Note: To anyone affected by what's been going on in the world, especially what happened in Nice yesterday, my thoughts and prayers are with you.
Lately my chapters have been barely pushing 2,000 words, so you'll be pleased to know that today's chapter is over 3,000 words.
PREVIOUSLY ON THE CLASSIX: Emeray, Till, Lex, and Sarah went to lunch. It was subpar at best. And then to spruce up the chapter I added the DEFED threat about Jack & Jill in the ongoing saga of creepy nursery rhymes and the Famoux. On that nursery rhyme note, it has also come to my attention that DEFED's identity has been revealed. Surprise . . . it's Melanie Martinez.
Dollhouse? More like Fishbowl.
(To anyone who expressed confused, Melanie Martinez is an artist with songs mainly about childlike things, such as dollhouses or nursery rhymes. She reminds people of DEFED, but she's definitely not making a fanfic appearance here any time soon.)
emeray
All throughout the drive uptown, the recurring word Norax used to address our new house was hideaway. "You're going to feel so at home at the hideaway," she'd tell us, twirling her finger in the air. I wasn't sure what the gesture was supposed to represent, but she used it again and again regardless.
After an hour, she perked up in her seat. "The hideaway is just up this street. I can't wait for you to see it."
But we didn't need to go any further to see it. In fact, we didn't need to be anywhere within a few miles of it to be able to see it with absolute distinction.
Using the word hideaway to address the colossal castle that now stands before me seems a bit like an oxymoron. The house sits upon a huge expanse at the top of a hill––a skyscraper in its own right, crafted to look like an old mansion. It wouldn't take many guesses for someone to assume that it belongs to the Famoux.
We situate ourselves in front of it, Classix and Fanatix, lined up side by side like a class of kids waiting for recess. Wordless for a minute, we take our oxymoron in as best as we can. This proves to be a challenge––facing it directly, you can barely catch the fullness of it's unprecedented grandeur.
Dwarfing the many cottage-like dwellings squatted along the edge of the grounds, our castle can likely be seen from the furthest buildings in the city. Thick green vines snake up the exterior of first few floors, breaking away to reveal an expanse of gothic stone and mortar. The top is a shade of ebony, appearing to me like wax poured over the drum towers and parapets and bastions.
Acres upon acres of snow-capped grounds span around the structure and down the gradual decline of the hillside. The scene looks somewhat ghostly in its vast emptiness. I have no doubt in my mind that the spring sings a different tune; closing my eyes, I picture grassy fields and flowers in abundance.
But today it is white, stark––as cold and never-ending as the mansion itself.
Turning away from the snow, my eyes fall again on the Famoux's new place. A castle of imperial proportions, placed right in the middle of quaint residential neighborhoods for the elite of Betnedoor.
So much for hiding away.
To my right, Gerald exhales slowly, agreeing with my thoughts. "This isn't so much of a hideaway as it is a showcase of total Famoux power, don't you think? I'm surprised there isn't a drawbridge and moat at the bottom of this mound."
"Norax wouldn't add a moat," I whisper back, glancing over at him. "I think she wants people to walk right up to it––to see how great and amazing it is."
"You're not wrong there. I mean, that's what the Fanatix is all about: Making the Famoux accessible to the public." He scratches his nose. "Guess it never hurts to show the kids how big your house is when you're trying to make friends."
"I know it's a lot to take in," shouts Norax from the front door. "When you're done looking at the outside, I'd love for everyone to go into one of the sitting areas for some information from Carstan and I."
As they wave for us to follow them inside, Norax and her son paint a picture of near perfect equivalence. Feet firm on the ground, each holds a glimmering silver clipboard packed with lists and notes planning out our days, our lives. They each tap a foot in unison, which is probably some sort of habit that runs in their family. Even more, they both are wearing black––Norax in a knee-length dress thin like a pencil, and Carstan in slacks and a cotton button-up. If I blink quick enough, their clothes blend right into the ebony doors, leaving only their heads and their hair.
Their black clothes remind me of the pajamas set out for me last night. DEFED didn't need to sign their name for me to know they were from them; the hidden gold trim on the inside was identical to the foreboding black and gold envelopes they've sent us on numerous occasions.
A shiver runs down my back picturing the tag.
Jack and Jill went up the hill . . .
"What do you say?" Race asks aloud, interrupting my thoughts. Both I and the other ten of us lean forward to look at his face as he continues, "Why don't we go check out what the castle has to offer?"
His member Sam steps forward immediately, eagerness visible in his step. I heard from his interview with Ansel that this was what he was most excited about with becoming a Fanatix––sharing in the ritz and glamor of the Famoux lifestyle.
"Hell yeah," he says.
With Sam and Race taking the lead, the rest of us follow toward the doors. I keep my eyes trained on the cobblestones that make up the driveway the whole way up.
Over the years of our civilization, Delicatum's archeologists and scientists have managed to uncover quite a few lost ruins of palaces from the world before us. In some special cases, they've been able to digitally recreate what these palaces might've looked like in their height, which is captured in a photograph and sent from the labs to schools everywhere. They always used to leave me in total awe when we'd view them in our history classes––the beauty, the detail, the ordered structure.
But in all my years of studying those palaces, every single one of them pales in comparison to the opulence within our hideaway mansion.
Gaping posthaste over the place as we walk to the sitting area, I notice somewhere around five other perfectly suitable sitting areas on the first floor that Norax could've chosen, each with different colored wallpapers and decorations and furniture to relax in. Why the Classix and Fanatix require so many rooms with couches and tables, I can't quite configure. As we take our seats on velvet couches, I wonder to myself just how many fully-stocked kitchens a place like this might have.
"Welcome, everyone." Norax taps her nails against her clipboard. "I hope from what you've seen so far that you're finding your new living arrangements suitable."
"More than suitable," says Chapter. "I mean, it looks like this place could house the entire city and still have extra rooms left over."
"You may have noticed the size, yes," she says. "With so many of you now needing constant security both inside and outside, an entire wing of the mansion is dedicated entirely to your bodyguards."
An entire wing for bodyguards still doesn't explain the multitude of sitting areas I've seen, but Norax treats it as an end all, be all explanation about the size of our new house. In truth, I'm starting to become more and more sure by the look on Norax's face that the mansion's immensity is a result of the rumors I've heard that the Famoux are dwindling in power and income. Creating something this colossal in the midst of much hatred toward us is a spectacle to be seen of our dominance.
And if there's one thing I'm positive of, it's that Norax has never been too shy to assert her dominance over anything.
As I consider this, she goes on. "Furthermore, I want to make sure that we are continuously amping up our protective measures, so I'm assigning one bodyguard to each Fanatix member, and two to each member of the Classix."
"Wait." Elle, Chapter's member, crinkles her nose. "I thought you said we were all equals? What makes them more special?"
"Two of us have already been shot, genius," Till mutters to herself. It's too quiet for everyone to catch, but I manage to hear it, meeting her eyes as she finishes. She offers me a shrug, so as to say, "Well, it's true."
Norax doesn't put it quite as harshly. "Dear, we've received a great enough volume of threats and . . . incidents to put the Classix on a bit higher level of alert. You should feel very lucky that you only need one bodyguard with you."
Elle's narrowed eyes changed dramatically at the word incidents. I gather she finally recalled the reason we needed new members in the first place.
"Anyway," Norax continues, "My son and I have scheduled plenty activities to keep all of you occupied for the next month or so. Carstan?"
He clears his throat. "Yeah, that's right. Um, since we haven't figured out yet what the Fanatix are going to be doing for their own specialized careers, we thought it would be very beneficial if––"
"––if the Classix should mentor their members in their own fields––"
"––so they can test out that occupation and see if it suits them as well."
"Which, to state clearly, means you'll be taking your new members with you to help out and participate in your projects."
The back-and-forth dialogue between Carstan and Norax inspires a pounding in the back of my head. It never occurred to me just how similar their two voices sound––the voice that tore me down and the voice that lifted me up again.
The fact that I ever thought them to be completely different entities makes my stomach churn.
Norax points at a spot on her clipboard. "Kaytee, you'll be taking Lacey and her children with you into the studio tomorrow."
"I'm working on a new album now?" she asks.
"You told us you wanted some studio time, remember?" It's clear that this is a total lie she's conjuring on the spot. She smiles chipper, which is becoming her telltale sign of Go along with it.
After years of faking her relationship with Cartney, Kaytee knows better than any of us how to go along with something. "Oh––oh yeah, of course. This change of scenery is making it hard to remember anything from the Metropolix, huh?"
"That's all right, dear." She offers a consoling look. "Moves are always frazzling for everyone. Now, Till––you'll be taking Sarah with you for some production meetings for the new Riot film."
Half of the Fanatix in the room squeal at once.
"I love the Riot series!" exclaims Sarah shrilly. She shakes Till's shoulder. "I didn't know there was gonna be another so soon!"
Till hides a pained expression. She only signed off for another few installments of the series to boost her spot on the Volxsturm. Those kinds of hasty decisions we made to save our skin spur of the moment appear to just now be representing themselves to us out of the woodwork.
"You'll love a good production meeting," she says sarcastically. "A bunch of guys in suits kindly asking me to fund the film for a quick nod as Executive Producer."
"That sounds so wonderful," says Sarah dreamily. She sounds completely un-ironic about it, too, which makes Till snort.
"Calsifer," Norax proceeds. "Since Emeray is going to be filming, you and Sam are going to be attending a few meetings and interviews for the Algus & Alondra premiere coming up. We're already arranging a pre-screening of the film so Sam can answer a few questions with you if needed. That leaves Chapter, Elle, Emeray, Gerald, Lexington, and presumably Cartney Kirk on the set of Onward Train."
Chapter whistles. "That sounds like a full house for one set."
"It might be crowded, but being on a real movie set is going to be a very enriching experience for the Fanatix members," says Carstan. He glances over in my direction, but I look down before I can see what he settles on. "I know for one that Lexington has an interest in acting, correct?"
"Yeah," confirms Lex, her voice small.
Norax scribbles something in her notes. "Oh, that's absolutely fabulous! I should contact Onward Train's director––perhaps we can find a small roll for her somewhere, or have one written in. How wonderful would it be for a movie with a Fanatix member to come out so soon?"
Carstan agrees, making a note about it in his clipboard as well. Lex looks as if she could faint on the spot.
"In other news, a special Fanatix edition of The X is currently in development," says Norax. "No plans on that are definite yet, but we know for sure that we want there to be multiple printings. In addition to a cover with everyone on it together, we want each Fanatix member to have their own. That way you can all experience the prestige of having a cover with The X."
I elbow Gerald, whispering, "Did you ever think that you'd end up getting to be on the cover of a magazine?"
"You've forgotten that I've already been on the cover of a dozen tabloids as your secret lover, dear." He contains a laugh. "I think I'm a veteran by now."
Norax closes the meeting with a half-hearted pep talk about how bright and beautiful the Fanatix's new lives are going to be. It all sounds comparable to the kind of pep talks she used to give me when I first joined––for a moment I almost think she's about to start calling them lumerpas.
The Classix and the Fanatix's bedrooms are separated in two hallways on the third floor. As Norax leads us up the stairs, she informs us that the rooms are all equal in size, but distinct in their inner styles. This means that the walls are painted different colors depending on the member, and various pieces of furniture have been brought in to match our own personal styles (which have apparently been studied by the Famoux's own professional interior decorators that I had no idea existed).
The end result, she tells us, is two hallways full of uniqueness, gathered together in one house and celebrated. She seems, as of late, to be very fixed on making every word she says a quotable headline.
The interior designer who was in charge of me must've noticed the door I came out of on Ansel's show and ran with that, because the walls of my new room are completely covered in long, rectangular pieces of copper. The color and sheen of the wallpaper makes the molding along the fireplace pop, adding a rustic feeling to the originally elegant design. Beneath my feet, the floorboards are stained black. All of the furniture is a shade of bright white.
I blink, eyes adjusting. There's so much contrast between the walls, the floor, and the fluffy comforter on the bed that it's hard to absorb at once. I move to the sitting area is situated in front of the fireplace; a mixture of copper chairs, black cushions, and white pillows. A large bookshelf stands proudly off to the left, boasting about a hundred different titles. On the other side of the fireplace is a pearly white vanity large enough to double as a desk.
Black. White. Copper. Three recurring colors in my room, eerily close to the same color scheme DEFED loves so dearly.
"I found Chapter already. Bet you can guess his room color."
Turning toward the familiar voice, I find none other than Cartney Kirk leaning slant against my doorframe. He holds in one hand a bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, and in the other a styrofoam cup.
Odd as the scene may seem, seeing Cartney with flowers and coffee has become a consistent, recurring sight these past months. In fact, seeing him right now calms me to some degree––something about the regularity of this picture in a place as new as the hideaway.
"Maroon," I offer.
"Hit the nail on the head."
"What did Chapter say when you ran into him?"
"Just to say hello to you for him. I know––disappointing. I was really hoping for that long-awaited fist fight."
"That's never going to happen, Cartney."
But I'm almost jealous of him––getting to just run into Chapter with everyone who could be lurking around this house, no assumptions made. It feels like it's been years since I last got time to be around him without someone around the corner, breathing down our necks or trying to interpret what secrets could arise from a painfully casual conversation about the weather, about work. Even though Cartney, Lex, Gerald, and Elle will be watching our every move like a hawk both on and off camera, I still can't wait to start up again with filming Onward Train. It's nice to have a script that's literally asking me to be in love with Chapter Stones.
Cartney walks across the room with the bouquet extended out for me to grab, holding his to-go cup in both hands when I take the flowers. "As usual, Buchan demanded I bring some flowers for the occasion," he says. "Apparently I'm not allowed to leave the house if I'm not carrying some sort of gift for you to show all the paparazzi that I'm the perfect boyfriend."
"And here I thought you bringing flowers for me everyday came from your heart. My mistake."
He grins. "This form of dandelion I've brought for you today is formally called a narcissus. Just so you know where I'm at with things coming from the heart."
I set the flowers down on a copper coffee table. The stems poking out of the plastic wrapping are still damp from the florist, and droplets of water start dripping over onto the floor in an instant.
"You should probably start bringing them in vases," I comment.
"Let's not get picky, Ray."
For a moment I rack my brain for something else to say, but then I remember the reason why he's here. "Tell me about DEFED," I say.
Immediately, Cartney's face blanches. "Where to start?"
"The threat from before Ansel's show. What did they send you?"
"They sort of . . ." It fades off as he looks over his shoulder cautiously––a bit paranoid, even. "Um, can we talk about this somewhere else?"
"Why?"
"Even though your door's closed and everything, this whole hallway feels just a little claustrophobic to me."
"Well, there are probably over a hundred rooms in this mansion to choose from," I say. "Where would you like to go?"
"I was thinking somewhere back in the city, actually."
"Back in Colburn?"
"Is that a problem?"
I give him a look. "But aren't you staying here tonight so you don't have to go back there by yourself?"
"It's not late. We'll make it back before dinner. I just––I don't think we should be talking about DEFED here. People could be listening."
"So where would we go?"
"I'm thinking the soundproof booth in my studio."
"Cartney."
"C'mon." His neck strains. "How about we stop by Wes Tegg's too? I know they've missed you there."
"But I just got here."
He takes a long sip from his cup, tipping it over to its side so the rest of the contents pour into his mouth. When he's finished, he shakes the cup at me.
"And I need a refill."
xxx
What do you think about the new house? Emeray's room? Tell me your thoughts.
I've been told by some readers that Famoux is something that's dependable and constant in their lives that's always a Friday away, and I don't that take for granted. I'm taking responsibility and making sure to have these chapters ready early so I don't miss Fridays too much anymore. (Especially with college coming up next month. GAH.)
I just don't want you to EVER think I'm blowing you off when I don't post until really late in the day. Whenever I do that I feel so paranoid that you're gonna see the late update and be like, "Whatever" and never come back to read it. I don't want to lose you. This is me being clingy.
I use GIFS way too much in these updates. Honestly, HELP ME.
Okay. I hope you have a wonderful Friday. Any plans for the weekend? I recommend getting a donut sometime, whenever you can. Treat yourself.
You had to know that GIF was coming.
Remember: Sticks and Stones may break your bones, but haters make you famoux. Stay classy, stay classix.