Author's Note: This is the final chapter of The Alphabet of WVBA. Nine months it was running, could have finished a lot sooner... this was the sole project that kept me running for my most difficult college year so far and I'm bidding it goodbye. It was meant to be done in May but I was very busy that month and until two days ago I was busy with my final exams as well; so as it happens, I'm posting this on my birthday. I am now eighteen years as of June 18 2011, and the themes discussed in this drabble have a lot to do with growing up and progressing in life. This will have the longest set of Author's Notes yet, for the previous drabbles and this particular set.

Visions - I wonder if anyone paid much mind to the hologram boxers that you can see in Practice mode, which you access in Exhibition just before fighting a boxer. Chances are, if you're good or don't mind your record having a few losses overall, you will never need to see them - but I made plenty use of them when I played the game first time. They really do help. This drabble stems from the idea that there is a special room set aside for virtual training like this in the WVBA, and that despite the potential uncanny valley, it's the closest some boxers will ever get to others. And what if they want to express their feelings but can't in fear of breaking the harmony? It might act as an outlet for their feelings, because it's safe and secrecy is guaranteed. Caters for everybody. This is one drabble that breaks the no pairings rule, as you may have observed. Now I'm just going to wait for hologram!kinks to emerge in this fandom. Also noted on DA for being rather creepy.

Winter - The last Glass Joe drabble. He's featured a lot in this series! And this is... well, pretty depressing. More than 'Reflection', I think, despite the fact that both end somewhat happily. While the problem is with Joe, I think it's really a lot more about Bear Hugger. They're both a lot younger than they are in the games in this drabble - surprisingly, winter was not my first thought in creating this one. It was the Francophone/Anglophone divide in Canada that drove this one. Nevermind that Canadian French isn't always the same as French spoken in France. xD I always mention that Glass Joe's well liked within the WVBA, but I don't provide enough proof of this - so far I've shown his interaction with Don, Kaiser, and Mac. (Aran is antagonising, so he doesn't count interaction-wise.) This is one example with Bear Hugger. I think they could be good friends, personally. They're at a vaguely similar age range, Bear Hugger's quite jolly as it is, and they're both familiar with French even if the latter doesn't quite speak it. Interesting exploration for me but it was also a pain in the ass to write for some reason.

Xenophobia - HAHAHAHAHAHA

The drabbles here are for Y-X ('Xenophobia' isn't a real drabble, so I've made up for the last one). Doc Louis makes a very overdue appearance in the first one; Von Kaiser's final drabble is here, and the very last one features everybody although the focus is on Little Mac. The stories here are a lot longer than the average 'drabble' I put on here; they probably qualify as oneshots or small ficlets, not drabbles. I'm not sure why this happened; part of the reason at least was that I was going to make up for the not-a-drabble 'Xenophobia' with a double-length story, but some way or another they've all become quite long. 'Zoetic' may be triggering through some use of PTSD, but it shouldn't be too bad; I broke the no couples rule again and this time there are pretty visible hints, but it's not really done for romantic effect.

Enjoy the final chapter.

Youth - Doc Louis

Doc Louis felt certain that the champion's belt was not the only reason he was training Little Mac.

It would have been a lie to say that the boy being the champion wasn't the priority, however; the older man knew (all too well) how incredible it felt to hold that belt up and hear the crowd's roar wash over the entire stadium. He had once been a long-running champion himself, and a fairly glorious one at that, seeing as he had technically never been defeated during his reign - he'd retired and passed on the belt to the second best boxer in the Association. Far better than being humiliated on the ring, he had thought back then, and he still felt certain that he had done the right thing by leaving on a calm, dignified note. But recently, his views had been challenged by the little scrap of a boy that he'd been training.

"Once you get the Champion's belt, Mac," he had said - careful to say 'once' instead of 'if' to subconsciously guarantee the boy's triumph - whilst they were taking a break from their daily bike runs. "you're expected to defend your title against everyone all over again. And I do mean all the boxers you've fought in the three Circuits; that roster includes Sandman too, because you'd have beaten him. If you lose against anyone during title defense, you can win your belt back by fighting the boxer who took it off you. No need to work your way back up again, just challenge the guy and take it back - because they didn't climb the ranks as you did, their claim to the belt is not fully valid unless resigned or undefeated for a set length of time. But losing the belt still leaves black marks on your record."

"What happens then?" Mac had asked; the boy very seldom spoke, the older man had found, which made the rare times he said anything quite precious.

"If you get past title defense? If you're still the champ after that, then you remain with the belt - and wait for a new challenger to take you on. Until then you'll be met with exhibition matches from the other boxers in the Circuits, and from other Associations as well. You're the first new challenger Sandman has taken on in two years, if that gives you an idea of how long you might need to wait. Lose to a new challenger, and the belt is officially his and you'll be the one trying to take it off him again. If you lose your belt during exhibition matches with the guys you've fought before, their claim to the championship is loose like it was in title defense, but you won't have quite the protection you had back then. Keep losing for too long, and they'll want to promote someone else."

"It seems too lax for me," the boy had said quietly, looking out to the horizon and to the Statue of Liberty itself. "wouldn't it be better to set limits on how many times you can lose? That way the champion roster would change every now and then instead of going on for however long..."

Doc Louis had shook his head. "That would probably mean that there is no constant champion at any time, Mac. We can't have the belt just drifting everywhere. And besides, letting the champion hold out for as long as he can has always been the way the WVBA has done things... it shows his willpower and skill. I mean, what if you had a fluke chain of unfortunate losses that don't tie to your skills but rather because of things you can't help? That can't be good."

The boy had thought about this and nodded, accepting this. "But it can't be easy on the champions either," he had said, for the final time that day before they went back to their rather one-sided training sessions. "if they somehow have to keep fighting even if they aren't quite in the shape they used to be. Getting too old or too tired, that's no one's fault. That kind of fade-out seems rather... I don't know, rather sad. I think it'd be pretty hard to watch that happening, wouldn't you agree? If I ever become the champion... I think I'll set my limits and retire when that limit is reached. Be proud. Go out with a bang, if you know what I mean."

The strange thing about the entire affair was that Doc Louis could actually see what Little Mac was getting at. He'd even at one point wondered why he'd not chosen to do something similar in the past.

And that led to the other reasons as to why he'd accepted the young boy as a student. Little Mac was very different yet not dissimilar to him; he had the same passion, the incredible talent for boxing (Doc Louis still thought fondly of his trainer back in the good old days, bless him, who used to say the same things about him as he now did to Little Mac) and the ability to carry on the Star Punch. None of the man's previous students had understood that concept - they could uppercut just fine, but didn't seem to quite know what he'd meant by 'stars' and 'gaps in the technique'. Little Mac had gotten it straight away, much to his surprise. He had been cautious since then, of course; because the boy was so talented, it would have been far too easy to get carried away with the training, far too easy to fill the boy's head with too much ambition. But he had done well so far and he was very proud of it.

Doc Louis wasn't young anymore, he was well into his fifties now; and even though he could still hold his own against some of the World Circuit boxers, there was no longer much hope of him going anywhere near the Champion's rank. And he didn't really want to, either; once had been quite enough in real life. But he saw himself in Little Mac, enough to want to help the boy reach for the highest honour a boxer could hope to achieve, and by proxy, Little Mac's triumph would be his own. Perhaps it was a very roundabout way of relieving his own youth, the man had wryly observed to himself, but it would be infinitely more satisfying in the end, watching him achieve what Doc Louis himself had achieved so many years ago, and perhaps go on to do even greater things. He could hardly wait to see what would come of his efforts, and had to put in much more effort to hide this, in preparation for the still-present possibility that things might not go as well as expected.

Little did Doc Louis know that the boy (although soon he would no longer be a 'boy' but a young man) would succeed more spectacularly than he could ever imagine; he would breeze through title defense and enjoy the most incredible amount of publicity and success. And little did he know that Little Mac would go on to take on their past discussion seriously and impose limits on how many times he could afford to lose; eventually Doc Louis would give in to the other's insistent demands, and it would turn out to be the most heartbreaking and yet most rewarding decision the two of them would ever make together.

But none of this mattered right now. Little Mac was good to go, and so was he, and that was what was important.

Zoetic - Von Kaiser

"Gott," Von Kaiser murmured weakly as he supported himself; but he pressed on, although it was hurting too much to walk. He could barely see - it hurt to use his damaged eyes, but he was feeling around his surroundings weakly and supporting his weight on a makeshift cane, and that was about enough to let him go on. He couldn't have stayed any longer in the infirmary, he simply couldn't sleep nor rest without being reminded of that explosion, and with that reminder came the devastating realisation that it had all been his fault.

In all his arrogance as an officer, he had underestimated the situation he and his men were in, despite the warnings from his superiors to proceed with caution. He alone had brought upon the fatal consequences; while marching through the dense forest, he had veered his men into a danger zone, the ill-fated trek cut short when two of the soldiers each stepped on a mine. And now he had torn scars all over his legs and torso to show for his foolishness; he had taken damage from the shrapnel and had been unfortunate enough to look down at the ground as an explosion took place, the flash rendering him near blind. Von Kaiser had let his men down - the two soldiers were killed in the resulting blast, five more (including him) injured, and he was sure he'd lost the trust of every single one who had survived. The people who had patched him up had told him that he had been very lucky to have not lost any limbs himself - and that it was nothing short of miraculous that most of the men had come out alive after venturing into a minefield. This was of no consolation to Von Kaiser; he could barely walk, and he could only see faint shapes and lights. He eventually stopped at a forest clearing and collapsed with a near sob, aware he had not gone as far as he had wanted; but his eyes were watering far too much even under the dark cloth covering them, and his legs shook so much that he could no longer go on.

All he wanted to do was to lie there with his blinded eyes closed and his palms facing upwards and be utterly empty.

The night was quiet; he could hear absolutely nothing, the crickets and other nocturnal creatures having long since deserted the clearing. He was sure that there was a full moon up above, but he could not see it; his tears were overflowing now, soaking into the dark cloth and running down his face, although he didn't know if that was because he had simply strained his eyes or because he was feeling some emotion he could not comprehend. He clenched his eyes shut; slowly, the flow of tears stopped and the burning sensation behind his eyes faded as the minutes passed. A light breeze blew over his form, rustling his clothes, tickling his face - he grimaced in response and turned his head to one side. It was quite a while before he even felt that he could afford to open his eyes once more, and he did so ever so slowly to avoid hurting them any more. The blindfold was thick; he could not make out his surroundings, only the vague hint of moonlight, but at least his eyes no longer stung. He let himself adjust to the brightness, and what seemed like hours (it could not have been more than a few minutes, he noted later on) passed before he could support himself and sit up. Clumsily, he felt for the blindfold, fumbling with a considerable lack of care before he managed to untie it - now that he could think more clearly, he had realised that he could not make his way back nor grasp his bearings if he didn't know where he was. Straining his eyes even more seemed a fair enough risk to take, for he knew he couldn't be far away from where he had started.

What greeted his sight, however, was not what he had expected. Von Kaiser was surprised at how much he could actually see without straining his eyes; while everything seemed blurry, he could make out the general landscape and some individual shapes that he recognised as trees and bushes. And amongst those shapes, not more than five steps from him, stood a tall figure - one wearing his officer's uniform, his cap, even the tag that bore his name and smiled with the same arrogant tilt of the head.

"I've gone mad," he murmured; as much as he didn't want to admit it, he was staring at a vision of himself, one of how he had looked not a week before his predicament.

"That may be so," the vision told him, looking quite calm. "but you're in trouble."

How much more trouble could I possibly be in, he wanted to ask, but thought better of it. He was raving, a slightly more rational part of his mind told him, and it was best to just pretend that he wasn't seeing any of this. He closed his eyes again with a groan, rubbing his temples, desperately wishing that it was all a trick of his mind and nothing more. "Leave," he managed to whisper hoarsely through the pain. No reply came, but he could sense that the vision was still there; and sooner or later Von Kaiser would have gone mad, had he not heard voices of other men calling him, not so far away from where he was. Startled, he tried to stand up and look around, but his legs proved far too shaky to do so. He was rapidly losing strength from being out in the cold, but if he could say something, loud enough for them to hear...

"Look at you," the vision sneered, still standing in front of him. "you're pathetic. It's all over for you now, so you might as well stay here," it continued on carelessly. "after everything you've done, you can't still be thinking that you deserve a place in this world, ja? You'd die quietly here if you had any decency left."

Von Kaiser very nearly listened; he felt that it certainly did have a point. He could stay silent until they left - they would not be able to find him in the dark if he didn't reply, and it would not be long before he perished due to exposure. But something inside him screamed that he wanted to live, that he wanted another chance, and even if he was going to die soon he didn't want to die here.

"Hilfe," he whispered at first; but by sheer will, he stretched out blindly towards the voices with one hand. "hilfe, bitte!"

Everything suddenly went silent for a few seconds; it felt eternal to Von Kaiser, who waited in agony for a response. And then two things happened at once: the voices grew much more louder and urgent, calling back to each other for aid, footsteps growing much more closer as they started tracking his voice. The vision standing in front of him also flickered violently, as if his cry for help had wounded it somehow; it let out a sharp hiss in protest, glowering at him as its form began to grow dim. "Fool!" it sneered even as it faded away, "oh, you'll live all right, but don't say I never warned you..."

He did not care. His head throbbed, but he managed to yell out once more (wordless this time and weaker, but still clearly audible), and he thought he heard a voice next to him just before he began to lose consciousness. "- Herr von Kaiser-"

"- Kaiser - mon -"

"-Monsieur!"

The man's eyes flew open at this, and he shot up from his bed with a barely restrained cry; he looked around wildly, his eyes wide with fear before he realized that he was in his bedroom, with a worried-looking Glass Joe sitting up beside him. Neither of them were wearing much clothing. "Monsieur... are you all right? You were talking in your sleep!"

"Ja," Von Kaiser whispered as he fell back loosely against the head of the bed, raising a shaky hand to his forehead; his breathing was still rapid and uneven. "I'm fine... the military... I..."

The Frenchman's expression instantly changed from anxiety to one of understanding and sympathy. He said nothing to counter or affirm what few words Von Kaiser said, but instead moved close to hold the German in his arms, discovering (to add to his worry) that the older man did not react to this. Glass Joe eased them both back down into a lying position on the bed; he'd been sleeping in Von Kaiser's arms before, but feeling the need to comfort him, he moved up slightly to let the older man's head lie on his chest. He knew that he could have consoled Von Kaiser in many different ways, telling him that the past was all over, that it was okay, that he was loved - but what use was mere talk to a man who'd actually been through those horrors? Glass Joe knew too well that it wouldn't work - he'd tried, and he understood as clearly as anything as a result of his attempts that he could not ease the other's suffering with words. They'd both had their difficult periods in life, of course, but the Frenchman simply hadn't been through the same things Von Kaiser had. So he just held the older man in his arms, hoping that the other would not find this a humiliating or otherwise profoundly embarrassing experience.

Much to his relief, the German made no protests - he stopped shivering within minutes of being held. In a rare moment of dependency he even closed his eyes and snuggled deeper into the other's chest; he looked so frightened and helpless that Glass Joe briefly forgot that the man was an ex-soldier and a fiery-tempered boxer. Pulling up the covers, the Frenchman gently stroked Von Kaiser's back, fingers skimming over his bare skin and the various scars there, soothing him in the most direct way he could. This had an effect immediately; the older man relaxed, exhaling slowly, leaning further into the embrace. Lying against soft human skin, feeling the pleasant warmth, making intimate contact in this way - this was the ultimate reassurance that the German could ever ask for and he was glad that the younger man understood him. He looked up to the other's face after a while and was greeted with a gentle kiss on his lips, along with a soothing murmur.

And yet amongst the calming silence, Von Kaiser could not help but feel a lingering sense of dread. Even though he had most definitely done the right thing back then, years ago - even though he had left his crueler, darker past behind - he was tormented with the vague sense that maybe, just maybe, he had made the wrong choice. There was no doubt that he was leading a more fulfilling life now; he was a boxer and could relish the one sport he had loved all his life without compromising much else. He had close friends and a partner who loved him for what he was. Von Kaiser couldn't complain about the life he was leading - but this certainly hadn't been the first time that he'd felt that he hadn't begged for forgiveness quite enough, and that he'd have preferred to die alone in that forest than suffer through his otherwise good life. Von Kaiser had held on well so far, but he had seen too much, he had known far too much, and at times like these he couldn't help thinking that he had been too poisoned from his experiences to continue clinging to life.

He had chosen to be alive, atone for his sins, and give himself a second chance to put things right. But Von Kaiser was only sure of his choice about seventy percent of the time. Whenever he wavered, he was tormented mercilessly by his memories - and he could never relate to anyone on this, because no one else he knew had been through the same things. It was slowly breaking him, and it wasn't a matter of if he was going to eventually shatter into pieces - it was a matter of how and when and where.

"I want to live," he whispered, feeling (just for a second) tears threatening to fall from behind closed eyes.

"I know," Glass Joe murmured in his ear, gently stroking his skin. "I understand."

But he didn't, he couldn't, and that was the worst of all.

Xerostomia - Little Mac

"Just a hiatus, that's all," he said, forcing a smile. "just until I can finish my studies."

'Hiatus' was the word he used, but the Referee could see that he did not mean it that way; it was a full-on retirement, like any boxer who had fought enough would eventually declare, and the chances of him coming back were slim to say the least. Little Mac, after all, had only just turned eighteen - he needed to go to college and finish his education before he could even feasibly carry on with boxing. He sat there in silence, looking down at the documents, knowing that it was best to let the young man go - he had single-handedly improved the quality of boxers in the place, he had re-invigorated the WVBA with new, passionate and talented boxers who were now training for places in the Circuits, and he had kept his Champion belt for most of his (short but incredible) career. But good things never lasted, it seemed - it had barely been a year since he had entered the Association, and the Referee was loath to see him leave so soon.

"I do understand," he replied, glancing at the young man and back down to the documents in front of him. One signature from the Referee would make Little Mac's retirement official, and the man was only too aware of this power. He had seen so many boxers leave in the past years, but this was one of the rare times when he felt genuinely uncomfortable letting someone go. He tidied the small stack of documents and looked again at Little Mac, folding his hands in front of him. "have you made the other boxers aware of this?"

"I have."

He smiled. "Good. I must thank you for that; you are one of the best boxers the Association has had in years, and I do believe that we will all miss you when you leave," as he spoke, he reached out for a pen and put his signature on the front of the document. No turning back now, he thought to himself, telling himself that it was only routine. "when are you planning to collect your belongings?"

"Right about now, I was thinking."

"That will be fine," the Referee stood up, and offered a hand to the youth. The handshake was accepted in a firm and very official manner indeed. "I wish you the best of luck for the future."

Little Mac smiled and nodded, turning to the door, determined not to show any of his sadness over retiring. He knew the older man had done him a similar favour by making the entire thing easier on the youth; the Referee had made no further fuss about the situation, and had simply accepted his decision as it was, saving him a lot of grief and regret. That had been far more courtesy than what he had initially received from the other boxers, though he did have to admit that none of it had really been their fault.

As he walked down the corridors, seeing the rooms and lockers he had little chance of ever seeing again, he let himself think - not of the happier times he'd had in the WVBA, he saved those up to dwell on later to cheer himself up - and relieved the events of the past week or so when he had announced to everyone that he was leaving the Association, perhaps for good. After the initial stunned silence, the boxers asked him why - he'd had no reason to retire so early, he had only ever lost three times and he'd managed to get his belt back twice straight away after those defeats. You didn't have to do this had been the sole thought in every boxer's mind, Little Mac was sure. He'd been avoiding the changing rooms and the reception during the past few days, too afraid that he might be judged as weak, too nervous of the possibility that he had let everyone down as the pride of the Association.

After all, he had only recently become an adult, and growing up was hard.

But he owed them a farewell at least; being with the boxers had taught him ever so much and he wanted to show them his gratitude, even if he was now far too short of time to voice it properly. Just the thought of it made his mouth dry; he was still incredibly nervous of the thought, but tried ever so hard to push it away. Collecting the last of his belongings from his locker, he closed it and locked it for one final time, leaving the keys on top - the Referee would collect it later - and headed towards the changing rooms where he could find the men and say a proper goodbye.

At least, he would have headed there had he not been intercepted by Piston Hondo.

"What-" Little Mac croaked out as the older man appeared out of seemingly nowhere - he would have said more, but his throat was too dry, his nerves being shot to pieces with the shock of seeing him so unexpectedly. Piston Hondo only smiled lightly and bowed at him (Little Mac returned the gesture hesitantly after a couple of seconds), before beckoning the youth to follow him. "what's going on?"

"You'll see soon," was the only reply. Little Mac was vaguely aware that he was being led in the direction of the main lounge, but could not understand why until he set a foot into the room - and gasped.

Pictures, was the first word that came into the youth's mind. Two entire walls of the already-spacious lounge was framed with pictures of him - posters, framed photos of him holding up the belt from each Circuit or cheering in victory, and cut-outs from newspaper articles. Next to the walls stood wooden tables and platforms with various memorabilia stacked on it, along with trophies, albums and various items that he distinctly remembered autographing in the past couple of months. Even the bike that he and Doc Louis had used to train on was there; he had handed it over to the older man just before he announced his retirement, expecting it to be scrapped anytime soon, but it was being displayed instead with its polish restored to its former glory.

But all of that was nothing compared to the fact that in front of the displays stood every single boxer he had ever fought during his stay in the Association, along with Doc Louis himself. Not one of them were absent; they looked over when Piston Hondo urged Little Mac forwards, and the majority of them greeted him with a genuine, but vaguely sad, smile.

"We've been waiting for you, son," his trainer said, speaking for every boxer in the place. "how do you like it? This is your Hall of Fame. Everyone in the Association contributed to this, as you can see-" here he turned to the bike with a wistful expression, and gently tapped the bell on it, the clear sound echoing through the room. "-as a truly prodigious boxer of the WVBA, the Association decided to honour you and your championship."

"Champions by default only get a trophy and an album displayed in the lounge," the usually-silent Sandman spoke up as well. "you're the only one who've ever been given a permanent display like this. Count yourself lucky," he added in hastily as an afterthought, too proud to drop his haughty demeanor; Little Mac (although confused and rather dazed) was grateful for this, because it meant that nothing much had changed as a result of his retirement.

"Christ," Little Mac finally uttered, his voice coming out awkward and strained. "I... Jeez, guys, I really... really don't know what to say..."

The next few minutes, mercifully, passed in a genuinely sympathetic blur; understanding that Little Mac was overwhelmed, the men came to his rescue, bustling forwards, taking his hand, telling him how much they had appreciated him during the short time he had been in the Association and how much he would be missed. It could not have been more than five, maybe six minutes he had spent sitting there with the boxers - and although that was a woefully inadequate time to tell them how grateful he was for everything, he knew that it was still enough. Little Mac shook hands with many of them in that short time, even sharing a hug with Disco Kid and with Glass Joe; it was the first time in years that he had been surrounded with so much affection, as strange as that seemed, and he knew that he would not forget them as long as he lived.

For just that short time everything was perfect, but of course the youth couldn't stay for long; when his trainer stood up and walked towards the doors, tipping his hat to the others, Little Mac knew that he was to follow and leave the others behind. "Time to go now, Mac," Doc Louis encouraged, opening the doors; the youth followed him for a couple of steps, before he thought better of it and looked back.

"Thank you," Little Mac murmured, holding back tears, unable to say more out of fear that he might break down completely. But the boxers understood; those words were quite enough. Little Mac paused at the doorway one more time - the men were still standing there in front of his Hall of Fame, not one of them looking at all out of place. There was Glass Joe, smiling at him with the same modest smile as he'd had when the youth had first met him - Von Kaiser, leaning casually against the wall and gazing at him with a surprisingly softened expression - even Aran Ryan and the few others who had never really opened up to him were standing there as well, apparently expressionless but their true feelings given away by the way they gazed rather solemnly towards the floor. And in that instant he knew that it would be all right, that he was always welcome, that he would be remembered and the past year had not been for nothing.

And just like that, the dryness tightening his throat disappeared; but by then, Little Mac had realised that no more words were necessary, and gave the boxers one last smile, receiving nods, other smiles and gentle words of encouragement in return.

He turned back only then and took a deep breath, taking a step outside towards the sun.

The world was real, and it was waiting for him.

Youth - Doc Louis makes an overdue appearance. In a collection that discussed Carmen, the Referee and even the hologram boxers, whatever would have been done without writing one for the most constant presence in the entire game? I was interested in his own motives for training Little Mac, the boy rejected by dozens of other trainers - so the Doc Louis in this story is kind of a mix of the NES game and the Wii game, because only the former really gives a date about his previous championship. Doc Louis is a real father figure to Mac, I think, and I've tried to make that come across, with the latter kind of following in Doc's footsteps. This one took ages to start but I finished it in one day. It also includes details of how I think the WVBA works in general.

Zoetic - This is actually a biological term for 'of or pertaining to life'. I was really interested in the 'life' part, it's hard to find anything good to use for 'z'. x.x Apart from that somewhat unfitting title, this is one of the darkest drabbles in the collection and unfortunately one of my least satisfying, I feel. It went on for forever and it felt like a failed horror story, somehow. I'd started this ages back, when I was working on the D-F series and working on and off on it - but I could not get the descriptions to condense. But despite all these shortcomings I feel that it is still in a form that illustrates Von Kaiser's trauma clearly. I've written his past as leading to a downfall in the military, originating from his hubris, and that he's spent most of his life trying to atone for it; this being why he is so utterly troubled. I still like 'Suppress' better, but the two drabbles are not mutually exclusive. This was indeed a real pain to write, perhaps the one I struggled most with, and perhaps it would have benefited had I expanded this proper into its own AU fic. x.x

Xerostomia - This is a term that means 'excessive dryness of mouth', which is exactly what happens to Little Mac here. I'm sorry that the terms here are too overly pretentious/complex, it's just that these letters in the alphabet are really difficult to find proper words for. T-T This is the finale to the entire collection, detailing my headcanon for Mac's retirement and subsequent departure from the WVBA - only that the other boxers are also seen, not just Doc. I thought it was a grand send-off, for a now-eighteen and adult Mac and whatever lies in the future ahead for him. It hits pretty close to home for me too, although I'm hardly a champion at boxing. xD

And so that's how the collection ends. I hope you have enjoyed Alphabet thoroughly through its nine-months, nine-chapter run; and it just happens, with the posting of this ending I have come to fully embrace adulthood. Happy eighteenth birthday, me. Feels like ages since I first sat my twelve-year old self down to write my first story.

Thank you for reading and being patient with me, everyone. I'll sign off now.

-Solitary Shadow, June 18th 2011-