paper clips

[i am sorry for starting a new story while all of you guys are wanting updates on other stories... but this idea came to me during class - it was originally an assignment - and i liked it so... here you go: paper clips]

“Children!” Mr. Hahn’s voice carried across the old house, echoing down hallways and drifting up to the third floor. He smiled as he heard footsteps pattering up and down the wooden staircases, and one by one they came into view. First, December, her raven hair wild as she emerged from behind the kitchen door; Reynard came second, smiling as he came out of the staircase. Draven, December’s twin, was third to answer Mr. Hahn’s call, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, head bobbing to the music he constantly had blasting in his ears, in such a manner that anyone who knew him knew that he wished to be left alone.

Mr. Hahn ran a hand through his hair, the other motioning for them all to be seated. Reynard’s hands were in his pockets, no doubt reaching for something to fiddle with, as was a nervous habit of his. His fingers wrapped themselves around a pile of paperclips, and he pulled them out, immediately twisting them into different shapes, chaining them together, and running his fingers over their cold metal surface. He could see that Mister Hahn had a rough, long night, due to the bags under his eyes, obviously signs of lack of sleep, though he had tried to cover it up by drinking numerous cups of coffee, as Reynard could tell from the glazed over look in Mister Hahn’s eyes, the stains on his jacket, and the jittery movements of his hands as he swept them across his desk.

In, around, over, under, twist that end to the side… the small contraption in his hands began to take form as Mister Hahn sat down, beginning to speak, although his voice came out hoarse and wavering. He had just woken up, having had slept at his desk all night, a fact Reynard could detect from the spot of grease adjacent to Mister Hahn’s chair, the same grease that shined now on his hair – gel from the pharmacy down the street, which was of poor quality and therefore left the mark on the desk.

“There has been… a large robbery at the bank down town, children. Though, Reynard, you probably already knew that, due to your freakishly accurate observance of most things.” All the chestnut-haired boy could do at this statement was nod – he rarely needed to come to these meetings, for he had an unexpressed opinion that they were about trivial things that any being could easily have known, if they simply observed their surroundings. December and Draven stared at the boy in amused amazement, for they had witnessed his account of his surroundings, almost psychically, numerous times.

“What is the point of alerting us of that, Hahn?” The twins always addressed their mentor by his last name, never with any occupation or surname; simply Hahn.

“Well, Springer,” Mister Hahn quickly grew annoyed with the fact that they addressed him only by his last name, and therefore did the same with them, “you all are the most intelligent teens I have ever met, and I do believe that if we scan the tapes – which, December, you can easily access due to your amazing computer skills – we can find who the culprit was.” A small metal creature now laid in Reynard’s hands, its silvery eyes staring up at the boy in frozen curiosity.

“So, why can’t we simply alert the constable, and let them do their jobs, not us?” Draven questioned, his headphones now swinging in his hands. The teen was an expert with various weapons, which allowed them to have defense in case of danger. His hands were jittery now, a sign to Reynard that he was itching to get back to his training, which he could see he was obviously occupied with previously, due to the sweat stains on his shirt and the dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Because, Draven, we have reasons to believe that the constable may have played a role in this.” The paperclip animal fell into Reynard’s sweatshirt pocket, out of his hands, and he stormed out of the room, intent on asking his father the meaning of this.

His father, the constable.

-

“What has driven you this far mad, father? What is the meaning of this?” Reynard rarely raised his voice, but when he did he had a great reason too - this reason was as great as any other. His family had been borne into a league of great mathematical and intellectual legends, and his father was ruining that image by leading a ring of criminals.

How did Reynard know all this simply by eyeing the man he called his father? Simple:

A new tattoo had been emblazoned onto his father’s sinewy shoulder, a circle with weaves intercrossing the center - in the middle lay a series of Greek letters, which Reynard recognized as the word anarchist. Also, his father’s uniform, once clean and crisp, was now stained with odd and frightening red markings, ones that the teenage boy realized were blood by merely standing within a few meters of him; the smell of blood emanated off of him. His father had also gained some muscle, intellectual assets, and had increased the speed of his reflexes during Reynard’s time away at Mister Hahn’s, which led him to believe without a doubt that his father had developed some criminal hobbies while he was away.

“Do you really wish to know why I started robbing banks, dear son?” the way his father said the words disgusted Reynard. “Because, a psychopath deemed it fit for him to take you away to his so-called “Academy” with only four students to teach you to become more of a freak! How will that gain us money, by throwing it away on the so called “education” you claim to gain? It won’t, and so I found an easy way to acquire the very thing that keeps our generation alive - taking it from those who squander it.” Reynard’s deep, brown-red eyes widened at every word his father said, and he shook his head in disapproval.

“This is insane...” he said quietly, not meeting his father in the eyes as his hands fiddled with the paperclip cat he had fished out of his sweatshirt pocket.

Reynard always had three things with him: a huge sweatshirt, something to tinker with, and his red Vans. He never wore shorts unless absolutely necessary, and his chestnut hair was always swept to the left side of his face, seemingly covering his left eye - however, it did not. His eyes were always flitting around the room, always looking for something wrong or out of place. Like now, for example; his eyes landed on his father’s poisonous eyes, and he braced himself so that his fight-or-flight response would have a proper stance to work from.

“What did you say?” the guttural voice seemed to growl from his father’s figure, and Reynard dropped the small paperclip animal into his pocket again, before biting his lip in fear; however, he did not move or show any other sign that he was afraid of the towering man in front of him.

“I said, this is insane, father. I shall have no part in this. I should tell somebody of this, and I should tell the police immediately. However, I will give you one week to renounce this terrible ‘job’ you have taken up in my absence.” Reynard spun on one foot, leaving his trembling father behind him, and strode out the door, his eyes on his father through the reflection on the mirror the entire time.