Princess Mononoke Fan Fiction ❯ A Legend of the Past & a Savior of the Future ❯ Nathan ( Chapter 1 )

A Legend of the Past, a Savior From the Future

Disclaimer: I don't own Princess Mononoke, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Note to readers: As you read this fic, you will probably keep asking yourself, "what's this gotta do with Princess Mononoke?" before any snap judgments are made let me verify what's going on. This story is basically a rewritten version of Princess Mononoke. Only in this version a person from our time period will be thrown into original storyline, thereby creating a new one. The first two or so chapters will move a little slowly but i assure you, that it'll start to get a lot more interesting as the story proceeds.

Now that that's all squared away, I leave you to enjoy the first chapter of my very long Princess Mononoke fan fiction.



Chapter one

Nathan felt himself shutter from the inside out as his dark eyes lowered to the graded finals paper in front of him. The three blunt lines of red seemed to shoot out at him the longer he looked at the letter they created. An 'F', he though to himself with a silent grumble. Figures.

Mark, his best friend leaned over from the neighboring desk, and grinned slyly. "I told you, not to watch that Anime marathon last night." he whispered. "But no... You had to discard my warning, and watch it anyway."

"Keep talking Marko," replied Nathan bitterly. "Just keep on talking."

Mr. Dimario sat back down at his desk, and eyed the classroom through his thick spectacles. "I'd just like to say that never in my life have I seen better test scores." His cheery round face suddenly curled into a slight frown. "Despite the fact some of you, whom shall remain unnamed, failed miserably, I want you all to know that I'm very pleased right now with your progress."

Nathan rolled his eyes, and chuckled lightly. But not light enough to be heard by the Sixty year old Veteran.

"Something humorous, Mr. Benski?" Mr. Dimario grumbled, clearly annoyed by the sixteen year old's lack of respect. Especially since it had become a daily occurrence.

Nathan looked at the old history teacher and said. "No sir, Mr. D!"

Harrled Dimario glared at the rebellious youth sitting at the desk in the fifth, center row. "I want to see you after class Benski."

Nathan looked at the history teacher, and then back down at the 'F' on his test. Great.

The bell finally rang when the clock hit 10:15 AM. While the other students filed out through the door, Nathan sat motionlessly in his desk, not for one minute taking his eyes off the test in front of him.

Dimario approached the youth steadily. When he was standing just a few inches away from him, he brought a thick hand down of the scratched up surface of the desk. A loud slam echoed through the room, causing Nathan to jump back in shock. "What the hell is wrong with you boy?!" Dimario shouted.

'Silence'

" I asked you a question, and dammit, I expect an honest to God answer!"

'Silence'

Dimario was losing his patients as well as his temper. "Look, Nathan. I'm gonna be frank with you." He leaned closer to the teenager, and stared into his young eyes. "You've completely failed History. You were given three weeks notice before Finals, which should have given you plenty of time to prepare. If you had actually studied the material for once, you might actually have gotten a somewhat decent grade."

Nathan looked up at the older man and said. "I tried my best sir but-"

"Oh cut the crap Benski," spat Dimario. "You're just a Goddamn slacker. And if you think those pencil scratches you call 'drawings' are gonna get you anywhere in life, boy, you'd better look in to getting a really good cat-scan."

Nathan reach his hand down towards the thick covered sketch book leaning against the side of his desk and gripped it protectively. "Can I go now sir?"

The old teacher moved away from the desk, but kept his grayish eyes on the youth. "Yeah, get out of here," he muttered, making a dismissing gesture with his hand

Slinging a heavy backpack over his shoulder, Nathan quickly vacated the class room and dashed out into the hall. As he made his way through the crowded corridor, he felt the blood rising his his veins, and he shoved passed the people that wandered into his path.

• • •

"So old Nazi-killer Dimario gave you the old speech again?" asked Mark before putting another spoon-full of chili into his hungry mouth. He swallowed loudly. "What is that, five times this year?"

"Three," corrected Nathan blandly. He made a few more strokes with his pencil as he continued to draw the strange figure in his sketch book. "But I'm not exactly sure."

"Worried about what your grade's gonna be?"

Nathan brushed away the eraser bits from the paper, and blew lightly on it. "Not really."

"Oh come on," retorted Mark. "You're not the least bit worried about flunking out? God knows I am."

"The reason I don't worry, is because I have a philosophy."

"And that is?"

"Every little event has a purpose. And I feel that this failed history course is one of those little events."

"So you're saying that no matter what happens in life, It all ends up being for the best?"

Nathan took a sip of his soda. "Exactly."

"I was right. That Voltaire really does mess around with the old noggin." He looked over at what his friend had been drawing. "What's that?"

Nathan stopped drawing, and looked at his small sketch of something that looked cross between an angle, and a Cheetah. The angle-cheetah's body was thin and skelital-like, and covered from head to toe in strange tattoos. Wide paws for hands brandished a vicious curved claw in each of it's six fingers while two enormous wings, jagged and bony were spread out like two doors of a gate. The pointed face that still needed to be shaded in, held a beautiful yet sinister aspect to it. "Just something I thought up." he answered quietly.

"Pretty nasty looking if you ask me," exclaimed Mark as he eyed the perfectly rendered shapes of the angle-cheetah's bare chest. "You still having those dreams?"

"Yeah. I'm starting to that they're either byproducts of some drug test my parents volunteered me for while I was asleep of just the result of living a fifteen hour day schedule." He continued to sketch. "I'm slowly leaning towards the a neutral between the two."

Mark shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder how you manage to live with parents like yours and still think the way you do."

"Maybe I'm Just..." Nathan trailed off when she stepped into his view. Caitlin Taylor; the most popular girl in Oakwood high. Only fifteen, and yet she still had every guy in the school drooling all over her like dogs. He was one of them. Only he had managed to keep his hormones in check up to this point. Besides, talking Casanova to a girl was just one of those things he had absolutely no skill in.

Nathan was so lost in Caitlin's image, that he was too late to notice a muscular hand snatching away his drawing book. He jerked around, and found himself staring into the the angular face of Ronnie Barkdon, the high school Quarter Back. Oh shit, he thought to himself with pained expression

"Hey, Binki!" said Ronnie violently. "I thought I told you that Caitlin Taylor was off-limits to losers like you."

"Must have slipped my mind Ronnie," returned Nathan. Though he was not much in the way of an athlete, he had never been one to take abuse from people like Ronnie.

Ronnie looked at the drawing in his hand and smirked. "This is pretty good, Binki," he said. "Man what a set this bitch has!" He looked down at Nathan. "But you know what it needs?"

The dark haired youth was almost afraid to ask. "What?"

"Color!" Ronnie picked up Mark's bowl of half eaten chilly and tipped it to one side. The chili oozed onto the drawing book, covering the unfinished sketch of the angel-cheetah in greasy, red mush. He then closed the book, dropped it to the white, tile floor and stomped on it with a heavy foot. "There, I think you owe me a little gratitude, Binki."

Nathan could only stare at the smelly, sloppy mess on the floor that had once been his drawing book. The drawing book he had been keeping for the last two years. He heard the hysterical laughs of a dozen other students around the cafeteria, as he looked up at the red haired quarter-back in front of him. "Thanks," he muttered, as he picked the chili covered drawing book from off the floor.

Ronnie laughed and rustled Nathan's hair roughly, "Any time," he chuckled, and walked off to join the rest of his friends.

Mark placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and looked down at the mess he was holding. "How bad is it?"

Nathan glanced over at Mark then back at his sketch book. With one swift movement, he tossed the bundle of chili covered paper into the nearest trash can. "Does that answer your question, mark?"

• • •

The rest of the school day was for the most part slow and uneventful. At least in Nathan's opinion. As he progressed through his last four classes, he learned that he had flunked both Geometry and chemistry and had just nearly passed English. The only class which he had managed to pull an 'A' in was advanced Japanese. For one reason or another it was the only class that came easy to him. It was a strange occurrence in his academic life that seemed to repeat itself every year.

Nathan Benski, was not what most people would consider to be a typical art-geek. He just didn't fit the description. He didn't dress the part, nor did he act the part, which always seemed to make him feel somewhat out of place. In all actuality, he seemed to act less like an artist and more like a cynical philosopher from some back alley district in San Francisco. Of course, being that he had spent the first decade of his life contributed greatly to that aspect of him.

As he and his friend, Mark Sofnic walked along on of the many sidewalks of their quiet suburban town, Nathan continued to quietly stew over the loss of his sketch book.

"Look, you can't let it get to you, Nate," Mark said. "I know you, you'll probably have another book halfway filled up by the end of the week."

Nathan glanced at mark and shot him a glacial look. "You just don't get it, do you."

"Get what?"

He frowned and adjusted his backpack so it would fit more comfortably on his shoulder. "The book's just a piece of it. You're right, I probably could fill up a new one in a week."

Mark cocked an eyebrow. "So what're you so tick off about?"

"Everything!" Nathan snapped.

"Everything?"

"Yes," he continued. "Everything."

"Would you care to elaborate on that?" Mark asked.

"I told you about that summer trip to Japan my parents shoved down my throat two months ago, right?" Mark nodded "I just learned that I'll be playing the half-assed peon to some jerk-off botanist my dad knew back in collage." He made a snorting sound, then spat out a slimy wad of spit onto the street to his left. "Eight weeks of following this guy around in a fucking lab, while he plays frankinstien with a few dozen plants."

For a long moment, Mark could only stare at his friend. "Man, you really are on the rag today, Nate!" Just then a hand slapped the back of his had. "Oww! what the hell was that for?"

Nathan smirked. "That was in bad taste, Marko." and answered, "Even for you."

"Yeah, I can't believe I forgot about your obsession for showing girls respect."

"It was just a sick remark," Nathan retorted. "Let's just leave it at that."

For awhile the two teenagers just walked in silence. it was when they stopped at a cross-walk that Mark reinitiated the original conversation. "So why exactly are you going on this trip to Japan anyway?"

Nathan Shrugged. "My parents think it'll be a nice educational experience for me," he said "I truthfully think it's their way of punishing me for pursuing the artistic path in life. My dad was able to talk his old alma mater frat-buddy into making me a temporary lab assistant. So come this Saturday, I'll be flying a coach-class flight to Godzilla country."

"At least you'll be getting out of dead end Oakwood for eight weeks," Mark replied.

"Would you care to go in my place?"

"Sorry, no-can-do, pal," said mark, shaking his head. "I hate traveling."

The crossing signal suddenly switched to 'walk'. Stepping onto the street Mark and Nathan proceeded towards the next block.

"Besides," Mark continued. "you're the one who knows the language."

• • •

It was 5:00 by the time Nathan finally got home. His house was what one would normally expect for an upper middle-class family to live in. White walls, beige furniture, and glass coffee table standing just a few feet away from the high definition television set, and all the other things the typical yuppie would need to feel complete. Nathan had never thought much of the place. As long as the house he lived in had four primary walls along the perimeter and a complete roof he would be happy. But this house, this thing that his family had fabricated from their wallets seemed less like a home and more like a giant display case.

Of course what else should I expect from the baby-boomer spawn of our lovely capitalist society? He always seemed to ask himself.

And there was Nathan's parents. His dad worked as an advertisement consultant at some small time software company, and his mom owned one of the three law firms in Oakwood. For awhile, Nathan couldn't quite figure out why he just didn't seem to reflect his parent's workaholic personalities. That was until they finally told him that he was adopted.

What would normally cause a kid to go nuts turned out to be more of a relief. It wasn't that Nathan didn't like his 'parents', he just did relate to them all that well. Daily routine of interaction was all by lengthily. There was a 'hello', and then a 'how was school" which was then followed by lethargic reply. And then it was off to seclusion Nathan went. This lasted until it was time to sit down to dinner, where the same routine was usually repeated.

After managing to suffer through the meal and the redundant dialog of the conversation, Nathan quickly made his way back to his room, locking the door behind him. Because he wasn't feeling in a web surfing mood at that moment, he skipped the seven hour long computer work session for that night and went straight to bed.

As he lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't help but wander as to what to expect when he finally reached Japan. In truth, he really wasn't against the idea. He had always said that in order to truly embrace life you had to take hold of it with both hands. Of course, sayings like that usually came about after consuming five cokes in a period of ten minutes. But despite the amount of disdain he had expressed towards the idea, he knew that it would probably be one of the only means of escape he would have from this life of his. What would be waiting for him, he didn't know. What he did know was this; he had to away from Ronnie, he had to get away from Mr. Dimario, and he just had to get away from his parents. But what he knew must of all was that he had to get away from Oakwood more than anything else.







So there you have it, the first chapter. Like I said before the first few chapters will be kind of slow. But the story will gradually increase in terms of in plot. Please review this, because I'd really like to know how you people like the story thus far. comments, suggestions, even criticisms are welcome