empty fields and thick forests before they arrived at the Weeds of Tomorrow.  Ludwig could recall that the staff had been decently polite and that the registration process had been a quick one: his name was taken down, he was issued an I.D. number, and he was assigned to a dorm room.  One of the administrators had mentioned that, at his age, he needn't worry about classes yet.  Just get used to the school, learn your way around, make some friends, she had advised.

He had done none of that.

That first night at Weeds the raw, painful realization of what had occurred finally sank in, and for the next few days Ludwig hardly left his bed.  One of the staff members attempted to scold him but none of her words, none of the threats of punishment reached him.  Hunger eventually drove him to find the cafeteria, but even after that Ludwig stayed in his room.  He didn't want to see this "beautiful school and meet other people" just like him.  He wanted to go home to his family, to Germany.  He wanted to walk around Berlin and toss bits of sausage to stray cats and throw rocks into the Spree and make fun of the tourists with his brother.

He'd never admit how much he'd cried.

But now, walking down the nondescript corridor on his way to where the school library was supposed to be, Ludwig recalled something he'd read a long time ago: time heals all wounds.  He still missed his family and his home, yes.  But the knife-sharp pain that twisted inside his chest whenever he thought of them had dulled to an ache.  He'd run out of things to think about, lying in his bed feeling sorry for himself, and looking at the rest of his room had gotten boring.  So, a month late, he'd set out to explore the school properly, starting with the only place that mattered as much to him as the cafeteria: the library.

It stood at the end of one of the school's utterly dull hallways; he'd been looking out the window at the leaves as there was literally nothing else to look at.  But the door stood open and Ludwig could see the room beyond, and his spirits lifted a little.  It wasn't a large library by any means, but it had big windows that looked out onto the wilderness in three directions, and tall bookcases stood up against the walls between them.  More bookcases filled the middle of the room, along with utilitarian school tables and chairs, although a few plush armchairs -- just for reading -- had been interspersed as well.  Ludwig crossed the threshold, still gazing around the room.

"I.D., please."

There was a small desk next to the door he hadn't spotted: a staff member serving as a librarian sat behind it, one hand outstretched.  Ludwig gave her his number, and she flipped through a roster to check something.  Her expression changed and she turned back to Ludwig, shaking her head.

"I'm sorry, but you aren't allowed in here."

For a moment, Ludwig thought he'd misheard her.  He frowned, confused.

"I'm a new student," he offered, "so maybe my name isn't on there yet-"

"Your name's here," the staff member interrupted, still shaking her head, "but you're on our black list.  You're not allowed inside."

"What?!" Ludwig blurted out, too startled to maintain his usual composure.  "That's impossible, I haven't been here long enough to do anything bad!  I just want to look at the books!"  The flicker of hope he'd felt upon seeing the collection of books was struggling not to be drowned in a fresh wave of sadness.  Something crossed the administrator's gaze.  Was it irritation?  Maybe pity?

"Look, kid," she said calmly, "this isn't a punishment.  You're just on the black list.  I don't know why, but I'm not supposed to let you in under any circumstances.  Maybe your ability ruins books or something."

Ludwig's horrified expression remained in place.  Yes, technically he could do exactly that.  But him?  Ruin a book?  These people didn't understand anything.

"As far as I can tell," the woman continued, "you can still check a book or two out.  You'll just have to get one of your little friends to come in here and get the book for you, then check it out in your name.  It's simple."

It wasn't simple, Ludwig thought bitterly.  He didn't have any friends.

"What if I asked you to--"

"Kid," the woman snapped, her tone no longer entirely pleasant.  "I've told you what you have to do, alright?  And you haven't left yet, despite being on the black list.  Are you going to keep arguing with me, or am I going to have to report you?"

Crushed, the boy backed out of the library, standing just outside the door and looking morosely in at the sanctuary that had just been denied to him; the pseudo-librarian went back to her work and didn't give him a second glance..  Maybe... maybe he could try sneaking in at night; he knew there was a curfew in place but he felt upset enough to risk disobeying it, just to grab a book or two.  How was he supposed to keep himself distracted now?  He wasn't in any classes, he couldn't go far outside, he didn't have anyone to talk to... and yes, maybe he could make a friend eventually, but he was here right now. Going back to his room at this point would just be an acceptance of defeat. He could already feel grief pooling back in his chest; just when he thought the worst had passed, this had to happen...

SPOILER: Click to show

{{ OOC: I'll put this in a pretty format when I have time to code. Hope it's alright! }}

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

Returning books was always something of a haphazard task, especially between two roommates who tended to keep a stash of ten or so (likely overdue) volumes in their room before returning the lot of them all at once. On that particular day, Mihai had decided he would do as the school so often requested of them and "do society a favor," namely by gathering all the stray library books in his room and delivering them back to the rightful authority. It was honestly less out of goodwill than the knowledge that if the books stayed much longer, teachers would soon come knocking and he could expect to have a number of privileges revoked.

That was the only reason he was picking his way down the halls, with a pile of about five novels under each arm. The differing sizes were making his attempt at balancing them rather difficult, and he found himself constantly having to stop midway to try to shift them back into position before the lot of them tumbled to the ground. It made progress slow, and he'd already spent a good seven minutes trying to climb the stairs without dropping anything. He regretted not looking a little bit harder for a bag, but his side of the room was a mess and he didn't exactly want to rifle through his roommates' stuff, and he wasn't going to back down now after all the distance he'd covered. So he had resigned himself to making the trip somewhat more difficult than need be, but the library was just a hallway down. He was coming upon his destination in good time.

He rounded the corner into the appropriate corridor, dull and dreary thing it was. Although the sun was shining through the windows, the hallway was uncarpeted and its walls were bare. Mihai recalled his elementary school looking more cheerful than this—and Romanian school buildings weren't anything to brag about, truly. But at least art projects from the younger students and photographs from the elder students were hung up on the walls, and some of the halls were covered with a worn but still-existent carpet. Recalling his school in comparison to Weeds always brought a pang of nostalgia, and though it was a sentiment he could handle, he preferred to shrug it off.

The thing was, he was quite certain that Weeds of Tomorrow simply left their existence as austere as possible. For example: the dorms were heated to the barest minimum during the winter, and hardly air-conditioned during the summer. Even opening the windows sometimes cooled the rooms more efficiently than the AC. On top of that, it was evident that the students were spared even the benefit of having a nicely-decorated school in which to waste away their eighteen years. It wasn't like the academy didn't have the money for some nice accommodations (in fact, they likely had more than enough)—more so that no one wanted to go into the trouble of making the surroundings appealing to the students who they'd eventually ship off as products. It was a minor annoyance, but one which Mihai thought of as perfectly valid. They may as well give them some nice things to look at before selling them off into slavery. He liked to argue that the lack of it was barbarism at its finest, that is, disregarding everything else the school did.

He continued on down the desolate hallway, footsteps sounding out clear against the linoleum floor. He could hear conversation from the direction of the library, but the door blocked his view as to who could be there. It wasn't too unusual for library-goers to have company. After all, the campus was rather small and there weren't many places to go in the first place. The more studious or introverted tended to gravitate towards the books, which, he supposed, made him somewhat of an oddity as he really was neither. He never lingered long on the actual premises, and much preferred to check out a stack of novels each time to stow away in his room until well past the due date.

A few paces away from the library doors, another boy stepped through. He was looking rather distraught, and Mihai eyed him somewhat curiously as the other backed away from the library. He must have been the one talking to the librarian, and by the looks of it, whatever conversation had taken place hadn't been a happy one.

Mihai side-stepped him, not intending to get involved with whatever had occurred. Students at Weeds usually had a policy of letting people deal with their own misfortunes—since god knows each of them had sufficient ones to deal with—and Mihai was hardly an exception. He didn't recognize the other boy though, and that made him curious—perhaps he was an underclassman or a new student, and if he really was the latter, then Mihai would feel quite sorry for him. Weeds always sucked the first year, and kept on sucking. None except the most optimistic or simply the most idiotic could hope for their experiences at the academy to improve.

"'Scuse me," he said as he passed the boy. What was supposed to have been a neat little evasion, however, was intercepted when one of his elbows hit the opened door, causing the not-quite well-placed books to topple to the ground. "Shit." He swore quietly (so much for a graceful entrance) but a disapproving noise from behind the desk indicated he hadn't quite been quiet enough. "Sorry, miss," he said as he peeked behind the doors with a grin that was sheepish and most decidedly disingenuous. He placed whatever volumes had evaded the little mishap onto the librarian's desk, disregarding her frown, before ducking back outside to gather the books that lay strewn across the ground.

Word Count: 971

Notes: Hope this works! /o/

by worldie on iof

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

A variety of thoughts were running through Ludwig's head at the moment. Although he was struggling not to admit defeat, most of the strategies for getting around this new and awful problem would just never work. Forcing his way inside would get him into trouble, and he didn't want to cause trouble, not when so much had already gone wrong. He knew a curfew existed, so sneaking in later would never work, either. He had no idea if the room would even be unlocked. Breaking the windows from the outside would attract attention... were they even allowed outside? Ludwig realized he had no idea. He'd spent so much time withdrawn from everything that only the most basic of knowledge about the Weeds stuck in his head. He would have felt disappointed in himself, had he not already been so distraught.

As he stood aside, contemplating returning to his room and sleeping off the misery, the sound of footsteps heralded someone else's approach. Looking up, Ludwig watched as another student headed for the library; books had been fairly crammed under both of his arms and anger and jealously sliced through the young man's chest. It wasn't fair. But he held his tongue and his emotions back and stepped aside when the stranger spoke to him. It did little good: although he dodged Ludwig, the student's elbow hit the door and in a glorious chain reaction the whole lot of books came tumbling to the ground in a flurry of pages. Ludwig heard an angry yelp from the librarian's direction and nearly took another step back.

"Do you realize how much books cost to replace when students drop them all over the dirty floor and they get torn up and ruined?" she challenged, slamming her hands on her desk and standing to lean over and scold properly. "Maybe we should just go back to accepting what people donate, perhaps that would teach you a lesson! If any of these have been damaged you'll be the one to answer for it!" she went on. Ludwig noticed that she didn't seem to care enough to actually come over and help collect the books. Kneeling down with a roll of his eyes, he grabbed those closest to him, dusting the pages and smoothing them out before carefully closing them.

"Don't touch those!" the librarian snapped at him, and Ludwig shot her an angry, wounded look.

"You said I couldn't come in," he challenged, "not that I couldn't touch the books." That seemed to shut her up, and she eyed him warily as he picked a few more up, scanning the titles as he did. He wasn't familiar with them, but they looked interesting enough. Perhaps if he just took these and ran-

But that would mean that the other student, the one who had accidentally caused the mess, would get in trouble too. Ludwig didn't like the idea of that. The stranger had done nothing wrong, and had even been polite enough to speak to Ludwig cordially and ask him to move out of the way. And he didn't want to go making enemies just when he'd decided to show his face at last, least of all of people who were clearly allowed in the library. Holding the books he'd gathered tightly to his chest, he approached the other student, who was busily picking up the last casualties. If he played this right, maybe he could ask for a favor. His rational thoughts were telling him not to set his hopes so high - he had no idea who this student was - but Ludwig had gotten desperate. It couldn't hurt to try.  He'd never been any good at small talk, but Ludwig moved carefully over possible greetings and questions in his mind before settling on his plan.

"Hey," he greeted quietly, before offering over the stack of books, "here. I'd take them myself but I'm not allowed inside." Again his gaze drifted over the colorful covers and the titles, wondering about the stories stacked in his hands. "Were these any good?" Ludwig asked, studying the other with a measured look.  Please answer.  Please.

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

Mihai rolled his eyes as the nagging from the librarian began. He often got the same spiel, and most of the time it came from different people, but it almost always went along the lines of reprimanding them (all mutants, not just him) for their ungratefulness, threatening them with consequences as though that would somehow make him appreciate accidents as deliberate doings and feel guilty about them. Well, sometimes they were deliberate, but that was beside the point at the moment. He merely bent down to retrieve the books scattered across the ground, tuning out what the woman was saying. He'd heard it all before, and he'd learned that it saved him a lot of grief and annoyance if he just willed away his lecturer's voices and words.

He did glanced up, however, when the other student bent down and started to organize the books alongside him. This gave Mihai momentary pause. It wasn't as though the kids at Weeds were generally unkind, but most didn't go out of their way either, and, judging by the crestfallen look on the boy's face earlier, Mihai assumed that such a gesture was rather out of his way. Mihai himself hadn't had much of an intention of helping the other kid out before, but maybe this situation made him feel the slightest bit guilty and caused him to reconsider.

The possibility of that second part grew even more at the boy's snappy retort to the librarian. A small smile played at the edges of Mihai's lips, and he gave the other a look of approval. It wasn't often that he met students who were willing to talk back to the staff, even when, in his opinion, they had a perfect right to do so. He tended to take a liking to those who didn't let themselves be walked all over, and judging by the kid's response, he didn't seem to be part of that group. Mihai hoped that wasn't something that would be hammered out of him by the school.

He stood up and accepted the stack of books the other handed out to him. "Thanks," he said, flashing an appreciative grin. He turned and about to set the collected volumes onto the desk for the librarian to check in, but was stopped when the boy kept talking. Even before that remark, Mihai had figured that he wasn't allowed into the library. The school had certain restrictions on students with potentially damaging powers, and though Mihai didn't know many of them, he imagined it must be quite awful to be forbidden from accessing one of the few niches of escape from the horror that was Weeds. He bit his lip and hesitated. He pitied the other kid a bit. He really acted like he was new to the school, and on top of that, it looked like he'd had a rough day. He didn't seem like a bad kid though, if the little gesture from earlier was any indication, perhaps just bristling due to the strict and unfair setting of the rules. Mihai sighed, and turned back around. Just once couldn't hurt.

His eyes scanned the boy's face, a small, pitying smile on his lips. "Got banned from the library, huh?" he asked as he began to look through the stack of books. The other hadn't asked for it, but Mihai knew what the intention behind that question had been. He skimmed their covers, occasionally flipping or rearranging one of the copies so that he could find the title. Some of the books weren't his, so he maneuvered them to the bottom of the pile, but three volumes were picked out and handed to the other boy. "Here. I thought these were pretty good, but I don't know what kind of books you like. There you have fantasy, mystery, history." He pointed out each of them in turn, sounding rather pleased with himself. The rest of the stack was laid to rest on the librarian's counter, whose annoyance at the both of them didn't appear to have diminished. "Check those out for him, wouldja?" he said. He was probably adding fuel to the fire by asking her in such a way, and he quickly tacked on, "please."

Facing the other boy again, he held out his hand. "Mihai Eliade," he said by way of introduction. "You're new here, aren't you? Wait, let me guess," he interrupted before the other could answer, holding a hand up to halt any reply. One of the books in the pile had happened to be on magic tricks, an old volume that had probably remained from the donation era. It was an odd little relic, probably something that should have been removed from the library collection for dangerous propaganda if the staff paid closer attention—though the tricks themselves were harmless, the concepts behind them weren't quite so innocent. Mihai was quite intrigued by such sleight-of-hands, however, and was even attempting to master some tricks on his own. He found the new kid to be acceptable material to practice on.

"You're German," he stated. Mentalism, as described in the book—partly tricks, partly science, more aptly labeled targeted guessing. It made some of the easily impressionable students think that he was a telepath, but mostly he was just good at guessing. "You… have control over paper." He watched the other intently, awaiting a reaction, then quickly corrected himself. "No. Fire?" Bingo. "You're name is Lars? Uh, wait, no. Ludwig, right? Ludwig." He grinned, obviously thinking that little display to be impressive. Of course, he neglected to mention that he'd seen the name marked on the librarian's still-open roster.

Word Count: 938

Notes: Ludwig A. Beilschmidt

by worldie on iof

[Ludwig A. Beilschmidt]

baby you're a firestorm you're a loaded cannon

As he did whenever he got too wound up or nervous, Ludwig held his breath as the other student accepted the books with a quiet word of thanks and a quick grin. He nodded quickly in response, a fast and silent you're welcome. The other student didn't turn away, however; in fact, Ludwig got the distinct feeling he was getting studied, and when he realized he hadn't been breathing, he felt doubly ridiculous. Was getting so worked up over a library, over books, really worth all of this? A tiny voice inside Ludwig's head answered yes, but logic attempted to overrule it. Thankfully, the student spoke up again, and Ludwig gave a harsh sigh, fixing the breathing issue. "I've never even been inside," he complained quietly, although not quietly enough for the words not to reach the librarian's ears. "You know exactly why you are banned!" she snapped, eying the stack of books impatiently. Ludwig narrowed his eyes at her, wondering if he'd just made his first genuine enemy. He didn't notice the other student leafing through the books until he found three of them suddenly pressed into his hands. The young man looked back in frank surprise. "These are for me?" he repeated, stupefied for a moment. Fantasy, mystery, history. Any one of those alone would have been more than fine, but three? Ludwig eyed the other student with cautious awe as the boy returned the rest of the books to the librarian and checked out the remaining three in Ludwig's name. "You bring these back on time," the librarian lectured in her sharp voice, "and get a friend to bring them in. You're still banned." Ludwig barely heard her. He took the other student's hand and shook it gratefully, feeling like an immense pressure had been lifted off his shoulders and chest. "It's nice to meet you, I really can't thank you enough, nobody's ever--" His babbling stopped when Mihai insisted on guessing... something. For a brief instant, Ludwig felt a sense of alarm and his grip on the books tightened. There had been a student at his school back in Germany, a nasty girl who had a fine way of being nice to people and basking in their gratitude before jerking away that fantasy and leaving others to struggle. You learned not to trust her, and if there was one thing Ludwig could suss out of a place like this, it was that putting your faith in anyone was dangerous. But the boy hadn't grabbed the books back or mocked him. He guessed (correctly) Ludwig's heritage, and the boy's blue eyes lit up. Maybe it was his accent; he'd been working on improving that. But Mihai proceeded to correctly guess his ability, and even his name. Ludwig felt stumped. Maybe his name had gone around as a rumor, but how on earth had he learned about the fire? "How'd you do that?" Ludwig asked, once more in awe. "Can you read minds? Is that your ability?" Immediately Ludwig recalled how he'd just been thinking about not trusting Mihai, about treating him like everyone treated the evil student at his old school, and he felt horribly guilty. Now he felt much more certain Mihai didn't deserve any of that. "Nice to meet you, I guess," he offered, "and... thanks again for the books. I don't know what I would have done. I just got sent here a month ago." He left out the part where he'd been hiding in his dorm room the whole time, excising his despair in various unproductive ways. Just thinking about it made him feel ashamed. "Listen..." Ludwig spoke up again, more quietly, although the librarian had stomped off to put the returned books in their proper places, "I know I just got here and I'm not good for much but... if you ever need help with anything, let me know, please. I owe you for doing this for me. You didn't have to but... thank you." Having poured out his offer along with most of his emotions, Ludwig gathered his wits back about him. "I can't do anything with my mind like that, but... where are you from?" Word Count: 705 Tags: Mihai C. Eliade Notes: sorry for the delay!

by worldie for lena

[Mihai C. Eliade]

Mirror on the wall

Frame the picture

Reflect this kiss to wish us all

Goodnight

The boy was clearly distressed, not that he could blame him. The other student looked quite young, and judging from the way their conversation was going, definitely new. Mihai remembered what it had been like to come to Weeds—the misery, the shock, the confusion. It must have been worse to have himself barred from the library—after his many and failed escape attempts, Mihai had also found solace within the placid shelves of books. It felt like being submerged within a forest of spectators, but the spectators did not jeer nor mock nor hate. They made better friends and confidants than humans did.

The smile on Mihai's face grew as the other student talked; though he had resigned himself to warily helping him out, he was quickly finding the boy to be quite adorable. Everything that came out of his mouth was so genuine, from complaint to amazement to gratitude. It was… refreshing, in some way, he supposed. Like it should be protected. Maybe the violence of their realities and the harsh medicines of this school wouldn't touch him, but that was easier desired than done. In response to the other's thanks, Mihai raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Don't worry about it," he said. "It's hard to ignore you when you're standing around looking like a kicked dog." The words had no real bite behind them, and really, the puppy look was part of the cute bit.

That impression only grew as Ludwig marveled over his supposed ability, and he grinned, proud of himself for having pulled it off so well. "That's a secret," he replied, evading the question. He didn't want to lie to the younger boy—Ludwig, his name was confirmed to be—but he also didn't want to put a stop to the sense of wonder from the other just yet. Mind-reading would have been a much cooler ability than his, anyhow, not to mention more practical and much less painful. Ludwig would not admire him in the same way over his real ability, rather than the parlor tricks he'd learned from second-hand books.

A sense of flushed-out sympathy—abused and battered and too much spent for himself—beat in his chest as Ludwig continued speaking. He felt the same way for newly-arrived students, but never closely—it was a distanced, understanding sort of sympathy which had begun to fail him when sympathy did nothing. It was only this situation which proved contrary, and he would be the first to admit that his goodwill in it was a rarity—Mihai Cristian Eliade was not known for much kindness, but at least Ludwig seemed to think well of him. He could afford to humor the boy for longer, though he hesitated at making this a regular occurrence.

Ludwig's offer earned him a small laugh. "Don't worry about it. When I helped you out, I just sort of expected to have someone to talk to, not for you to become my lackey or anything," he said, waving off the proposal. The rejection, however, was not entirely meant—Mihai held no reservations when it came to asking favors, whether he deserved them or not. Still, it was better to pretend as though he cared nothing for them; it was what everyone did, anyway, for the sake of mannerism.

The sudden question posed took him slightly by surprise, and his smile faltered, becoming a look of hesitation as he bit at his lip. Romania. The name always brought with it a stunning melancholy, one which always caught him unawares, regardless of how he convinced himself that this was his home now—that was what they told him, and that was his reality, even if home would never be this place. No—home, really home, the place he was from—was narrow streets, flowers lovingly tended, creaking wooden stairs and the loving caress of his parents. This time, when he turned to Ludwig, his smile was a sad one.

"Have you been shown around the school yet?" he said, changing the topic. "If not, I have some spare time and I can take you around to some spots." Without waiting for Ludwig's reply, he turned and started back down the hallway. The offer was made as a serious one, but he also never liked to talk about himself within the hearing distance of the staff. Preferably, he would remain as nothing more than a blank slate to them—less attention drawn, less stuff to erase to make room for their marks. He didn't want to talk in front of the librarian.

Once they'd turned the corner and were a good ways down the hall (he hadn't planned where to take the other, really—it was just anywhere away), he spoke again. "I'm from Romania; prettiest damn country you've ever seen." He knew well enough that Ludwig would have his own belief in the matter, but he didn't care. His voice rang with badly-concealed pride and fierce love and cutting wistfulness, a thousand tales that he wanted to tell about his home, but not the trust to tell them. Opening one's heart—that was easier desired than done.

Word Count: 855

Notes: Ludwig A. Beilschmidt

by worldie on iof