Eglaya

It's been years (litterally) since I last posted original fic on MFG. Ever since the Roses of the East. *brushes tear a those nostalgic 2005 days* Well, as for the thing I'm about to post... It requires lots of patience. I had this story in my mind for over 2 years and I felt that I would explode if I didn't put it on paper (well, figuratively speaking).

This fic contains lots of random Japanese, Korean and Lithuanian words. It's supposed to be a drama, but I guess it would have comedy features too (because I'm not too good with mushy/angst stuff). Also, this fic is a bit sci-fi like, because the action takes place in two plotlines, timeslot ranging from 2005 to 2035. xD It's like a freakin' Forsyte Saga. I follow the lifelines consequently of children and their parents, when those were young. I'm going to keep posting this even if it doesn't get any reply, because I have a constant number of readers in other forum. And this fic is more like a tribute to myself anyways.

Questions are always welcome though =]

Tagline of the fic? Mushy: Two Generations. Two Love stories.

Let's go.













T.R.A.N.S.C.E.N.D.E.N.T.

--1--


He passed through an opened gateway underneath a huge arc and entered an old Renaissance courtyard. It was a spacious and sunny courtyard with a small fountain on the right. Its light and elevating ambience was enhanced with faced out yellowish and creamy color of ancient walls that surrounded the courtyard. The architecture was strange and contradictory but nonetheless interesting and refreshing. He could see that the walls were thick and tiny square windows on the right, but in front the arcs where clinging one to another resembling a Roman viaduct.

It wasn’t his first time here, but it was certainly the first time he thought that it was worth studying here for the architecture only. He sighed and took a closer look around. The courtyard was full of people. The benches near the walls, around the fountain and the birch tree near it were perched with posh people 90% of which were girls. He was rather startled to find out that his mother was right. It really was a female sanctuary. Which he did not quite understood why it was so. Not that he was scared of studying in highly feminine environment. He was quite adept at handling female kinks and if in order to have an all-guys company he had to go to Physics or Chemistry faculty then no thank you. He shook his head insensibly. He was determined to graduate with English major and Philology faculty was exactly the place where one should go in search of studies of Academic English.

He sighed and checked out his own clothes once more. Compared to those girls on heels, in tight pants, mini-skirts and occasionally – heavy make-up, he felt a bit out of the loop. Classic Converse sneakers, slightly baggy blue jeans and a white sweater with an elaborate weave, making it look almost as hand-made, suddenly didn’t look that modern again. He felt his silver cross pendant, dangling around his neck. Surely, he pulled these clothes out of his father’s unbelievable stock closet and his garment was surely older than himself, but in his almost nineteen years on the face of this planet he has noticed that trends tend to come back after 20 years or so. Therefore, he was almost 100% sure that the things his father wore decades ago (or something at least a little bit akin to that) would be popular again during this autumn/winter season. He sometimes wondered whether it was blessing or a curse to have a fashion-freak father. Even at an “ancient” age of 49 his pop still knew more about contemporary style than the boy himself.

“Aigoo…” unawares he released a sigh while walking towards an entry and that earned him a few funny glances from people around him.

He huffed a strand of jet black hair off his left eye and kept on walking. He was ready for stares. He was ready for questions. He was even ready for harassment and bullying if there was any about to come his way. The young man just checked his watch and hastened his pace, turning left at another arch and entering a narrow, dark, short hall. It was 10 minutes to 11 in the morning and all the first years, majoring in English, were to gather at room 92 at 11 sharp.

It was the 1st of September. The first day of a new study year and he reckoned that almost all of these young people around him were mainly first years. He had been told recently that upperclassmen didn't really care about the beginning of the year ceremonies.

The young man smirked and turned left at the end of the hall, facing long wooden stairs which led to the second floor of the main annex. He could hear a nervous and excited chatter already. Girls’ voices mainly. Oh well, he shrugged, trimming the bag strap, slung diagonally across his chest; we’re all from the same planet, aren’t we?

When he passed the first landing and was about to keep on climbing the next section of stairs, he stopped dead in his tracks, because the way up was blocked. Somewhere around 50 people were sitting, standing on stairs or leaning against the walls, squashing around the white door to the Room 92. He caught another dose of curious glanced being thrown at him. Some of the girls were openly eyeing him up and down, some just stole the glance, pretending they didn’t do that and continued talking with their newly acquired friends, while the rest merely ignored him, too absorbed into their conversations.

“… yeah, I know, I tried journalism, but I’ve got 9 for preliminary exam and you HAVE to get 10 to get there,” a red-hair with green eyes and a really big pink Hello Kitty bag on her shoulder rolled her eyes. “So here I am…”

“It’s not that great as everyone thinks,” uttered a calm girl sitting on a bench at the end of the landing. “Journalism, that is,” she trimmed her grey jacket.

“Oh?” another girl with a very kind and rather gullible face looked at her, ceasing rummaging in her square Pucca bag. He smiled.

“I’ve studied there for two years, it’s not just sunshine and daisies,” said the girl in the grey jacket. “Trust me.”

“Oh, so why did you change your major?” the pink bag asked. “They flunked you or it was too difficult?”

The grey jacket laughed, but he saw a very short flash of anger in her grayish blue eyes.

“No,” she said. “I just didn’t like the major. In fact, I entered those studies accidentally and I couldn’t wait to get out of there.”

People around their little group, even those who weren’t participating in the conversation suddenly hushed and turned to look at the Grey Jacket. The youth smiled. He has heard that journalism was considered one of the most prestigious professions here and he suddenly felt a faint wave of regard towards the Grey Jacket surging over him. He wondered whether she would be in his academic group or not.

He stood at the wall near one of perhaps 5 other guys out here and stole a glance at his neighbor. It was a rather pale boy around eighteen years of age with a typical short mouse-grey hair and greeny brownish eyes. He had a genuine and frank face with high nose and thin lips. The boy had his hands tucked into his jeans pockets and there was a huge white heart-a-gram on his black jumper. He looked a bit like a fish thrown into the shore. Figures, the black-haired youth smirked knowingly, anyone could be scared in this henhouse.

The conversations continued and the youth in the white sweater closed his eyes and tilted his head listening to the sounds around him. He furrowed his eyebrows when among the endless chatter and high-tone laughter he heard a constant pounding, which was getting louder and louder. It was as if someone was beating a wall with a hammer. Then it hit him – it was high heels beating against the wooden stairs. He opened his eyes and looked left.

Soon enough a tall woman in a beige suit and a neat blond bob emerged from the first stairwell section. She was holding a folder and a key. She eyed the first years with her perky blue eye-lined eyes, smirked and kept on walking upwards greeting everyone with an energetic “good morning”. Eventually she thrust herself through the crowd and got to the door, unlocking it and letting everyone in.

It was a big room with white walls, at least 120 seats and 5 huge windows on the left. It even had a few rows of steps also set with chairs and benches and there was a grand piano on the first step at the back of the room, so the black-haired boy thought this class was used by university’s collective or choir or whatever.

Everyone crammed into the room and almost crashed around the final rows of seats. Apparently, no one had a wish to sit at the front. But he had little scruple about it and shuffled right up to the front and flopped down into a seat on a second row. He found himself settled left to his stairwell-neighbor. The same boy with black jumper. Another chair close to him creaked and he looked left to see the Grey Jacket girl sitting next to him. She caught him staring at her and he smiled automatically without showing his teeth. It was a reflex acquired since he was 10 or so. The Grey Jacket girl returned the very same polite smile and he thought he should try her out.

“Laba,” he said, his slightly husky voice resounding eerily among this all feminine chatter.

The girl raised her eyebrows and her mouth gaped open for a tiny second, manifesting her surprise, but then she composed herself and nodded.

“Hi.”

He nodded back and concentrated onto the stage, where the tall blonde was now standing. He leaned back in his chair and prepared to listen for a while. Naturally, she congratulated everyone with entering the oldest university in the country and, of course, she said she was glad to welcome them into the best department of the faculty and it’s needless to say that she was the head of the Department of English Philology.

The youth wondered whether he should listen further on. He stole a glance at the Grey Jacket girl and noticed that she was only half-listening to the yada-yada-ing of the head of the department. Then he remembered that it’s not the first time she’s in the first year and she, most probably, was all too well acquainted with university’s formalities. He figured he’d rather ask her for help about anything than some unknown tutor. Not that she was known, but, oh well.

Finally, the head of the department began reading the distribution of the academic groups. She began with group 1 and the names were written in alphabetical order, so he decreased his focus until she was past the first third of the alphabet.

“… Jankovska Natalija…”

“Here~!” he saw the Pink Bag raise her hand on the left side of the room.

He just hoped he wouldn’t need to work in the same group as her. Ever. He didn’t fail to notice her long nails enhanced with pink nail polish.

“Kazlauskaitė Rasa.”

“Here,” the Grey Jacket raised her hand absent-mindedly as if she was bored with all this and he focused on the blonde teacher when she squinted at the list and then looked up at him. Bull’s-eye, he thought. The teacher breathed in.

“Kim Jintae.”

“Here,” he raised his hand.
-------------------------------------------------------------------

* Laba - Hey

__________________