Chapter Text
“Rain against a window, sheets upon a bed; terrifying nurses whispering overhead.” - Anastasia: Broadway
His name was Elo. Elo, Elo, Elo, it was his now, his name. After a week of wandering aimlessly, he finally had a name of his own.
Well, he wasn’t quite wandering aimlessly. He knew what his aim was: to get to Burbank. When he said so, the head matron scoffed at him.
“No one’s leaving Warnerstock anytime soon,” she said, frowning at him like he was a big nuisance. “The borders are shut down.”
“Why?” Elo asked, hands on his hips, nose in the air.
“To stop people leaving, obviously. And wipe that look off your face, boy.”
“My name’s Elo.”
Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “For pity’s sake, go make yourself useful,” she snapped, waving him away.
Elo rolled his eyes, marching away with his head held high.
The orphanage was mostly okay, but it was obvious the staff were freaking out. He heard them muttering together about sudden budget cuts and lack of supplies; whatever they had was quickly dwindling as more and more kids arrived. All of them had lost their parents, or whatever guardians they’d had, in the recent invasion.
More facts to add to Elo’s ever-growing list.
Fact: they’d been invaded last week, by a man called Salazar.
Fact: King William and Queen Angelina were dead. (And this thought made Elo’s chest tighten, it made him feel sick.)
More facts: the borders were closed, no one was allowed in or out of Warnerstock for the foreseeable future. Elo was not his real name, it was a name chosen at random by one of their teachers, Marge. He didn’t know his name. He’d woken up on train tracks in Acme Falls, with not a clue as to who he was or how he’d gotten there. He didn’t know who his family was. The orphanage was quickly becoming crowded and their funds had been stopped by Salazar; the staff were waiting for him to decide what to do with them.
Well, Elo wasn’t entirely clueless, truth be told. He had his pendant.
He’d woken up with only a small bag of clothes and a pendant. The clothes were clearly his, they all fit him perfectly. As for the pendant, it was his one clue. On the back of his pendant were the words Together In Burbank.
Whoever had given the necklace to him must have loved him. It was beautiful: a little jewel-studded star on a thin gold chain, glittering whenever it caught the light.
Together In Burbank.
His family had to be in Burbank. At the very least, whoever had given him the necklace was in Burbank. But Elo was stuck in Warnerstock, and the matrons had taken what little money he’d had.
Every day, he looked at the globe in Marge’s classroom and stared at Burbank. He didn’t think it looked too far from Warnerstock. Not too far at all. He just had to figure out how to get there.
He was only at the orphanage for a few days when a man in red and gold arrived and went up to the head matron’s office. He had papers and they were up there talking for a long time. Some of the older kids sat at the top of the stairs and tried to listen in.
Elo stayed in the living room with most of the others and kept to the back of the room. Every instinct screamed at him to not let Salazar’s man see him. These people had invaded them and killed so many people; he couldn’t get the red snow from his mind. He didn’t want someone who could do that to look at him.
So he stayed where he was and played with the other kids. He could dimly hear the matron’s voice raising, though she quickly quietened down again.
Elo couldn’t imagine what would make her back down. The head matron was fierce and had a short temper, but it didn’t sound like she was doing much shouting now.
Eventually one of the older girls, a human named Violet crept back down the stairs. She looked worried, tugging on one of her braids.
“They’re still at it,” she said, announcing the obvious.
“What’s going on anyway?” a cat-boy named Tyler asked, lounging by the fire.
Violet shrugged. “Something about a new budget,” she said. “I think the new King’s stopping the money we used to get.”
Everyone got quiet then. Elo looked around and saw that everyone looked worried, biting their lips or looking away towards the windows, fidgeting uncomfortably.
Elo was missing his memories, he wasn’t stupid. No money meant no food.
He crouched against the wall, twisting the chain of his necklace around his hands, flipping the pendant around and around. Even when he’d first arrived, Marge had been grumbling about a lack of schoolroom supplies; she’d said the old budget was fine. Whatever it had been, it had been good and now King Salazar was taking it away too.
Elo hated him. He said so, and Violet frantically shook her head.
“Don’t let them hear you say that, Elo,” she warned in a whisper. “You’ll get into big trouble.”
“I don’t care,” Elo grumbled.
“You should,” Violet said. “You really should.”
The man didn’t leave for hours. When he did finally leave he didn’t spare anyone a second glance; he just marched right out the front door, climbed onto his waiting horse and left.
The head matron looked flustered, her chest heaving, her cheeks red with anger.
“Well,” she said briskly to everyone and no one. “That’s that. Our budget’s been cut- by more than half I might add.”
The staff all began to protest loudly, talking over each other.
“SHUT UP!” the matron yelled. She glared at the gathered staff and jerked her head towards the stairs. “In my office,” she ordered. “We’ll discuss it there.”
“What’re we gonna do?” Elo heard Marge whisper.
“We’ll think of something,” the head matron answered flatly. She went back upstairs, the adults all following in her wake. Some of them grumbled and complained, but much more quietly now. The rest just looked stunned.
“Not good,” Tyler said.
“No,” another boy named John said. “Not good at all.”
Elo held his necklace tight and tried to ignore the pit growing in his stomach.
Burbank, he reminded himself. You’re going to Burbank.
The very next day, the head matron called him upstairs. One of the gardeners (well, Elo was pretty sure he was a gardener- he sometimes trimmed the grass, but didn’t do much else) and one of the teachers were standing in one of the classrooms.
Elo instantly had a bad feeling about this.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, using the tone of voice that the other matrons and teachers told him off for. He clutched his necklace and held his head high. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Oh, Mr High And Mighty,” the teacher said in disapproval. “What have we told you about taking that tone with us?”
“Never mind that,” the head matron said. She was smiling, something Elo hadn’t seen her do yet. “Elo, you’re making friends here, aren’t you, dear?”
Dear?
He frowned at her. “Yes,” he said.
“And you wouldn’t want them to go hungry, would you?”
“Uuuhh, no, obviously.”
“Good boy,” the head matron said. “That’s a very pretty necklace.”
Heart sinking, Elo glanced at the door. “Thanks,” he said, edging away. “I should-” He broke off with a startled yelp when the gardener and teacher grabbed him by the arms.
“Get off me!” Elo shouted, kicking against them to no avail. “Let me go!”
“Come now, don’t be selfish, don’t you want to help your new little friends?” The head matron’s voice was sickeningly sweet. Elo’s heart was pounding, there was an odd rushing noise in his ears and his breathing hitched awkwardly.
“Stop it!” he screamed.
They held his arms tight, holding him in place, as the head matron tried to snatch his necklace. Elo twisted and kicked in their grip, trying to pull away. He knew, he just knew what would happen if they took his necklace: they’d take it away, they’d sell it, he’d never see it again.
It was his, it was his only clue, it was all he had.
They couldn’t have it.
Elo snarled, his blood boiling.
They couldn’t touch him.
This was his necklace, and they were not allowed to have it, they weren’t allowed to lay a hand on him.
And so Elo did the only thing he could think to do; he threw his head back and screamed at the top of his lungs.
“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!”
It was like the world screamed with him. The classroom immediately erupted into chaos around them. Power erupted from him, power he didn’t even know he had.
As he screamed, the windows in the room all shattered, exploding outwards. Anvils appeared from nowhere, crashing from the ceiling to the floor, nearly crashing through the floor into the rooms below entirely; one, two, three, four, five of them in quick succession.
Elo stomped his foot and the floor cracked underneath him. A big boot nearly the size of his head appeared and kicked the gardener square in the stomach. He jerked away, wheezing, and fell against the wall. The teacher had the good sense to flee, screaming, “God save us, he’s gone mad!”
All the while, Elo kept screaming. He screamed and screamed even as his throat began to ache, even though he was quickly starting to feel sick.
Together in Burbank, Together in Burbank, Together in Burbank.
He wouldn’t let them take this away from him.
“Stop that!” the head matron shrieked. She grabbed Elo roughly by the ears and raised her hand. “Stop that this instant, you stupid brat!” She brought her hand down sharply-
And stopped just short of slapping him. Elo’s voice cracked and he stopped screaming, sobbing in sudden exhaustion, though his eyes stayed dry. The matron looked at her own hand with wide eyes, like she wasn’t quite sure what it was. She gulped, she scowled and she grabbed Elo by the shoulders, shaking him harshly until his eyes rolled.
“What were you thinking!?” she demanded. “Are you trying to get us all killed?”
“You can’t have it,” Elo managed to gasp. He pushed at her with one hand, keeping a tight grip on his necklace with the other. “You ever try that again and I’ll do worse, I swear!”
It was an empty threat. He wasn’t even sure what he’d just done, or how he’d done it.
He hadn’t realised he had toon-powers.
“You ever try that again,” the matron snarled in kind. “And I’ll do worse.” She grabbed him by the ears again and hauled him away, out of the classroom and down the hall, up the narrow stairs. She flung open a door and threw Elo inside.
It was the attic.
“You can stay here for the rest of the day,” she snapped. “And think very carefully about your behaviour.”
“You can’t keep me in here,” Elo said; his voice came out steadier than he could have hoped, almost a demand. He didn’t sound nearly as frightened as he felt.
“Just watch me.”
She slammed the door shut and locked it. The click of the key in the lock echoed in Elo’s ears. He flung himself at the door, kicking and punching.
“Let me out!” he shouted. “You let me out right now!”
“Shut your mouth, you worthless brat!” she screamed back, losing whatever was left of her fragile calm. “Or you’ll be in there all of tomorrow too!”
She marched away, leaving him there.
Shakily, Elo sank to his knees, both fists still resting against the door. Eyes stinging, chest heaving, he tried to summon that burst of power again; he tried to imagine anvils, or a key of his own.
Nothing happened.
He’d seen other kids summon things; water balloons, pies, apples and peanuts; mallets, banana peels and whoopie cushions. He hadn’t seen anyone else summon an anvil.
Elo hadn’t known he could do that. That week on the street, he hadn’t even realised toon-powers were a thing. These few days in the orphanage, he’d tried to copy the other kids with no luck.
And now he’d just wrecked an entire room.
And now he was all alone in a dark, gloomy attic. There were no windows, no lights. Just Elo and some storage boxes.
Elo stayed kneeling on the floor, trying to catch his breath, trying to calm his racing heart and mind. How had he done that?
He didn’t have any answers.
Eventually, Elo hauled himself to his feet and sat on one of the boxes, curling up small with his back pressed against the wall, holding his necklace so tightly that the edges of the star pendant dug into his palms. It stung but he barely noticed, he didn’t care.
He still had it and that was what mattered. He wouldn’t ever let anyone take it away from him.
This was what it meant to be Elo: it was the nagging knowledge that his name wasn’t right, that it wasn’t the name his parents (whoever they were) had given him. It meant trying to understand how you could wake up one day with no idea of who you were. Being Elo meant dealing with the knowledge that you were all alone in the world.
But not entirely. Because there was Burbank. Together in Burbank, his pendant read, and Elo would hold onto that with all his might.
Being Elo meant clinging to hope, until that one hope was ingrained into you, until it was a part of you.
He was Elo. And maybe that didn’t mean anything to the orphanage’s staff, but it meant everything to him.
He was Elo, and he belonged in Burbank; and somehow, someway, he’d get there. Somehow, he’d find his family. It was something that even the orphanage’s staff and this nightmarish King Salazar couldn’t take from him.
Elo, Elo, Elo, his name was Elo.
Locked in the attic, staring at the wall, Elo vowed to himself that he’d get out of here and, when he did, he’d find his family. He’d go home.