Anonymous
Beyond Birthday was not a normal child. He never was and never would be. This was something that he knew instinctively, regardless of the fact that he never actually gave any thought to the matter. It was really of no matter to him. He was the way he was, and that was the end of it as far as he was concerned. What was interesting to him, however, was how everyone else failed so spectacularly to be anything like him. The other children were of course genii, just as himself, but there was some sort of inherent, humanity, for lack of a better word, which created a divide between them. It was spectacularly disappointing to him that there was no one really like him. They failed, and they didn’t even know it. He possesses an utterly juvenile sense of humour, which he is well aware of, so he snickers at the thought.
He is crouched in the shade of a tree, away from the other children. It wasn’t a very nice day, by any means, far too hot and unreasonably sunny, and he wouldn’t even be outside if he hadn’t found it too much effort to protest against the staff. The staff at Whammy’s had somehow got the notion in their heads that participation in outdoor activities was absolutely vital to the children’s development. It was complete rubbish, if you asked him. He thinks the staff must have watched some child-rearing show or another, and gotten some sort of ideas from it. For such supposedly intelligent people they were prone to believing the most ludicrous of things. They had even attempted to take away his strawberry jam once. His strawberry jam. They had said something about it not fulfilling his nutritional requirements. Filthy heathens, the lot of them. L survived on cake and sugar tea, and no one ever said anything about taking them away from him. Except perhaps Whammy, and Beyond had a sneaking suspicion that the old man ate some of it himself. He knows he himself would, seeing as some of the strawberry shortcakes seemed tolerable enough.
But back to the caretakers’ idiocy. Beyond was a genius. He was perfectly capable of ensuring that his own nutritional needs were met, and it was an insult to his intelligence for anyone to believe otherwise.
He dug his fingers into his jar of strawberry jam and pulled out a delicious glob of the sweet red substance. Holding it up to his face he inspected it as the reflected light made it glow, and watched as the thick red substance dripped down his fingers like the gory remains of some freshly killed creature. Bringing it closer, he inhales the delicious strawberry scent and drags his tongue slowly up his fingers as he watches the other children with half-lidded eyes.
The first thing he noticed about the figure was that there was something missing. It was impossible to ignore once he had noticed it. There were no blood red letters floating above its head. He had never encountered a person who did not have both their name and Numbers floating in that glaring red above them. He cannot even remember a time when he could not see them. So it is somewhat surprising to find someone who had neither. But he knows that there are always exceptions to any rule, no matter how frustrating it may seem to him personally. No one else seemed to have noticed it, which really wasn’t very surprising to him. Most other people were pathetically unobservant, after all, and the figure was doing a very good job of not drawing attention to itself.
He knows that this person is different; he can sense no divide separating their natures as it does with the others. He’s never been able to see his own Name and Numbers, not in the mirror or pictures. He had hypothesized that it was not that he did not have any, but rather that he could not simply see his own, perhaps a quirk of his own powers. But seeing this curious individual who also lacked a Name or Numbers of their own, he decides that perhaps they are the same. Two of a kind, perhaps.
He blinks, and the figure is gone. He darts his eyes around the yard, searching for the figure as he digs out another glob of jam and all but shoves it in his mouth. He isn’t panicking. He is most definitely not panicking. The figure was real. He was not hallucinating. He is sure of it. So the figure had some sort of ability to either move instantaneously or become invisible; or perhaps both. It seems far-fetched, of course, but he himself is not really in a position to doubt the possibility of such things considering his own unique ability. It is nonetheless distressing that he has lost sight of such an intriguing individual. He would very much like to learn more about whatever they were.
He almost bites his fingers when he feels the warm breath on the back of his neck. There was no crackle of leaves or sounds of soft footfalls to announce the approach of the presence, and Beyond is put on edge because he has always prided himself on his situational awareness. He can’t help the way his body stiffens for a small moment, as feels the warm air ghost across the hairs on the nape of his neck.
It’s exciting, how close the figure is, so he discards his momentary discomfort and turns his head to look at the strange being. Up close, he’s no closer to determining the gender of the being, so he discards that endeavor for the moment. They’re small, he thinks as he takes in their form, approximately the size of an average two or three year old, but the too thin limbs and slightly concave appearance of their cheeks suggests probable long-term malnutrition. Considering that would cause stunted growth he estimates that the being before him is around four or five years of age, if it is in fact human, or its growth patterns follow that of a human. It certainly appears human, if he disregards the lack of glowing red characters above its head. Despite its strangeness, the being appears startlingly average. Almost too average perhaps, as he can’t quite seem to fix their features in his mind. He can tell their hair is dark though, and long--almost to their knees. It is messy, as if they hadn’t bothered to brush it after washing it, and he can tell that their skin is some variation of caucasian pale. Their clothing seems to fit them somewhat awkwardly, as if they haven’t yet figured out how proper clothing works yet. All in all, they fit in perfectly with what Beyond has observed of the children at Whammy’s House. But they are not a part of Whammy’s House, Beyond is quite certain of this because he regularly hacks the files of all the orphans and there hadn’t been any indications of a newcomer.
The figure is staring at him with an intensity which would be unnerving to him if he had not already made the acquaintance of the equally strange L. So he returns their stare with his own, which he has practiced enough to know is disconcerting, and notes that he is also unable to pinpoint the exact color of their eyes. The staring match continues for exactly three minutes and sixteen point five seconds before the stranger slowly blinks and tilts their head to the side in an inquisitive manner. (Beyond feels a small amount of glee at winning the staring competition.) A small pink tongue darts out from their mouth to lick what Beyond thinks are equally pink lips (or perhaps they are pale, or plump, or thin, it’s terribly hard to tell when his eyes can’t quite seem to agree on what they are seeing), and the being opens their mouth to speak to him in a voice that he can only describe as raspy. It is as if they haven’t drunk water in ages or simply aren’t used to talking. Beyond is inclined to believe that it is a combination of both.
“I find you interesting, Mr. Birthday,” is what they say, and Beyond wonders where they found his name because he knows he’s deleted it from his own file. He waits for them to continue, but after a period of silence he realises that they are unlikely to be forthcoming. They have him at a disadvantage, seeing as he has no information on them but they obviously at least know his surname.He shows none of his discomfort outwardly.
“I’m glad that I interest you,” he replies drily, and seeing as he really has very little to lose he asks, “You obviously know my name. Social conventions decree that you should give me yours. ”
They blink, and squint their bright eyes in what Beyond thinks is confused contemplation.
“Do they? How terribly curious…,” They turn their attention to Beyond and ask in a way that is clearly more of a demand, “Is this type of expected reciprocity common to these types of social conventions then?” Beyond cannot help but admire their voice, which somehow manages to be simultaneously melodic and raspy. It defies logic, to have a voice like that.
“Yes. Usually. It makes social interactions easier when both parties are on somewhat of an equal footing information-wise.” The stranger nods to their self, and resumes staring at Beyond. He assumes that they are rather socially stunted, which is rather common among the orphans at Whammy’s. They seem to be trying to learn though...
“Social conventions are generally better learnt through immersion,” Beyond offers.
“Is that so?”
Beyond notices that they have maintained their same detached expression. They seem to consider something for a moment, then looks back at Beyond. Another long silence follows. Annoyance fills Beyond, as this conversation is beginning to seem rather pointless.
He narrows his eyes almost imperceptibly at the stranger, grits his teeth and asks, “Why can’t I see your Name? Or your Numbers? What are you?”
He’s frustrated enough by this enigma that he doesn’t even bother with the way having to actually ask for an answer tears at his pride.
The stranger grins. It is a sharp grin, as if it were blades and not teeth being revealed by parted lips.
“You are not the only one with powers, Beyond Birthday,” Here they flick their eyes up to the space above his head, where he imagines they see floating red digits. “Mine hides me from prying eyes, among other things.” He isn’t sure what to feel now that he has confirmation that they have the same eyes, but he does know that this person will be interesting. They look back into Beyond’s eyes, and he thinks he sees a flash of acid green in theirs.
“As to what I am, well, I assure you that I was born quite human.”
He finds something strange about that statement, but refrains from mentioning it. He knows it was made on purpose, almost like a challenge. He doesn’t intend on losing this time, so he’ll wait.
“So, tell me, how long have you been able to see human’s names?” The figure asks.
“You don’t seem to quite grasp the concept of reciprocity. Or is your memory so terrible that you cannot recall what I told you moments ago?”
“I do not have a Name to give you. Besides, I answered your questions. I consider that to be sufficient reciprocation. So, answer me; how long have you been able to see them?”
“I cannot recall a time when I have been unable to.”
“I see.” The way the figure says this makes Beyond think that there is something about his answer that they find significant. What exactly that is, Beyond can only guess.
Beyond blinks and the figure is gone. He knows they will be back.
A week later, the figure returns. He isn’t certain, but it appears as if they are wearing the exact same clothes as the first time they met. There are grass stains on the knees of their trousers, and what seems to be cobwebs clinging to the sleeves of their blouse. He’s sitting under the same tree, and eating from his third jar of jam of the day. The figure crouches beside him, mimicking his pose. Their features as just as imperceptible as before.
“The children here,” The figure begins, “Are given letters. Why?”
Beyond wonders at the fact that the figure hasn’t yet discovered greetings. That or they are simply very rude. He decides that it isn’t really an issue.
“This place isn’t so much an orphanage as a factory for geniuses,” Beyond smiles darkly, and scoffs. “We’re supposed to be replacements, you see. Just in case something happens to the original, L.”
“So they pit us against each other in a bid to create the next L for them to use as a tool. And it works, even if we know that we are being used. Because we all want to know that we are the best, and here they hand us the chance to prove it. It’s dangerous, to be in the running, so they give us letters, and fake name to protect our identity. After all, it wouldn’t do for something to happen to us before we’ve made ourselves useful.”
He’s squeezed his hand into a tight fist, and the jam in his hand drips out from between his fingers like the morbid evidence of some brutal murder. He licks up the trails of sticky red as regards the small figure in front of him.
“Not like it’s very much use against you, or me, in any case.”
The figure concedes to that point with a tilt of their head and asks,
“What is L, exactly, that you are all being trained to replace him?”
“L is the first one that Whammy found, apparently. He’s what inspired the man to scour all of his orphanages and bring the very best here. You could call him a hunter, I suppose. His prey are criminals, his hunts are his cases. ”
“You do not like him.”
Beyond shrugs and shoves another glob of jam in his mouth.
After that the stranger comes to visit Beyond every few days, mostly staying for only a few minutes. Sometimes they don’t even talk, just crouching next to each other in silence and listening to each other breathe. The child seems to like to study the other children, their games and their interactions. Beyond doesn’t know when their tentative bond formed by their similarities became something closer to friendship, but he’s happy with it so he doesn’t question it.
He’s gathered from their few short conversations that the child is also an orphan, lives within walking distance of the orphanage, and has a great love of small animals, especially the furry kind.
He hasn’t, however, gotten any closer to getting the strange child to tell him their name in the weeks since they’ve met, so he decides that if they want to be anonymous then he’ll just have to call them A. He thinks it’s only fitting, if they’re going to be his friend, that he claims them in such a way. A and B. Yes, he likes the way that sounds very much.