❖ PROTECT MISS COOPER ❖ (D/Job)

Fiore really was the worst.

It wasn't like other countries didn't have their own problems or excessively high rates of crime, but it seemed that in places with magic did the most atrocious of schemes surface. Murder, assassination, assault, or any other violent crime seemed to skyrocket in places where magic was most prevalent, and it was easy to understand why. It was a powerful gift bestowed by someone, something, but was easy to abuse. And because of it, people died.

Nico was determined that he was different. He was different from the people he saw in wanted ads and behind bars. There was something that made them other from him. He wouldn't let them do as they please. Or, that was the plan.  He had to get stronger first, after all! It seemed that menial tasks like this were stepping stones to everyone's path to greatness! Or, that is what he told himself.

The roses and lilies were beautiful. There they were, all neatly packed underneath loose brown soil that smelled of manure, lined up in rows with a spacing between another so exact that they were all identical by the millimeter. Leaning over the small white picket fence was Nico, wearing a bright red shirt, cargo shorts, and worn down tennis shoes. He was wearing a large green backpack, every pocket and slot filled with stuff. The young man looked like a hiker, smiling at the roses and lilies.

"Can I help you, young man?" said the Old Ms. Cooper, rising from her knelt position and dusting her dirty gloved hands off of the soil that caked it. Nico perked up from his viewing without the surprise one would normally acquaint with the motion. There was no sense of urgency or alert to him as if he had known she was there.

"Ah, no! It's just that your flowers are so pretty that I just couldn't help myself. . ." Nico's cheeks blushed, his sunny grin appearing.

The Old Ms. Cooper looked amused and nodded with mild approval, a small, weak simper forming on her lips with the sweetness of a senior citizen. "These roses are right from Rose Garden, you know. The reddest roses around in my garden." she said. Ms. Cooper didn't appear to be boasting in a way that was obnoxious, but rather seemed to praise the roses themselves over the fact that they were in her garden. She looked at them affectionately. "Are you from around here, young man?"

Nico shook his head, smiling. "I come and go. I guess you could call me a hitchhiker of sorts! Oak Town really is a nice place to stop by 'n all, but I'm actually on my way to my next stop, so I need to get going!" he waved farewell to her and began to turn to walk away, but the Old Ms. Cooper had something different in mind.

"Oh, before you go, young man," Ms. Cooper walked over to him from her side of the white picket fence, a young rose in hand, "take this with you."

Nico's face flushed again, his eyes glittered with light when he saw the rose. "Really?!" he gently plucked the rose from her small, little fingers with both of his big, robust hands with genuine enthusiasm in his undertones. He raised it just below his nose and closed his eyes, "It smells wonderful! Thank you!"

There was a pause between them for a moment before the Old Ms. Cooper nodded and tugged at the seams of his shirt. "What's your name, young man?" she queried warmly.

Nico lit up again. "Nico! Nico Dixon!"

"Well Nico, be safe on your travels. Maybe come back and help me plant my tulips sometimes." the Old Ms. Cooper offered him, her voice maternal and strained.

"Of course I will!" Nico turned around to face her, taking both of his large hands and wrapping them around one of her own, nodding, "I promise I will!"

"Alright," they let go of each other's hands and bid their waving farewells, Nico's crescent motions much larger and profound than hers, "take care, sweetie."

________________

Later that afternoon, no more than an hour had passed since that exchange. Nico was watching Ms. Cooper continue to plant her roses from a secluded alleyway just further down the street. She would intermittendly go back inside her house for refreshments or for a towel to soak and dry her face clean of the mild layer of sweat covering it. This routine continued for a while, and Nico studied without pause. He would absentmindedly raise the rose to his nose again to smell its aroma or play with its harmless thorns between his thumbs and index fingers. He played and played until Ms. Cooper placed her tools into her old-fashioned iron pail and retired to her old pastel house for the day. But even then, Nico didn't move from the alley.

Every day for the next three days, both of them continued their routines. She would come out to continue gardening, and Nico would conveniently stop by around noon. On the second day, he finally stopped and helped her plant the tulips while Ms. Cooper baked cookies. And when they were done, Nico would bid her farewell and retreat to the same alleyway, playing the boquet of roses and tulips he had collected over the last forty-two hours.

When Nico retired to that alley, he would remain his normal self. He smiled at the flowers and even at his bags as he unpacked for snacks, even though there was nothing to smile about. However, sometimes he would look up at the rooftops and stop smiling, and sunniness and jovial air vanishing into thick, hateful bloodlust. It was eerie, and his amber gaze was far and distant, ravenous like a cat when they fixed their eyes onto some critter scrambling in the distance. Where was he looking? If you followed his line of sight, you would see nothing but sky or a deteriorating rooftop. He would stare and stare and then suddenly smile again, looking back to watch Ms. Cooper work again. Nico did this sporadically, especially at night.

When the third day came, the routine repeated until nightfall, and then suddenly all was well. He didn't have to stare at the sky any longer, and even he felt so relaxed that he almost felt no need to keep a guard up. But why? Why did he have to stare to begin with?

Every day and night, something, someone was watching Ms. Cooper. Someone with a presence nasty and malicious. He could sense it. Nico could feel it from the rooftops, and even time he felt it creeping closer, he stared, glared, and watched the roof with an unshifting gaze. Whoever had been pursuing the Old Ms. Cooper had known they were being watched, and had known better than to continue.

After that third night, Nico didn't stop by Ms. Cooper's house again, but he was sure that she might have expected him. So, thoughtfully, the jovial Nico Dixon left her a note wedged between a gap in her white picket fence as follows:

"Dear Ms. Cooper,"

"Thank you so much for what you've done for me these past couple of days. It's been very fun, and I appreciate all that you've given me. I'm leaving for the train this morning, but I didn't want to leave you without saying goodbye. I'm sorry I couldn't say it in person, but please keep me in your thoughts for my safe travels! - Nico D."

His handwriting was sloppy and the letters differed in size as the note continued, but it was filled with the light and joy typical of Nico. If you read it yourself, you couldn't help but smile. Still, Nico wondered, how could you target such an innocent soul? So pure of heart and harmless? Nico truly believed he did well these past few days, and his only regret would be having not slain the assassin or at least imprisoning them. Whatever the case, the assassin or whoever had been targeting her hadn't had the guts to continue, or whatever they were being paid to do such a thing was not enough for the paranoia they had endured during Nico's stake-out.

Fiore really was the worst. Someone had to step up. Someone had to say that enough was enough. And for the most part, many people had. They were ascended to prestige because of it. The Wizard Saints, Guildmasters, Rising Stars, and such. They had all done some great with their powers, something that many others exploited for their own gains. Nico idolized them and kept newspapers and Sorcerer Magazines that featured them as a kid, and even still as a young man today. He had no family, and if he fell today or tomorrow, or a month from now, there would be no one to catch him. No one would look for him, and no one would mourn. He was a nobody, but maybe he could help somebody.

Fiore really was the worst, but maybe he could leave it better than how he found it. No, he corrected himself mid-thought, he would leave it better than how he found it.