Fanfic time: Misfits part 46
Continued from yesterday:
The work would have gone well, if it wasn’t for the constant interruptions.
“Sara? Can you like, ask your boyfriend what he did with my hair ties?” said Kitty.
Evan was next, “Hey, your frogness, where the heck are my board tools?"
And then Sam, "Uh. Hate to intrude ‘n’ all, but has th’ Toad seen my plectrum set anywheres?"
And Rogue, "Ah swear, Todd, if y'all been in mah things, you’re dead meat!"
”*Marie*,“ Sara barked. "Todd’s been under constant adult supervision all the time he’s been here. What *time* has he had for thievery, petty or otherwise?"
"How in tarnation’d you know mah name?"
"I didn’t tell her,” said Todd.
That earned Sara a glare of doom. “*Nobody* finds out, got it?"
"It doesn’t take *that* much enginuity. Especially when you leave your ID on the floor for any idiot to pick up."
"Y'all were in my room?"
"Laundry.” Sara had folded her arms. “Investigate the concept. Both you *and* your roommate."
She was positively seething by the time Scott poked his head in. She prepared to launch a spanner with, ”*NOBODY* has seen your frelling *TIC TACS*!“
Logan weighed down her wrist.
"Uh. Actually, you have a phone call… Someone from school?"
~
Sara vented an animalistic snarl, took pains to lay the spanner carefully down, and extracted herself from the engine-in-progress. After a pause to wash the grease off her hands, she was stalking towards the nearest common telephone.
"Look,” said Scott, hurrying behind her. “I know we’ve gotten off to a rocky start."
"Got off,” corrected Sara. “Do you always begin conversations with understatements?"
"Um… Okay. I’m trying to start over, here. Will you give me a break?"
"Left or right?[1]"
"I am *not* your enemy!"
"Then stop treating my boyfriend like one, please,” she iced. “I believe we still have due process in this country?” Sara picked up the telephone. “Sara Louise… who’s calling?"
Scott was an interesting study in someone who had just had the sound cut off. He was too proper to make any kind of noise while she was on the phone, and too agitated to let the argument lie.
The resultant pantomime was very entertaining to watch.
"Pleathe don’t hang up?” said Janine.
Sara almost shut down. “Janine,” she drawled. “What an *un*pleasant surprise."
"I know I’ve blown my last chance with you,” she said. “And I know I was incredibly dumb and self-centred… I’m just trying to change that. And the first thing I have to do is apologise. I’m thorry for all the nasty things I spread about you. I’m sorry for the rats… and lying about them. I’m sorry for being a jerk when you were my only real friend in the entire school."
"Are you sorry for being caught at it?” Sara iced.
“I was, but then I talked with Mr Kian and… I realised I was being an aththhole about the whole thing. What you did… was long overdue. You should of happened to me thooner, Thara."
"Should *have*,” Sara corrected. “Just out of idle curiosity… what do you plan to do now you’re alone?"
"Hack it.” Sara could almost hear the shrug. “If you could cope for two years, I can. I’m thinking of moving out to Povo Towers and I already have some work lined up. Thoon as I have a month’s rent and some food money… I’m going to try re-making mythelf."
"Remember to shop at Bernie’s,” said Sara. “And you can do a lot with rice or noodles."
"Um… I thought we weren’t friendth…” said Janine.
“Oh, we’re not. We’re acquaintances. But it wouldn’t be civil of me to let you fumble about on your own when I had helpful knowledge to hand."
"Y'know, motht people would’ve just let me hang out to dry."
"I never was most people. *Most* people would have sued over the rats. I’ll just settle for a lesson hammered home."
"Trust me. You an’ mithter Kian both have sledgehammers. I’m turning all available leaves. And *if* I manage to thomehow redeem mythelf… maybe you and the new me could be real friends?"
"Give it a year,” said Sara. “I’m still vexed."
Janine sighed. There was a definite note of relief in there. "That'th cool… it’s more than I hoped for, actually. I’ll um… just… let you get back to your new life. Hope it'th fun."
"May you hear the rumours *before* they spread,” said Sara. It was the fairest blessing she could think of. They hung up.
Sara leaned her forehead against the wall and sighed. That was just *one* personal problem squared away.
“…coolest diet *out*,” Jubillation was saying as she approached up the hallway. “Every time you get hungry, you just suck on a tic-tac instead of eating a snack. You can enjoy full meals, fine, but instead of browsing you get tic-tacs."
"Aye?” said Rahne. “An’ where does the regular exercise fit in?"
"Psh!” Jubillation rolled her eyes. “The *point* is to get *thin*? If you’re putting on muscle there’s no gain."
"So it’s just nuts."
"Not nuts… *tic-tacs*!"
Sara tapped her shoulder as she passed. "Pardon me, but where did you *get* those tic-tacs?"
"Oh, Scott’s always got a few. He’ll never miss 'em."
"Bet a dollar?"
"Huh?"
"He’s already harangued Todd and I once. You’d best go find him and gain forgiveness before vowing to obtain permission, next time."
Jubillation stared at her. "What’s the big deal? They’re just tic-tacs…"
"Tell Scott that,” Sara advised. “Preferably from behind some kind of blast shield."
Funny looks from both of the junior recruits before they went on their way.
Sara abandoned her place in favour of seeking out Todd. The one balm for a bad mood.
"Ah, Miss Adrien,” Hank beamed. “The Professor sent me to retrieve you. He requests and requires your presence for necessary therapy."
_No…_ Sara slumped, dragging her feet all the way there. Not a psychiatrist. Not right now.
It was only for an hour. She could survive an hour even in a bad mood.
By the time she got there, she was watching her feet drag as she let herself in.
"Make yourself comfortable,” said the Professor.
_Hurm… Running straight into Todd’s arms for an extended snuggle session and some grass-time. Not, I think, what he had in mind._ She found a chair she could drape in and flopped into the cushions.
“I caught wind of your earlier concerns, Sara, and I thought things might go better if I wore a different hat."
Sara looked up. Then she burst out laughing.
Nestled on his bald pate - and there was no better word than 'nestled’ - was an almost perfect replica of a brooding hen[2]. Right down to the look of pulletic determination to hatch his head.
The Professor’s own mirth was far more restrained to a merry twinkle in his eye. He waited with impish patience for her to wind down enough to speak coherently.
"It’s going to be very hard to take you seriously in that hat, sir."
"Good,” he removed the lifelike chicken-hat. “Some times, I also find it very hard to take myself seriously.” He petted his hat before putting it away in his desk. “And humour is the best way I know of diffusing tension."
"Translated, I needed a good belly laugh?"
"Precicely.” A companionable good-for-you nod and smile. “Now. Shall we begin with the spark to your bad mood?"
"People presume guilt before proof of innocence,” said Sara. “It’s not only irritating, but *annoying*. And the way they presume, all the time, that one can control one’s friends…” she vented a little noise of disgust. “I’m sure I’m nearing the event horizon for justifiable homicide."
"In brief, you could kill them."
"Or throw something. Whichever’s the least effort. A perfect murder’s remarkably hard to achieve, and I don’t think they’re really worth that much *work*."
"I’ve always felt that murder is for people without enough imagination,” said Xavier. “And you, Sara, have *bucketloads* of the stuff."
"Buckets and buckets of buckets,” agreed Sara. She shifted into song. “I’m a daydream believer… not a - homecoming quee-ee-ee-een…[3]"
"That’s quite enough riffing,” he warned. “Let’s not have a repeat of spontaneous free-association, hm?"
"Oh, but it’s such fun. One has to have *fun*, Professor."
"Preferably not at one’s own expense - one way or the other,” a playful glare. “You’re here for help, Sara. Let me help you."
[1] MeMum always said this to me when she was in a hostile mood. Empty threat in her case.
[2] This visual makes slightly more sense if you read _Ozy and Millie_
[3] To the tune of _Cheer Up Sleepy Jean_.
~
Meanwhile, both Todd and Logan were torqueing things[1] in the garage. Every now and again, Todd would pause, look in the vague direction of the Professor’s study, then return back to his work as if it was something to do.
"Treefrog?” said Logan.
“Yo?"
"You an’ Tallwater…” he inserted an engine part. “I don’t exactly approve, but…” he shrugged.
“We determined enough ta wear you down?” Todd suggested.
“Near enough."
"Coo’."
"Listen, kid. I know you two are… kinda serious."
"Yo, not serious 'nuf fo’ *that*.” _Though lewd thoughts are frequently availlable…_ “Not *yet*, anyway."
"I heard. I don’t believe it, but I heard. Listen. Some times… things happen, right?"
"Uh…” said Todd. He’d *heard* a lot about 'things’ happening. None of which were immediately verifyable. “…dunno 'bout that…” If this was happening at school, he’d have faked something plausible. But this was *Logan*. The man who could smell which mood you were in.
“All I wanna tell ya is… if ya can’t be good - at *least* be careful?"
_Oh *God*, no. Not the 'safe sex’ speech! Not from Logan!_ Todd went vermillion and stammered, "Yo, I know about rubbers 'n’ all. You don’t gotta tell me twice."
"Good. 'Cause I don’t like repeatin’ it."
Wait. That was *it*? Logan’s version of the safe sex speech was 'if you can’t be good, be careful’[2]? The last person who pulled him aside for such advice had drawn it into an hour lecture. Complete with helpful hand gestures.
It had done a lot to dispel a lot of schoolyard mythos, but… he spent a year in complete paranoia of toilet seats as a direct result.
"Hey, yo."
"Yeah?"
"You can relax 'bout Sara an’ me. I’m the *last* person that’d wanna hurt her."
Logan nodded, satisfied.
+
And as for the first person… he’s working on the fruition of Plan A.
"No."
"Aw, c'mon, Tabby…"
"I said 'no’, Speedy."
"But it’s all for laughs,” he offered.
“Had it happen to me. Wasn’t funny.” Tabby glared at him. “So… *no*."
"I’ll give you a fifty."
"No means no, Quickie."
"A hundred?"
"Not for all the money you could steal."
"How about barter?"
”*NO*!“
"Aw, come *ON*… there’s gotta be something you want more than anything. Something I could, perhaps, arrange?"
Tabitha stopped walking. "Something I want."
"Yeah."
"More than *anything*."
"Exactly."
She pondered this for all of one second and then, slowly and deliberately, drew it out in order to drive Pietro nuts. "What I want,” she said, “more than *anything*… in the entire whole wide world… is… for *my* family… to get back together and be *happy* - just like they *used* to be."
Pietro’s face fell.
"And while you’re at it, try making my Dad quit being a lying, cheating, stealing scum-bucket. Oh. I forgot 'alcoholic’.” She smiled without meaning it. “Can you wrap that for me for Christmas?"
"Um… no,” he admitted.
“Then find another 'ho."
"Don’t make me pull the big guns, Tabitha Smith!” Pietro warned.
“Oh. And what can *you* do to *me* that I can’t blow your nuts off for later?"
[1] And those of you with gutter minds can provide illustrations in the Adults Only section of the forum…
[2] MeMum oft repeated this to me during my teen years. She needn’t have been that paranoid. All the guys in my school were complete scungebags.
~~
”…'ENERY THE EIGHTH I AM, I AM. I GOT MARRIED TO THE WIDDER NEXT DOOR[1]…“
The rest of the spectators, down the hallway and away from Tabby’s door, watched in the idle speculation of men faced with nothing good on television.
”…AND EV'RY ONE WAS AN 'ENERY - 'ENERY! SHE WOULDN’T 'AVE A WILLIE OR A SAM - NO SIR!“
"Not that I want to know,” said Lance, “but just how long has this been going on?"
"Uh. Since they came back,” reported Fred. “Actually, I think it’s since before they came back, 'cause Pie was singing when they came in. I dunno what it’s about, but."
”…'ENERY THE EIGHTH I AM, I AM. 'ENERY THE EIGHTH I AM! SECOND VERSE - SAME AS THE FIRST!“
Inside her room, Tabby screamed. She screamed, "NO! I’M NEVER DOING IT!"
"That’s new for her,” Lance snorted.
“Maybe something involving animals?” said Fred.
“…SHE’S BEEN MARRIED SEVEN TIMES BEFORE…"
"This *is* Tabby we’re talking about."
Fred pondered this. "Maybe there is someone she won’t do. I mean, she likes what she does, that’s okay… but maybe she’s got standards?"
”…NO SIR! I’M 'ER EIGHTH OLD MAN NAMED 'ENERY… 'ENERY THE EIGHTH…“
”*Tabby*? Fred, the words 'Tabby’ and 'standards’ are mutually exclusive.“
Fred shrugged. "Maybe,” he allowed. “Wanna go out an’ do something?"
"Sure,” said Lance. “Anything to get away from the One Retard Chorus."
"FUCK OFF, PIE!” Tabby shrieked.
“I’M 'ENERY THE EIGHTH, I AM…"
+
Sara was now mostly inverted on the chair. One trainer’s toe pointed to the cornice[2] and the other traced patterns in the air somewhere off the chair’s arm. Most of the rest of her was stretched out along the carpet, looking up at the ceiling.
"That’s the thing. I’m not antisocial… I just wish people would quit being a bunch of jerks. It doesn’t take all that much effort to be *civil*, at the very least. We did invent good manners as a means of greasing the gears of society.” One finger made a rotating motion. “But lately, maintenance has been lax. Supremely lax."
"How lately is 'lately’?” enquired Xavier.
“I’d have to say the '60’s,” said Sara. “That’s the marker-point when some people realised that they could breeze through most of their lives by being a jerk. It was compounded in the '80’s when the biggest jerks won… and people became more interested in spending less time with each other.” A hand lifted to connect with her mouth by tapping her lips. “You know, I think the statistics of human contact - the number of people who would know any random person by name and face - has dropped alarmingly over the decades. No wonder nobody cares, any more. They don’t know anybody."
"And your solution?"
"Oh, build a new society after this one’s inevitable collapse. Something where the phrase 'love your neighbour’ doesn’t mean 'condoms optional’.” She grinned. “And in the meantime, I’m preserving what I can by leading by example. *I*, at least, shall make the effort to never be a jerk."
"But that isn’t a real solution,” said the Professor. “You’re just surviving until you reach a distant goal."
"True, but it’s the only legitimate one, considering the alternatives.” Two hands in the air now, to tick off a list. “Telling them that they’re acting like jerks gains them attention for acting like jerks… re-enforcing the jerkesque behaviour and amplifying it in my direction. Simple revenge is out, too, for similar reasons and that - ultimately - it makes me the biggest jerk of all. Anonymous writings only work if someone can be bothered to *read*… not an option in a High School that teaches Shakespeare from the common language translation, yes?"
"Quite."
"Transforming my few heeded mediums of expression into diatribes against the jerks would make them preachy, and thus lose the audience they once had… thereby making the point moot. Ergo, there’s very little left, but to survive and be better than the mob.” The hands relaxed, interlaced across her midriff. “Refusing to play their game may encourage more jerkishness, but it’s the only moral choice."
"And I’m quite glad that you made it."
A little bell pinged.
"Sounds like my hour is up."
"Sorry I couldn’t help you much, today."
"Oh, venting has always been good for getting problems to lose weight,” Sara dismissed, extracting herself by a series of tangles. “I do have one question, though."
"Yes?"
"Where did you get that *hat*? I want one!"
[1] A side-fling to _Ghost_
[2] That stuff between the ceiling and the wall.
~