Eugene Melberg's Story

The dark-haired boy had awoken rather early after much tossing and turning in his bed. Or perhaps it only seemed that he had awoken, seeing how he had trouble sleeping throughout most of the night. He had a lot to think about, after all, and not a lot to go off of when it came to solid answers.

His roommate had seemed nice thus far, so that was good. He could only hope he wasn’t disturbing the latter as he moved to the nearest window, especially with it being such an early hour.

It’s just… He wanted to watch the sunrise, that was all.

As he sat on the window sill, one leg propped up and the other on the floor, millions of thoughts reached his head, making it hard for him to focus on the lovely view before him. He had so many questions left, all of them clawing and wracking his brain, destroying any and all chances of a sturdy and substantial conclusion. Being told one could be royalty was… Well, overwhelming. He wasn’t even sure he could take such a role in the first place. Being a leadership position, he certainly didn’t feel qualified, no matter how much free schooling he was expecting to receive in the process.
Not to mention, it would be pretty hard to focus on schooling with everything else going on in his head. The memory block being the biggest hurdle of them all.

He still couldn’t remember a thing.

They said he was in some terrorist group, but… How does one even manage to do that? What interest could he possibly have with terrorists? And mind-manipulators? That sounded simply insane. Maybe a little scary, too. What did they make him do? And more importantly, why him of all people? There was nothing extraordinary about him, so why? What had been their intentions? Did he do anything awful? Had they really planned to use him and throw him away? And why the hell couldn’t he remember a single thing? Surely there should have been bits and pieces, at the very least, but it was all just a haze.

That memory of Larke… The only memory he had thus far. They had been prisoners, from what he could gather. He could sort of make out the pain he’d been in, as well as Larke’s concern. Were they in a militist cell? Among Liberty, perhaps?

That was the only thing that made sense.

His thoughts trailed off pretty abruptly as a slight groan escaped him. He clutched his head with one hand and gripped the window sill with the other, fighting an oncoming migraine. The pulsing and sudden fogginess made it hard to think much further on his amnesia.

What a pain.

Well, whatever. The viceroy had mentioned something about medical reviews or… examinations or something along those lines, and while it felt odd to look forward to anything hosted by Erubesco, some small shred of hope led to the possibility that perhaps he would get some answers there. Maybe they could even help him with this whole amnesia thing he was going through.
Maybe.

This all still felt very strange. Being in Erubesco, living inside the walls...
He felt out of place.
Surely his father was rolling in his grave right now.
The thought of this was satisfyingly spiteful, at least.

As the music came on, followed by a rather formal announcement, the boy listened somewhat absently. He had only really caught the end of it out of sheer amusement.

They were hosting a ball.

Much like Cinderella, Drake had never been allowed to go to such an event. Not that he had much interest in it to begin with.
Then again, as potential future Lord, perhaps he should consider attending just this once.

Drake heard the ringing of the door and glanced at it hesitantly. While he certainly COULD answer it, there was a very, very unlikely chance that whoever was at the door was for him. Luckily, the stirring of his new room mate assured him rather quicking that he would not have to bother with answering it after all. Which was good, because he certainly didn’t want to.

Mel had offered a disgruntled good morning, in which the only thing Drake could think to respond with at the moment was a simple nod. He still wasn’t used to the social interaction or even being in the same housing as someone who wasn’t family.

He had no idea how to interact with this guy.

As the door was answered and the person in question was greeted with some amount of confusion, Drake’s curiosity got the best of him. He swung his leg back to the floor and stood, silently moving over so that he could peer at the person through the door without getting too close to be deemed intrusive.

It was a female, apparently. She appeared to be some sort of knight, or at least, that was his best guess when taking into account the armor getup. She had bright red hair, too, which was… Well, uncommon, to say the least.

Then again, so were silver eyes.

Listening in on the conversation, he discovered pretty quickly why she was there and why Mel didn’t recognize her. The girl was lost. It was something he could relate with, at the very least. The Citadel was huge, after all, and he knew little to nothing about what all it held in store.

The winged boy didn’t feel any reason to say anything at the moment, so instead lingered and watched with mild interest.

“Drake,” the boy corrected rather swiftly and, perhaps, a bit sternly, “None of that last name non-sense. Drake is fine.” Oh, how he hated being reminded of the kind of people he was related to. Not that he would bring it up. He was still considering the whole Lordship inheritance, after all, and he really didn’t feel the need to bring up how much he loathed the ones he was taking it from.

He gave a nod to the female in greeting, eyeing her outfit with analytical eyes. A knight, most likely, judging from the armor. “You’re clearly not new here,” he concluded. It was a short and rhetorical comment, perhaps even a bit rude if perceived in such a way, considering the implication it held.

"How the hell did she get lost?" was, of course, what he was really thinking.

His eyes trailed over to Mel who seemed hardly awake. Drake knew how late Mel had come home, having heard the man walk in while he was trying and failing to fall asleep. The winged boy also knew how little sleep his roommate had actually gotten as a result.

“Are you sure you’ve slept enough to function properly?” he mused, his tone making it seem more like a wisecrack than an actual concern. Despite the fact that he was aiming for being concerned.

Drake found the situation with the red-haired Knight slightly amusing, what with her being lost in her own community and all. In light of his roommate's disdain over the whole ordeal, however, the boy did his best to conceal his amusement, despite how humorous it was to him. He didn't say much as Mel offered assistance to the directionally challenged Knight, simply opting to observe(and make note of) the latter's guidance in directing her around the Citadel.

After following Mel back to their room, he couldn't help but notice his company's haze and exhaustion. Mel seemed ready to get going despite this, but Drake wasn't buying into the forced demeanor.

"Are you sure you don't want to get some more sleep in before jumping into your day?" the boy noted, eyeing the other doubtfully. Drake wasn't even sure if Mel would make it to the cafeteria without tripping over himself or forgetting where he was half-way there.

"I mean, I'll come with you if you insist on going," he conceded, eyes looking Mel up and down, "But only because someone's gotta keep you from spilling boiling-hot coffee on yourself."

Drake's last comment was a small attempt to tease Mel. Or, perhaps, a minuscule insult; an attempt for the boy to remain cold and distanced from his surroundings, as this was his usual defense mechanism.

Even he wasn't entirely sure what his intentions were yet.

Of all the questions Mel could have asked, his query over food seemed insignificant, but Drake would humor him. The boy's eyebrows furrowed as he squinted and tried to concentrate. He had spent all night trying to regain his memories to no avail, but maybe, just maybe...

A subtle headache started to form.

"I really can't remember much at all," he replied, frustrated, "It's all a blur-"

The boy paused as a memory flashed across his mind briefly. A flicker. There wasn't much context, just faint smells of sweat syrup wafting through the air and a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest. There was a man holding a tray of waffles... Or were they pancakes? It was hard to tell, but the memory certainly wasn't negative. In fact, it brought joy to the boy and light to his eyes.
Like memories of home.

The man... That's...
It was Soren. He had baked a delicious breakfast for the Wanderers as he often did. There were others indulging in the home-cooked meal, their faces blurred but very clearly happy.

The memory had come quickly, and just as it had come, then it was gone.

Drake stood there for a moment before realizing he had stopped. He was swift to apologize and catch up. "Sorry. Er... We did. Have real food, I mean. Waffles, pancakes, the whole lot."

This was his first memory since he'd woken up... It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Finally, he was making progress.

"It's fine, really. It's not like I remember much, so..." Drake trailed off.

It was pretty hard not to hear the mood change in Mel's voice, hard not to see the expression drop on his face. And even without all the obvious clues, his aura would have given his discomfort away to Drake regardless.

"You know, for something that bothers you so much, you'd think you would have told me why by now."

A pause. An observation. A selfless thought, flashing through the boy's mind. Perhaps he would vocalize it. Try to be comforting, at least a little bit.

"It must hard. Seeing me all the time. Since I was, well... One of them," he hesitated, "Brainwashed or not... But I know these Wanderers or Terrorists or whoever they are bother you. I'm not sure what they did or anything... I'm just... Well... Sorry, I guess? I know you're sort of stuck with me at the moment and that can't be easy..."

This mushy stuff sounded way worse out loud. He kind of regretted voicing it now.

"Ugh," a swift pivot of subject, "Yeah. Hopefully the coffee's decent."