Striving for Adaptation

"Urr. . ." A sudden growling sound reached my ears as I began to regain consciousness. And in the next second, it was clear where the growling was coming from. My stomach.

Opening my eyes, I saw that we were still on the train. Ember had fallen asleep, sitting next to the stove with hot coals. Daniel was lying on the floor, his legs sticking out through the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that the bags I had slept on had been moved to the opposite corner. As another growl escaped my stomach, I asked, "Hey, do we have any food?"

Daniel looked at me without getting up and said, "Check the bag, I think there were some fruits left. Or not. Check it."

Sighing, I got to my feet, stretched slightly, and bent over to the bag. But as soon as I touched the zipper, Daniel said, "Not that one, my bag."

"How do you even tell them apart? They're both black!" I snorted, turning towards him. He was still lying down but had arched his head to look at me.

"I don’t know. I guess I’ve just gotten used to the things I’ve owned for a long time," Daniel replied, shrugging. Still lying on the floor.

Shaking my head, I grabbed the zipper of the other bag and opened it. All I found inside was a chessboard. Disappointed, I sighed and asked, leaning against the wall, "So, we have no food. What are we going to do?"

"Hmm, maybe we’ll stop at some station and ask for some food?" Daniel suggested with a completely stoic and serious expression.

This was a serious question, you jerk!

It seemed like he perfectly read my thoughts because he then replied, "I’m serious. First, stopping at a station will help us figure out where we are. Second, there might actually be some food there. And third, if a fight breaks out, it’ll be a good way to stretch our legs."

I thought about his arguments for a while. And I had to admit, there was some logic to it. So, I exhaled and reluctantly nodded, "Alright, fine. How are you even planning to stop at a specific station? Trains aren’t known for their quick braking."

In response, Daniel just smirked dismissively before grabbing the edges of the cabin window. Pulling himself up, he sat on the windowsill and shouted, "As soon as I see something, I’ll tell you to brake!"

"How am I supposed to know how to do that?!"

"FUCK, Arthur, don’t be stupid, there’s a red lever, specially painted for idiots! The harder you push it down, the stronger the braking," Daniel shouted irritably.

He’s never been this angry before. No, no. When he got mad during our first meeting, he was kind of, I don’t know, restrained? Now he’s completely out of control.

Gulping, I looked around and saw the lever. But there was one problem. The path to it was completely blocked by the sleeping Ember. Sighing, I asked again, this time in a much less demanding tone, "What should I do about the sleeping dragon?"

Matching my tone, Daniel returned to his 'comedic style': "It’s strange that you even have questions. Just remember the experience of your ancestors. I’m sure your ancient ancestor, the Australopithecus, when he saw a woman, just picked her up and carried her to his cave."

"Are you comparing me to a monkey now?" I asked, frowning.

Daniel sighed loudly in disappointment and said, "Yes, you’re a monkey, Arthur. All humans are animals! A big functional brain is just one of the adaptation methods we’ve chosen. It’s not a reason to place ourselves in a completely new category."

Hmm. Honestly, I have no idea how to respond to that.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I looked back at the dilemma. No, I’m not going to carry Ember in my arms. Instead, I raised my right hand and released several streams of magic. After a few seconds, they all grabbed the lever, ready to pull it. All I needed was Daniel’s signal.

.

.

.

"I was hoping this would happen faster," I muttered to myself, leaning against the wall and yawning briefly. It’s a good thing my stomach growled loudly again, preventing me from falling asleep. But even that, at some point, I got used to and stopped paying attention. Hmm, maybe I should sleep a little more?

"BRAKE!" Daniel shouted, and I frantically pulled with all my weight. The lever was extremely heavy, barely moving, but when I lost my balance and fell, it creaked and fully lowered.

In the next instant, there was a loud screech as the train’s wheels suddenly locked. Turning around, I saw sparks flying in all directions as the locomotive shuddered, as if it could derail at any moment.

Finally, the sparks lessened, the screeching stopped, and the train came to a halt. For a while, there was silence before Daniel said, "So, I have good news. We’re in griffin territory."

Getting to my feet, I looked over his shoulder and saw that we had stopped right in front of a small square concrete building. In front of it was a table and two chairs where two griffins sat with wide eyes. They were silent for what seemed like an eternity before one of them leaned over to the other and whispered something. But I couldn’t understand a single word.

I can’t even pick out a single sound.

Daniel half-turned to me and asked, "So, before we knock them out, what joke should I tell?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I want to make a joke! But the problem is, I don’t know how."

Awkwardly scratching the back of my head, I decided to clarify, "Well, they’re French, right?"

"Yep."

"Make a joke about the white flag or something."

In response, Daniel’s face twisted in disgust, and he said, "Ugh, Arthur, that’s one of the most primitive jokes. It’s not even a joke. How could that even come to your mind? We’re dealing with real, genuine humor here!"

God, I didn’t know you were so sensitive about this.

When I snorted, Daniel pushed off with his feet from the window and landed on the table where the two griffins were sitting. As they stared at him in shock, he said, "I know you guys love frog legs. Luckily for you, I’ve found a good substitute."

In the next instant, he extended the middle fingers on both hands, slightly bent them, and delivered a quick strike to the temples of both griffins. Letting out something remotely resembling a croak, they collapsed onto the table, unconscious.

"First of all, that’s immoral. Second, seriously, frog legs? That’s really better than my idea?" I asked disapprovingly, crossing my arms.

"I felt like it," Daniel replied nonchalantly, turning his whole body towards me. No, wait. He’s looking somewhere lower.

"Damn, that’s a problem," he muttered, pointing at something near the train’s wheels. Frowning, I carefully climbed over the window, landed on the ground, and turned around. One of the wheels looked, to put it mildly, not great. It was covered in cracks, and I could see a few pieces had chipped off. So, our wheel isn’t round anymore.

However, at that moment, a completely different thought crossed my mind. Half-turning to Daniel, I raised an eyebrow and asked, "How did you even notice that without your glasses?"

So, he fell silent, looking at me with maximum seriousness. As if another monologue was about to start, one that would play on my emotions. Or just a very long explanation. In any case, nothing good was expected.

But in the end, he just shrugged.

I don’t even know whether to admire your unpredictability or not.

When I shook my head in disappointment, Daniel finally jumped off the table and said, feeling the knocked-out griffins, "Alright, fun break’s over. Now, we need to look for a spare wheel. We just need to find the keys to this thing."

Sighing, I walked closer to the table, just to observe the process more actively. However, my gaze caught something for a moment. A piece of paper. On it, drawn with a simple pencil, was a portrait of what appeared to be a female griffin, judging by the eyelashes. It was perfect. Better than anything I’ve ever drawn in my life.

"He draws better than me," slipped from my lips as I picked it up from the chair to take a closer look.

Unfortunately, Daniel heard this and, muttering, leaned over to get a better look. After a couple of seconds of silence, he asked, "Don’t you draw in an avant-garde, surrealist, or some other style?"

Well, yeah, the styles are completely different.

"But he draws better than me. This griffin from a children’s cartoon draws better than me. How does he even hold a pencil?" I shuddered, unable to tear my eyes away. It was as if the drawing had hooked my brain.

Daniel squinted and said, "Uh, Arthur, you know the point of avant-garde is to throw all established principles of painting out the window, right? As an avant-garde artist, shouldn’t you feel disgusted by something so simple? Conceptually, you’re more original and better."

"Yeah. . . But this drawing is still better than anything I could ever hope to draw," I muttered as goosebumps ran down my spine.

Suddenly, I felt a hand touch my shoulder. Quickly brushing it off, I clenched my fist, crumpling the piece of paper, and said, "Whatever, forget it. What do we need to do next?"

For a couple of moments, Daniel was silent before stepping back and saying, "Alright, I found the keys. Let’s look for the wheel. If we don’t find it, we’ll have to figure out which god to pray to so that the existing one can withstand the next braking."

Rolling my eyes, I walked beside him and decided to play along, "Do you have anyone in mind?"

"I don’t know much about religions. So, we’ll ask for help from a certain average arithmetic combined image of a god," he replied, shrugging.

Snorting in amusement, I just stood behind him and watched as he turned the keys in the lock. In the next second, the door swung open, revealing a room with a dimly lit bulb, two small beds, and a closed cabinet.

These guys weren’t living the high life even without us.

Sighing, I leaned against the wall, waiting for Daniel to open the cabinet. However, it only took a second for my stomach to remind me of its emptiness and let out a loud growl. Daniel briefly chuckled and said, "If you want, you can run into the forest and eat a rabbit. I don’t mind."

"Did you forget I’m afraid of blood?" I asked through gritted teeth as another, lower growl escaped.

"I’ve heard it’s good for people to face their fears head-on," he replied nonchalantly, opening the cabinet. However, due to his broad shoulders and tall stature, it was impossible to see what was inside.

I remember. You have some strange fear. Just as abnormal as you are. Now, now. Ah, I remember!

"Maybe we can stop by a bakery if we get the chance?" I asked with a malicious grin.

"I give up," he replied shortly. That’s just, what, too little?

Before I could sigh in disappointment, Daniel said, turning around, "Yo! In the cabinet, along with spare clothes, there are a few train wheels. What luck, huh?"

"Yeah, sure," I replied, and without waiting for an answer, I stepped outside. Partly to hurry him up. And partly because I hoped the fresh air would help distract me from the hunger.

A few seconds later, Daniel placed the new wheel next to the train and bent over the broken one. For a while, he just hummed thoughtfully before asking, "Hey, listen, Arthur. I’ve seen in some works of art that kids spend time in their fathers’ garages. Did you ever do that?"

I guess I mentally wished to speed up the process as much as possible. I don’t know how else to explain my answer: "I didn’t know my father. He left the family when I was six. I don’t really remember him."

"Oh," he muttered, slightly embarrassed and even. . . sad?

"Ahem, alright! The more pressing issue now is hunger. Let’s head into the forest!" Daniel quickly shouted, getting to his feet. Standing on tiptoes, I peeked into the cabin window. No, Ember still hadn’t woken up.

"Do we have any better options?" I asked, frowning.

At first, Daniel silently walked past me and only answered when he was behind me: "Well, you can just sit here and wait for me to bring back some food. I’m just suggesting we do this together so we can talk."

"Seriously?" I frowned as I reluctantly started following him.

"I feel like understanding you will help me figure out how to apologize better," Daniel replied, shrugging.

Don’t expect any pretty words to fix everything.

I sighed heavily but still followed him. If you think about it, once Daniel hears everything about me, he might just leave me alone and stop bothering me. The less he talks to me, the fewer reasons I’ll have to remember that it’s because of him I’m here.

After a few quiet seconds, during which we walked towards the tree line, Daniel finally asked, "So, your father left the family. What about your relationship with your mother?"

Taking a deep breath, I reluctantly answered, "She worked a lot to provide for me and my sister. By a lot, I mean it was considered absolutely normal not to see her at home for a week or two. On the rare occasions when I managed to cross paths with my mom, she was either fast asleep or barely able to string words together from exhaustion."

"So, you didn’t talk at all? Who raised you then?"

I sighed, slightly disappointed, and said, looking off into the distance, into the void, "I remember her taking care of me while my father was still in the family. After he left, my upbringing was handled by the school. But as you can see, my mom gave me a good foundation. Which I tried to pass on to my sister."

Daniel slowly nodded and asked a different question: "If I remember correctly, you got a specialized education. Remind me, what was it?"

"Art teacher. I’ll definitely gather the courage to work with kids someday," I said, sighing. Yeah, as soon as all this is over, I’ll get a job at a school. Right after I’m done with Daniel.

"Why do you need to gather courage to work with kids?"

"Well, how do I put it. I don’t really like them?"

"Then why did you decide to become a teacher?"

I-

"I know how hard it is to learn to draw, so I want to pass on the knowledge to someone else?"

"But you’re an avant-garde artist, the essence of your style is fighting against academic drawing. You can’t teach that to someone."

"I know the basics and remember them perfectly."

Suddenly, Daniel turned around, grabbed me by the shoulders, and said, piercing me with an indignant look, "Arthur, this is really hard to follow. Please, give me a full chronology of your drawing experience."

"I don’t have to," I growled, trying to break free from his grip. However, it only tightened, and for a second, I thought his fingers would pierce my skin.

"I WANT to understand you," Daniel replied through clenched teeth. The veins on his arm and neck bulged, becoming clearly visible. His completely black eyes, like abysses, scrutinized every tiny detail, constantly moving to take in everything.

Slowly exhaling, I began, "From an early age, I attended drawing classes. Even when my mother had to work around the clock to provide for me and my sister, she still spent money so I could keep going to the art club."

Sighing, I mentally moved to the next memory: "In middle school, I met a guy. He drew in an avant-garde style. I don’t know why, but everyone loved his work. While my drawings only got approving nods, his were admired by classmates and the teacher. So, I decided to change my style."

"Yeah, I remember that," Daniel noted slowly, probably to himself.

I somehow doubt that.

Exhaling, I moved to the final part: "Eventually, in the last years of school, I managed to beat that guy in a couple of competitions. Then I went to college and started training to become an art teacher."

Daniel fell silent and slowly relaxed his grip. He took a step back, closer to the tree behind him. It seemed like he was carefully analyzing before lifting his head and confidently declaring, "Your mother wanted to become an art teacher or just an artist."

"Huh?"

"The only thing nature gives a person is potential. So-called talent is the result of parents depriving a child of choice and forcing them to develop their potential to the maximum. Judging by the fact that no one else admired your work, you didn’t even have potential."

So, you’re saying my mother manipulated me?!

It seemed like Daniel completely ignored my barely contained anger. He licked his lips and continued, "It seems that at some point, you developed a desire for recognition. Due to, let’s call it, an alien talent, you could only see self-realization through painting. But for progress, you used envy."

"And even after defeating that guy, it seems like you didn’t feel much triumph. No wonder. You spent years developing driven only by envy, without it, you lost your motivation to move forward."

H-How do you?

For a moment, there was silence in the air. Even the wind didn’t interfere. Just a static picture, me with clenched fists and Daniel, who, judging by his wide eyes, was completely absorbed in the process. Almost manic concentration.

"You need your ego, Arthur," Daniel said suddenly, pointing at me with his left hand.

"What?" I asked, stunned, blinking.

He sighed and repeated, not changing the position of his hand, "You need your ego, Arthur. You got an art teacher education, most likely due to your mother’s soft power. Plus, you completely changed your style just out of envy. Those are your words."

"The conclusion is, your current ego isn’t yours. It’s built from others’ desires and low imagination, which can’t generate its own desire or aspiration for anything."

"I think you’re just insulting me," I replied, frowning.

It seemed like Daniel ignored this and said, pointing his mechanical hand at himself, "We’re similar in this regard, you see? Both of us ended up with non-functioning egos. The difference is that my ego was destroyed because I rejected my 'lower' parts, dismissively called id. Ideals were the only thing in my life. You, on the other hand, simply failed to realize your ego. Soft power made you believe that your mother’s desires were yours."

I shook my head in disbelief and asked through gritted teeth, "Since when did you become a psychoanalyst?"

Daniel took a step back and said, chuckling briefly, "I dabbled in psychology for a while. Of course, the main goal was to learn how to understand others’ behavior and hidden signals. But now I can use it to analyze myself. And at the moment, you."

I think you’re trying to do something in your own interest. Plus, even if I listened to you, it’s just immoral.

Hearing no words from me, Daniel snorted and said, "Just, find some time to think about all this. I admit, I want to use your experience to try and find my ego. But also, I want to help you."

"Hoping to compensate for the fact that I ended up in this world?" I growled, taking a long step forward.

In response, he briefly nodded before simply taking a step to the right and saying, "Let’s get back to pressing matters. We’re hungry. Given your fear of blood, you’d better do some gathering while I hunt. Do you have a problem with that?"

Snorting, I took a step to the left and replied, "No, unlike you, I don’t enjoy others’ pain."

After these words, I turned away and headed deeper into the forest. After a while, the sound of Daniel’s heavy footsteps disappeared, leaving only my own, much heavier ones.

Desires instilled by my mother. Tsk, what a storyteller.